#The Order of the Northern Sky

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

The Northern Winds (pt. 3)

PART 1 & PART 2

Summary: Lady Y/N is pregnant again after suffering a miscarriage. Winter is coming and with it spring and the news of Prince Jacaerys coming to Winterfell.

Warnings: pregnancy and its symptoms, childbirth, mention of postnatal depression, mention of rape, mature NSFW content (18+), SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON/FIRE AND BLOOD (both what has happened and what will happen in the end!!!)

A/N: Let me just say that I cried writing the ending of this story

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion

***

Before long the Lady of Winterfell was high into her pregnancy and with it arrived a white raven from the archmaesters of the Citadel announcing the winter was upon them. If anyone knew of winter, it was the Northerners. A third of the crops of every harvest had been stored for winter ever since the first white raven arrived sending word of the summer’s end. The winter town beneath the walls of Winterfell filled eagerly once more, its houses, markets, and taverns bustling with life. Fire burned ceaselessly in every hearth making the view from the towers of Winterfell seem like the night sky with stars not of silver but of gold.

The Lady of Winterfell stood atop of one of Winterfell’s watchtowers, observing the smallfolk rushing among the houses and the passageways, taking care of the final errands before the day’s light would be consumed by darkness. Even as the night set in, Lady Y/N could still see them hurrying about because of their torches and lanterns to light the way.

Lady Y/N pulled her heavy cloak closer, supporting her great belly beneath it. If everything was as it was supposed to be, childbirth was not far away. The thought of it filled Y/N with equal measures of joy as well as worry.

The first few moons with child were not easy. Lady Y/N was abed for most of it, sick with nausea and barely keeping anything down. She did not care for food other than salt beef and rusk bread. Even oranges that were once her favourite she could no longer stand. And simply the smell of ale would make Lady Y/N sick immediately. Although it was Cregan’s preferred drink, he ordered it not be served at feasts any longer if the Lady Stark was strong enough to attend. As for him, he would drink wine instead or hippocras when the winter truly set in and the cold was strong enough to bite off your fingers.

Maester Bennard too was with Lady Stark most every day, brewing remedies for her nausea but with very little effect. Yet as the babe grew stronger, the sickness disappeared almost overnight. Lady Y/N regained her strength and her love for oranges and resumed her duties as the Lady of Winterfell with much eagerness although always beneath the watchful eye of Lord Stark. His hard, grey eyes would not leave his wife during council meetings, lingering either on her or her slowly growing belly. As someone who always wielded power, even as a child for Cregan was his father’s heir, Lord Stark came to know complete powerlessness for the first time in his life when his wife fell with child. Whilst he could command his men and wield his great longsword, Cregan could do little when it came to his yet unborn child. Whilst Lady Y/N was abed with sickness, Lord Stark would often leave the leading of the council meetings to his maester and his other trusted advisors. If anything were to go wrong again and Cregan would not be there for his wife, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Lady Y/N too was worried, especially during the first half of her being with child. She could not sleep for fear of waking coated in blood. She had nightmares and was sometimes so tired, not only from sickness but from fear, that she could only leave the bed to use the privy. Yet this time, Cregan was there by her side, watching over her and making sure that his wife had everything she could want and need. When Lady Ellyn was away to get some rest as she tended to Lady Stark at all times, the Lord of Winterfell would stay by his wife’s side, keeping a watchful eye even when Lady Y/N slept. But as the pregnancy neared the end, both the Lord and the Lady of Winterfell quickly forgot about the worries of the past and had no choice but focus on the present. 

“If you are trying to freeze to death, there are easier ways than standing atop of a tower,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he joined his wife. Lady Y/N turned around, meeting her husband’s warm smile with her one of her own.

“The cold air does me good,” said Lady Y/N as Cregan wrapped his arms around her, his nose buried in the fragrant skin of her neck.

“Of course,” murmured Cregan, “You are carrying a northern child.” He kissed the part of Y/N’s neck not shielded by the red fox fur of her blue cloak. Goosebumps rose of Lady Y/N’s arms as she placed her hands on his that were supporting her belly. The babe kicked and although the sensation was uncomfortable for Y/N, it always filled her heart with warmth at the proof of new life.

Lord Stark could not help but smile when he felt his child move beneath his touch. But then his excitement faded some. “Does it hurt you when he does that?” asked Cregan his wife. Lady Y/N was surprised by his question, yet she should not have been for Cregan’s curiosity never ceased and his questions never remained only in his thoughts.

“It is uncomfortable but not painful,” said Lady Y/N before she could actually comprehend what Cregan said.

“He?” asked Lady Y/N, a grin growing on her lips. She turned around to look at Cregan. If it were not for the darkness of the coming night, Y/N would be able to see the heat creep into her husband’s cheeks.

“Or she,” said Cregan quickly, his eyes shifting between his wife and their unborn child. “Either one will do,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he knelt before his wife and kissed her great belly, leaning his forehead gently against it. Lady Y/N ran her gloved fingers through Lord Stark’s hair, secretly wishing their child, be it a boy or a girl, to have their father’s eyes.

Lady Stark placed her hand on Cregan’s cheek when he got up, her thumb smoothing across his wind-lashed skin.

“I too think it is a boy,” confessed Lady Y/N in a gentle voice. Cregan’s grey eyes had never before seemed so big and childlike to her as in that moment when his lips were parted but his mouth at a loss for words.

Lady Y/N stepped on the tips of her toes before Cregan cupped her cheeks and guided her closer. He kissed her ardently again and again, unable to detach himself from her love.

***

A snowstorm raged outside that morrow when the Lord and Lady of Winterfell broke their fast on fried eggs and boiled ham before they would attend the council meeting. Yet as Lady Y/N climbed the stairs of Rodrick’s Tower, a terrible pain spread from her back to her abdomen. A loud gasp escaped her lungs as Lord Stark turned around hastily, Lady Y/N’s hand grabbing onto his arm.

“What is it?” hurried Lord Stark.

Y/N gasped again at another wave of pain, followed by a strange sensation and a small gush of fluid trickling down her leg. A striking pain shot through her abdomen alone this time. Lady Y/N cried out in pain and would have fallen to her knees if not for Cregan holding her.

“The babe … It’s coming,” breathed Lady Y/N, her nails digging into her husband’s forearm.

Cregan did not hesitate and wrapped his arms around his wife, picking her up with easily yet with great care. “Hold onto me,” said Lord Stark and carried Lady Y/N to the birthing chambers. He shouted to the servants to get the maester and the midwife as his wife cried out in pain. Her breathing grew even faster when Cregan laid her into their bed. Y/N caught his hand, begging him with her eyes not to leave her side. Tears gathered in her vision as all of her fears and worries returned to her. She was not much afraid of the pain but for the babe. She would not be able to bear losing it.

“You will be alright, my love,” said Cregan and kissed Y/N’s brow. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her forehead before loosening the strings on her dress. A small sob escaped Lady Y/N’s lips as she paced her breathing whilst they waited for the maester and the midwife.

“I’m not going anywhere,” assured Cregan, holding his wife’s palm with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other. “I promise, my love.”

Lady Y/N nodded just as Maester Bennard, midwife Othella and her ladies-in-waiting arrived.

The maester asked Lord Stark to leave as was customary but Cregan would not be moved from his wife’s side. It was unheard of and yet not a soul dared to say a word of protest.

Lady Y/N remembered her mother’s letters of her own time with child and how Lord Jonos was never remotely interested in the babe until it was born. Lady Whytefort was supposed to visit before Lady Y/N went into labour but the snowstorm must have kept her in a lesser lord’s castle somewhere. Y/N had hoped her mother would be there when the babe would arrive yet she was grateful Cregan was there at least.

Lady Othella, the midwife who assisted the Lady of Winterfell in childbed, was no highborn lady at all but the smallfolk and the noble alike addressed her as lady for the many children she helped deliver and save when the labour was difficult. Lady Othella was a short woman of petite stature yet her hands possessed the strength that could wield a sword. She wore her hair in a coif of deep blue but her tawny locks more oft than not slipped onto her pale, heart-shaped face.

“Breathe, my lady,” instructed Lady Othella as the servants made the bed more comfortable for Lady Y/N. They placed pillows behind her head and beneath her hips, relieving some of the soreness in her back.

Lady Y/N nodded and paced her breathing. Her pains were still very far apart yet no less painful.

The labour lasted through the day and well into the night although there was no telling the time as the snowstorm raged on outside the windows of Winterfell. Near the hour of the ghosts, Lady Stark’s labour pains grew stronger and more frequent, now only moments apart.

Lady Othella announced it was time under the careful supervision of Maester Bennard.

Y/N let go of Cregan’s hand as she was sure she was going to crush all the bones in his hand. She gripped onto the linens instead but the Lord of Winterfell made her take his hand once again.

Lady Y/N pushed and pushed and prayed that the baby would come and come healthy.

“You are almost there, my lady,” encouraged Lady Othella, giving Lady Stark the last bit of strength she needed to push her baby into the world.

A sense of relief came over Y/N as the pressure was gone and the babe’s crying filled the room. Lady Y/N’s loud and fast breathing was scattered with the crying of happiness as Maester Bennard cut the navel string and the babe got wrapped up in clean linens.

“My congratulations, my lord, my lady,” said Lady Othella, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “You have a son.”

Lady Y/N fell the breath get knocked out of her for a moment, her big, pensive eyes wide with wonder as she stared at her son in the midwife’s hands. Lady Othella gave her the babe as Lady Y/N reached out with her hands and Lord Stark finally let go of his wife’s hand. Y/N pressed the babe to her chest instinctively, her mouth full of sobs as the babe’s crying eased. She looked at her husband whose grey eyes flickered between the child no larger than his two hands put together and his beautiful wife, his beautiful wife who just gave him a son.

Cregan’s vision became blurred. He could not remember the last time he cried for it was when he was still a child himself. Yet as Lord Stark saw his wife holding their son, his heart filled with joy indescribable to anyone and at the same time with fear so great he thought it would break him.

Lord Stark got up and kissed Y/N’s forehead, his hand barely touching the babe for fear of hurting him. The baby nuzzled into his mother’s chest, recognizing the warmth and the comfort of her body.

“We have a son,” Lady Y/N cried from happiness as she looked up at her husband.

“We do,” said the Lord of Winterfell in a quiet voice. “Rickon?” asked Cregan as he looked at his wife, his eyes were big and pure as a child’s.

“Rickon,” agreed Y/N and smiled at her babe.

***

After the long and tiresome labour, Lady Stark had time enough to rest and recover but would not let a wetnurse feed her son, not when she could do it herself. Maester Bennard advised against it and encouraged Lady Y/N to focus on recovering and to leave the babe to the wetnurse. Lady Othella did not share his opinion entirely, which was the cause of many quarrels between the maester and the midwife already during Lady Stark’s pregnancy.

Maester Bennard looked to Lord Stark for support, speaking of how the late Lady Gilliane Stark, Cregan’s mother, always entrusted her children into the care of a wetnurse as did the wife of Cregan’s uncle, who had three healthy sons.

Lord Stark stood by the small window of the birthing chamber, seeing how the terrible snowstorm was beginning to cease. The wind whistled and howled violently all the while as the Lady of Winterfell was in childbed.

Lord Stark turned to Maester Bennard when he felt his scholarly gaze on his back.

“You will do as my wife says, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark, his arms crossed pensively over his broad chest. His voice was as even and cold as steel.

“You are a maester of the Citadel and are highly valued in my household, Bennard – not only as a learned man but as a friend,” continued Lord Stark. “You are a maester of Oldtown yet you are neither a woman nor a mother and that is no fault of yours, so you will do as Lady Stark commands even if she chooses not to heed your advice.”

Maester Bennard lowered his gaze and bowed, “As my lord commands.”

The newborn babe suckled happily on his mother’s breast, who in equal measure could not be happier herself. Lady Y/N was not opposed to a wetnurse yet she wanted to care for her babe as much as she could on her own, particularly now when the babe had hardly been born.

Once Lady Othella and Maester Bennard retired, assuring Lady Stark was in as good health as she could be, Cregan allowed himself so sit beside his wife and his newborn son. Lady Y/N held the baby with one hand but reached for her husband’s palm with the other. She brought it to her lips and kissed it, her eyes closed as she did so.

“Thank you,” spoke Y/N gently, leaning her head tiredly against the pillow as she watched her husband.

“Whatever for?” asked Cregan, his sharp brows in their usual frown. He had done absolutely nothing whilst his wife did everything.

“Everything,” said Y/N nevertheless, gently holding onto Cregan’s hand. “Did I break all of your bones?” she smiled, brushing her thumb across the top of his palm.

“I think I still have a few of them left,” grinned Cregan as he looked down at his wife’s small hand in his. His heart weighed heavy in his chest but he did not know why. Perhaps he was so happy that some of his happiness had to turn into sadness or he would burst with joy.

“What is it?” frowned Y/N when she saw the melancholy in Cregan’s features.

I’m afraid, Cregan wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose you and I’m afraid to lose our son. Strange how new life so quickly reminds one of death.

“Cregan?” asked Y/N softly when he did not speak. Cregan only sat closer and kissed his lady wife, kissed her again and again, first on her lips then her nose and her cheeks and finally her brow. Cregan leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes shut tight.

“I love you,” promised Lord Stark and sealed it with another kiss.

“I love you,” said Y/N and caressed her husband’s cheek. The baby cooed when it was done feeding, now happily nuzzling against his mother’s warm chest.

“Do you wish to hold him?” asked Y/N with a smile. Lord Stark froze in place, his eyes round and his lips parted.

“I don’t know,” said Cregan and watched how the happiness dimmed in Lady Y/N’s bright eyes. “My hands … What if they are too rough for him?” said Cregan warily. “What if I hurt him?”

Lady Y/N’s smiled once again. “You won’t, I promise,” said Y/N as she sat up with Rickon resting securely in her hands. Cregan mimicked the shape of his wife’s arms and waited patiently for her to place his tiny, delicate son into his hands. The babe missed the comfort of his mother’s body and let out a cry and then another, each startling Cregan more than the other. But as soon as the babe found the warmth of his father’s chest he stopped his crying and sighed contently. Cregan felt his body tremble as he held his son, seeing how he blinked his small, storm-grey eyes.

When Lord Stark looked up once again, he saw how his wife had fallen asleep, her hand outstretched towards him. Cregan sat close beside her and listened to her soft breathing. As he watched his son, the Lord of Winterfell vowed to himself to destroy anyone who would ever think of harming them.

Come morning, Lady Stark awoke with her husband was sleeping beside her, his arm entwined with hers. She sat up quickly thinking of her son only to see him sound asleep in his bassinet. Lady Y/N laid back down, coming to realize how sore her body was. Every muscle in her body felt uncomfortable. She turned on her back, unable to supress a groan that woke Lord Stark from his light sleep.

“Will you please ask for Maester Bennard?” asked Y/N as she tried to sit up. Her body was something she did not recognize. A mess of pain and discomfort and unpredictability.

Cregan jumped to his feet and called the servants, who fetched Maester Bennard. In the meantime, Lord Stark returned to his wife’s side.

“Are you in pain, my love?” asked Cregan as he knelt beside the bed.

“Everything hurts,” confessed Lady Y/N but it was only normal to feel this way. She had been in labour for near a full day before the babe was delivered. Y/N needed help to use the privy and when she returned Maester Bennard was there with his assistants. He gave her instructions of recovery and some remedies for the pain.

“I would have a bath,” asked Lady Y/N, looking at her maester for advice.

“I believe it would do you good, my lady,” agreed Maester Bennard as he gathered his potions in his ornate, wooden box. “I would also advise warm cloth for your belly and your chest.”

The servants prepared a nice, warm bath whilst Lady Ellyn and Lady Jocelyn helped Y/N out of her clothes. Lifting her legs only slightly proved a greater challenge than Lady Stark could have foreseen. The warm water helped remedy the soreness of her body, however. Y/N allowed Lady Ellyn to help her wash as she could barely find the strength to move her aching limbs.

“You did so well, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn gently as she sat beside the bath, her thumb drawing circles into her friend’s hand. “You have the most beautiful son, you ought to be proud.”

Lady Y/N managed a smile but could not help but feel an unusual melancholy creep in. Lady Whytefort wrote to her of her own mother’s sadness after she gave birth to her. Lady Cerwyn – then Ryswell of the Rills before she widowed and remarried – was said to have locked herself in her chambers and refused to care for her daughter for near a moon’s turn. But afterwards when Lady Y/N’s grandmother recovered everything was as if nothing had happened. Even Y/N herself had not known of this prior to her lady mother’s letter although she was close to her maternal grandmother and stayed at the Rills many a summer’s moon.

Lady Y/N shared this story with Lady Ellyn.

“I am sure you have nothing to fear, my lady,” Lady Ellyn tried to reassure her friend although she had heard of similar experiences happening to other women. “Even if such a thing should occur, you have your ladies and a host of wetnurses who would die to serve House Stark. You would recover and all would be well, I am sure of it,” tried Lady Ellyn. What her friend spoke was true Y/N knew and yet she could not help but feel like a failure at just the thought of not wanting to care for her son. However, as sore and tired as Lady Y/N felt, she could and would not judge any woman who would feel the way her grandmother did upon birthing her daughter. Y/N could not even imagine how difficult it must have been for her own mother especially with a man like Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N loved her father dearly in spite of it all, but she could not stand the way he treated her mother. Especially not now when Y/N saw herself there were different ways of leading married life, good and gentle ways.

Lord Stark returned to Lady Y/N’s chambers. He had washed and shaved and had a change of garments. He seemed tired, a pensive expression hiding in his features.

“I would have a moment with my wife,” said Lord Stark to Lady Ellyn. She got up and curtsied. “If you are able,” said Lord Stark, now turning to his wife.

“I will get dressed,” nodded Lady Y/N.

Lady Stark was helped into a comfortable gown of cerulean blue and white Myrish lace with pearl embroidery whilst she had the servants braid her hair. The warm bath helped Lady Y/N with her pains, allowing her to walk with the support of her lady-in-waiting.

Whilst the Lady of Winterfell had a change of garments, the servants had brought food and drink aplenty for Lord and Lady Stark to break their fast on. They prepared a hearty broth rich with venison and grains for Lady Y/N to recover her strength, offering congratulations left and right as she sat down. Lady Stark reserved a smile for each of them no matter how low- or highborn.

“Could you find any rest, my love?” asked Lady Y/N once the servants left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell to break their fast in peace. Y/N took Cregan’s hand, the warmth of his touch instantly reassuring her. Cregan had dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin appeared ashen. He had not left his wife’s side not for a moment since she went into labour and stayed awake for as long as he could even after Lady Y/N had already fallen asleep.

Lord Stark rose his pensive, grey eyes to Y/N. “How can you ask me that when you have just given birth to our son?” said Cregan gently as he squeezed his wife’s hand in his.

“I could not have done it if you had not been there by my side,” said Lady Y/N genuinely. She paused.

“Are you happy?” asked Y/N anxiously. Cregan’s brows furrowed into an incredulous frown.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Only … You seem distant,” said Lady Y/N, watching her husband’s eyes for any trace of doubt.

“Forgive me,” said Cregan heavily yet his voice quietened some as he looked towards the window.

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N, not ungently, and squeezed her husband’s hand reassuringly.

“I …” began Cregan. “I had a brother,” said Cregan, his grey eyes returning to his wife. Y/N stared at him, her mouth parted. “He died aged only two when I was ten-and-one.”

“You cannot remember him from your time here at Winterfell. You could not even if you stayed for a full moon and not a day. My mother did not like him leaving his chambers. He was sickly … He had been since he was born,” said Cregan. “I … I barely knew him …”

“I am so sorry,” said Y/N, not knowing what else to say. She reached out to him, enfolding his calloused palm between her hands. They had been wed for more than a year and yet Y/N had never heard Cregan nor anyone else for that matter mention Lord Stark having had a brother.

“What happened?” asked Y/N gently.

“Fever took him,” said Cregan, his gaze focused on his wife’s hands clasped around his own. “First it took my mother, then Benjen not even three nights after,” told Cregan, his voice deep and sombre. “He was named after my grandsire.”

“I am so sorry, my love,” spoke Y/N gently.

Lord Stark got up from the table and stood by the window, his gaze reaching out beyond the walls of his strong castle.

“At least my mother did not have to see him die,” said Cregan to himself more than to his wife. “At least the Gods spared her as much.”

Y/N stared at her husband’s back, coming to realize where Cregan’s melancholy and pensiveness came from. The birth of their son agitated old wounds and disturbed the present. Cregan did not so much feel the loss of his brother when he held his newborn son; rather, he came to understand his mother’s worry and fear at the prospect of having to bury her child.

Lady Y/N gathered what strength she could and got up from the table on her own. Lord Stark turned around but Y/N was already by his side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Cregan’s hands instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as he buried his nose in the warmth of her neck. Cregan let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

*** 2 YEARS LATER ***

As the cold and heavy winter went by leaving nothing but darkness and snow, a hope of spring returned when a white raven flew in from Oldtown bearing news of the winter’s end. Although the snow was never quite gone north of The Gift, the blizzards and snowstorms grew scarcer and were replaced by days of warm sunshine at Winterfell.

Despite the winter and Lord Stark’s frequent visits to the Wall before the snow became too tall to travel, there was always some form of joy and merriment in the castle walls of Winterfell. As little Rickon Stark, the firstborn son of Lord Cregan and Lady Y/N Stark, grew older and bolder by the day, he kept his noble parents busy even when there were no lordly duties to attend to.

“Rickon tells me you are going to show him how to ride to-day,” spoke Cregan softly, his voice deep and husky in the hour of the nightingale. His fingers were tangled in his wife’s hair, their foreheads nearly touching as they savoured the last moments of peace before the castle would be bustling with errands and duties to attend to once again.

Y/N rose her big, sleepy eyes to her husband’s. “He will only sit ahorse,” said Lady Y/N quietly, tracing her fingers across the scars on Cregan’s chest. “Mayhaps I will let Ser Tybald lead him around the courtyard if Rickon will wish to,” considered Y/N aloud.

“Of course he will, he is your son,” laughed Cregan, secretly delighting in his wife’s soft touch.

“Is he not your son too?” said Y/N aghast as she grinned, leaning on her elbow. “I suppose you preferred learning the names and banners of Houses to spending time with swords and horses,” she teased.

Cregan smiled and pulled Y/N into a kiss, her arms resting on his strong chest. She moved even closer, deepening the kiss as she harboured a secret to tell her husband. But as his arms wrapped around Y/N’s hips eagerly, she forgot all about the news and straddled Cregan’s waist instead. He pulled off her nightgown, his hands reaching immediately for her soft breasts. Cregan sat up and kissed them as Y/N’s hands tangled in his dark hair. She moaned when he found her sweet spot, knowing her body better than sometimes she did.

“Mommy! Mommy!” called a small voice running around the hallways of Winterfell. Y/N gasped as her gaze darted towards the door.

“Gods,” muttered Y/N hastily and jumped off the bed where she picked up her nightgown and slipped it on just in time. Cregan laughed as he leaned against the bedframe, watching a deep blush flush his wife’s cheeks as Rickon burst into the room, wrapping his arms around her mother’s knees.

“Good morrow, little one,” said Y/N, her eyes locking with Cregan’s when she picked up her son and held him to her. “Should you not be abed?” Lady Stark asked of her son but made eyes at her all too amused husband.

“I wanted to see you,” said Rickon cheerfully although there was sleep in his eyes.

“Alright, little warrior,” said Cregan as he got up from the bed. “Your mother is right. Back to bed.” Cregan took his son from Y/N’s arms, the playful, teasing look in Cregan’s eyes making Y/N’s knees weak. A shivery breath escaped Y/N’s lips as she watched her husband’s bare back when he walked across their chambers.

Rickon’s wetnurse was already at the door of their rooms yet dared not come in.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord,” said the wetnurse as she took Rickon from Lord Stark’s arms.

“That’s alright,” said Lord Stark gently, running his hand through his son’s dark hair one last time before he returned to his private chambers.

Cregan slipped his arms beneath Y/N’s bum and lifted her up eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. He sat down, his large hands squeezing his wife’s soft thighs. Cregan went for his breeches but Y/N stopped him.

“Let me do it,” she spoke softly, her voice laced with desire. She dropped to her knees and undid Cregan’s nightbreeches, pulling them off with haste. Cregan watched as his wife took him in her mouth, her tongue sliding skilfully along his length. Cregan threw his head back in pleasure, his fists balling around the linens of their bed to keep himself from climaxing immediately. As Cregan groaned in pleasure his eyes met Y/N’s. She stopped, teasing her husband.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” muttered Cregan and quickly pulled Y/N into his lap.

“Show me,” she breathed against his lips, her heart beating harshly against her chest.

Cregan took Y/N’s waist and turned her around, pulling off her loose nightgown yet again. His fingers found her breasts once more as he kissed her neck one last time before he took Y/N’s hips and entered her. Y/N moaned loudly as she clawed at the furs of their bed. Cregan’s thrusts were hard and even before he slowly escalated his pace. Y/N could not help but whimper in pleasure as her husband’s fingers tangled in her long hair, pulling on them gently. Cregan leaned down and kissed her from behind, his hips moving faster and then slower as he felt himself nearing his pleasure. He reached around Y/N’s waist with his hand, his fingers nestling between her thighs. Y/N winced in pleasure, leaned into his touch and only moments away from complete pleasure. Y/N whimpered halfway through a moan, climaxing sooner than she anticipated. She leaned her head against the bed as her eyes closed, Cregan’s fingers digging harshly into the soft curves of her hips. Cregan’s seed dripped down the inside of Y/N’s thigh before they both fell flat on the bed, their bodies tangled and exhausted from divine pleasure.

***

After breaking their fast in Benjen’s Hall, Lady Stark took her son Rickon to the stables as she promised. Ser Tybald provided a well-natured, chestnut pony with mane the colour of butter for Lord Stark’s firstborn son.

“Let him smell you,” said Lady Stark and lifted her son into her arms. “Like this,” she showed by placing her palm gently to the pony’s muzzle. Rickon reached out hesitantly but when the pony leaned her muzzle against his hand, he smiled with eyes as happy as ever.

“You have to name him now,” encouraged Lady Stark, “But you have to name him carefully for he will carry that name for many years.”

Rickon looked at her with big, round eyes, his mind whooshing with a thousand ideas. He looked at his horse again with his lips parted.

“Squire,” said Rickon determinedly.

Lady Y/N watched as her son reached for the pony’s muzzle once again, mesmerized by Rickon’s likeness to his father.

Y/N kissed her son’s temple and put him down, allowing the master-of-horse to show him how to properly saddle and ready a horse. She watched as he was sat into one of the saddles, first off horse and later on Squire. He beamed with joy when Ser Tybald asked him if he wanted to have a walk around the courtyard.

“Mother, may I?” called Rickon from atop of his butter-maned pony.

“You may,” allowed Lady Stark, her lips spreading into a smile at the sight of her boy content. “Only be careful and hold on tight.”

“I will,” promised Rickon, his little hands wrapping tightly around the horn of the saddle.

Lady Y/N pulled her cloak closer to her as a cold, spring breeze swept through the walls of Winterfell.

“What did he name the horse?” asked a voice behind Lady Stark. She turned around, her eyes finding those of her husband.

“Squire,” smiled Lady Y/N.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark, unable to disguise a grin off his lips.

Y/N wrapped her hand around Cregan’s elbow, pressing closer to him. “What did you name your first horse?” she wondered.

Cregan smiled, “Jester.”

Lady Y/N could not help but snort a laughter, finding the name so very fitting of Cregan as she imagined him as a young boy. He laughed with her, almost asking the same of Y/N but quickly remembered.

“Blackspur was my first,” said Lady Y/N all on her own, the smile on her lips turning into a melancholy one. Ser Tybald had to put her down soon after the beginning of the new year for she had grown sick. It was the kindest thing to do, knew Y/N, yet that acknowledgement made it hurt no less. Blackspur had a long and comfortable life, longer than many horses. Those were the only thoughts that could make Lady Stark’s grief less painful.

“I know,” spoke Cregan and kissed his wife’s temple.

Suddenly echoed an approaching sound of hooves against the cobblestones. Lady Stark stood up straight, detaching herself hesitantly from Cregan’s warm body to welcome unexpected guests. Yet only two riders crossed the Hunter’s Gate into the castle, leading a beautiful filly tied to one of their saddles. She had long muscular legs, her coat of raw umber brown. She shook her head, her mane alike in colour, as the horsemen dismounted and one of them took her into Winterfell’s stables.

“Wait for me,” asked Cregan of his lady wife before he met with the other horseman, who bowed their heads before the Lord of Winterfell. They spoke briefly and even shook hands. Lady Stark’s gaze drifted to her son across the yard when his pony neighed, her heart leaping out of her chest for a moment. Rickon laughed however, savouring every moment before he would have to listen to Maester Bennard’s lessons on Houses great and small.

“Come,” Lady Y/N heard her husband call. She turned her attention to him but saw the riders leave through the Hunger’s Gate. They were gone as quickly as they arrived.

“What is it? Is their horse injured?” asked Y/N once at her husband’s side. Knights and lords, especially of smaller Houses, often brought their mounts to Winterfell if the animal was ill or injured for Winterfell had one of the best stables in the North.

“She is in perfect health,” said Cregan as he led his wife into the stables. The ash brown filly paced restlessly, her elegant head turning towards the strangers coming to see her. She was young, only just old enough to saddle.

“Why did they bring her then?” asked Y/N, admiring the magnificent animal and wondering if per chance they wanted Ser Tybalt to break her in and have her ready for riding.

“She is yours if you want her,” said Lord Stark, his gaze shifting between his wife’s eyes and the filly he chose for her.

“What?” gasped Lady Y/N, looking up at her husband’s expecting eyes. She was at a loss for words.

“I know she cannot replace Blackspur but—”

“Thank you,” Y/N cut Cregan off before he could finish. She took his hand and stepped on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He leaned down for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Y/N pulled away slowly, looking around to make sure they were alone. Ser Tybald was still leading Rickon on Squire and informing him all about caring for horses.

“I have to tell you something, husband,” said Lady Y/N, biting her lip as she could not help but smile. She looked down at her Cregan’s chest and the silver direwolf emblem resting between his collarbones.

“What is it?” asked Cregan, his brows quickly jumping into a gentle frown.

“I am with child again,” whispered Y/N as she looked up into her husband’s eyes. The emotions in the greyness of his irises swirled like a great summer storm.

“Say it again,” breathed Lord Stark incredulous.

“I am with child,” repeated Lady Y/N, her smile as bright as ever as she observed her lord husband’s reaction. Cregan pulled her into his arms eagerly, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her deeply. Y/N’s palms rested against her husband’s chest as she could not help but smile into the kiss.

“Mommy!” called Rickon’s small voice as he came running into the stables. Ser Tybald followed him with Squire.

“Can I ride again in the after-noon?” begged Rickon, his eyes as big as stars. The boy knew the answer would be ‘no’ but with his mother at least he stood a chance.

“Ask your father,” smiled Lady Y/N, her hand creeping into her husband’s palm.

“Father, may I?” asked Rickon carefully, his arms locked behind his back as he swayed left and right ever so slightly, his eyes resting on his father’s boots. He knew the answer this time too.

“Tomorrow,” said Lord Stark. “Come, Maester Bennard must be waiting for you.”

Speaking of which, as soon as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned inside the castle they were met with Maester Bennard. He was out of breath, his normally pale cheeks flushed with fever.

“My lord,” Maester Bennard gasped for breath, “My lord, urgent news from Dragonstone.” He handed Lord Stark a scroll of parchment with a broken seal of a red, three-headed dragon.

Cregan placed Rickon into his wetnurse’s care before he unrolled the raven scroll. “It’s Prince Jacaerys,” told Lord Stark aloud as he turned to his wife. “He is coming to Winterfell.”

***

As they lay in bed that night and Cregan’s hand rested gently on the barely visible bump of Y/N’s belly, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell could fall asleep. The night was bright and the moon shone invasively through the windows of their private chambers.

“What do you think he wants?” whispered Y/N quietly in case Cregan managed to fall asleep. She need not have asked for she knew, she only did not want to accept it.

“I do not know,” spoke Cregan gravely. “But I do now my father swore an oath … I swore an oath.”

News of trouble and strife in House Targaryen had long been flying north to Winterfell. The ravens more oft than not came from outside the walls of the Red Keep, coming from the Riverlands and the Vale and even from the Reach. The matter of succession seemed to be settled when King Viserys the Peaceful declared his daughter as his heir and future queen. Yet upon his death, appeared to have formed two camps that the smallfolk and the great alike called the Greens and the Blacks. The first supported Prince Aegon’s claim to the throne as he was King Viserys’ eldest son and the latter the claim of Princess Rhaenyra. If the North was to get involved in the war within House Targaryen, Winterfell would declare for Princess Rhaenyra as it did when King Viserys was still alive.

Y/N’s heart grew heavy in her chest. She placed her hand atop Cregan’s that was resting on her belly and squeezed it tightly. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she stared at the ceiling, knowing full well she will not find any sleep tonight.

“Hey,” whispered Cregan and leaned on his elbow. He caressed Y/N’s cheeks, making her look at him. “We will not know until he is here,” Cregan tried to reassure her some. He could not tell if it was the moonlight glistening in Y/N’s eyes or whether they were tears he saw, but Y/N nodded nevertheless if only to give her husband some peace.

The following eve came word from New Castle. Prince Jacaerys spent the night in White Harbor with his dragon Vermax and would fly for Winterfell in the morn.

The castle was up in preparation for the welcoming of the royal prince. Lady Stark ordered the kitchens to prepare the finest dishes of roast boar and pheasant in a sauce of almonds. The best casks of ale and wine were to be brought from the cellars of Winterfell and the Great Hall arranged appropriately. Only the highest and noblest of councillors were to attend the feast upon Prince Jacaerys’ arrival alongside Lord Stark and Lady Y/N.

After only just bearing through the winter, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell were too pleased to prepare a dozen sheep and goats for the prince’s dragon to feast on yet they had little choice in the matter.

Lady Stark chose a gown of ash green and pale white in the colours of Winterfell with a belt of white gold with the emblem of two direwolves’ heads baring their fangs at one another in its centre. She wore a necklace and earrings of emerald stones encrusted with diamonds that Cregan had gifted her upon the birth of their son.

The Lady of Winterfell paced around the Great Hall, making sure everything was perfect for the feast. Although she had put tremendous effort into the evening, both she and Cregan decided to keep the spirit of things much alike they would for any other highborn lord or lady coming to visit. Even though House Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen many years ago, the sense in the North was still that of House Stark’s rule.

Lady Y/N did not truly consider the prince’s dragon until she heard it screeching and roaring above the castle walls. Her heart sank as her eyes grew big coming face to face with her husband.

“Come,” said Cregan, holding out his hand. “He is here.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell gathered outside, greeted by the early spring snows. Lady Stark wore a heavy cloak of cloth-of-silver and wool, with fur of the grey wolf. She held her hands locked together before her, her breath coming out in clouds. It was nightfall already as she gazed into the sky. Her mouth went dry at the sight of an enormous, bat-like figure dancing in the sky. The beast screeched, irate with the cold and the snow.

The prince descended into the courtyard of Winterfell’s castle, the force of the dragon’s leathery wings sending snowflakes back into the sky. Prince Jacaerys dismounted and spoke to his beast in High Valeryan before meeting the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

Lord Stark bowed his head and Lady Y/N curtsied gracefully before the crown prince.

“My prince,” said Lord Stark first, his words echoed by his wife.

“Lord Stark,” greeted Prince Jacaerys. “My lady,” he said, kissing the top of Lady Stark’s gloved hand. She offered a small smile but could not help but notice the prince’s youth although there were not many years of difference between them nor between him and Cregan for that matter. It was true what they said, however. The crown prince looked little like a Targaryen ought to with his head of brown locks and eyes of green. In truth, Prince Jacaerys looked much more like her own brother, thought Lady Stark, save for the prince’s fox face and slender frame true of House Targaryen.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Cregan as he accepted the prince’s hand in his. Lord Stark towered over the prince although he towered over most any man and Prince Jacaerys was no different.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell welcomed the prince into the Great Hall where the noble councillors of Winterfell awaited, bowing and showing their respects to Princess Rhaenyra’s heir and messenger as he would name himself.

Prince Jacaerys was seated to the right of Lord Stark whilst Lady Y/N sat to his left. She nodded to the servants to bring the food and serve the drink whilst the singers sang and played their music. There was no talk of succession nor war or politics until the feast had ended. Although the Lord of Winterfell offered the prince to rest for the night before they talk, both Prince Jacaerys as well as Lord Stark were of a mind to speak now.

They walked the walls of Winterfell to ensure privacy, accompanied only by the cold and the snow. Prince Jacaerys looked toward the winter town, seeing but a few of the lights that warmed its houses during the past two years.

“I see winter is still true in the North although they say elsewise at the Citadel,” spoke the crown prince.

Lord Stark smiled although he wished to laugh. “These are only the spring snows, my prince. During winter, all that you see was covered in snow and all memory of warmth was neigh forgotten.”

Prince Jacaerys turned to his mother’s sworn vassal. Cregan Stark was a man hardened by cold and winter, a man seasoned in battle and in swordplay, whose reputation as one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms preceded him. Lord Stark was only a few years his senior and yet he had seen and lived the life of a man.

Prince Jacaerys looked at Lord Stark with both envy as well as admiration. He was a royal prince and yet he had not lived or done as half as Lord Stark.

“I confess I wished to see the Wall,” said Prince Jacaerys, stirring his thoughts in another direction. “It would have pleased me to meet with you in the place where our ancestors treated.”

“Indeed,” said the Lord of Winterfell, the fur on his heavy coat ruffled by the cold winds. “At least you have the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon.” Lord Stark’s words cut a uncomfortable silence between the two young men.

“Surely the great Torren Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You are right in that,” agreed Lord Stark as they walked along the walls of his castle.

“That unity is now threatened,” urged Prince Jacaerys. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if the men do not remember their oath sworn to King Viserys. And to his rightful heir.”

Lord Stark stopped. “Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” said Cregan sombrely. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In the winter, my duty to the North and to the Wall is even more dire than what I owe to King’s Landing,” spoke the Lord of Winterfell as they continued walking. “I need my men here.”

This time, Prince Jacaerys held his step. He frowned at his mother’s vassal, his temper as quick as any Targaryen’s. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne.”

Lord Stark did not heed the haste of Prince Jacaerys’ words and climbed into the northmost watchtower.

“If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united,” said Prince Jacaerys, following him into the nest, “She needs an army. War is coming – to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wager without the support of the North …” spoke the prince, his words losing breath as the vastness of the North opened before his eyes. An endless sea of white spread before him, disturbed only by shadows of trees and moving clouds of snow.

“My father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall. His grace watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it,” told Lord Stark as the prince found his breath.

“Do you think my ancestors built a seven-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” said Cregan, looking the crown prince dead in the eye.

The young prince stared at him pensively. “What does it keep out?” he asked.

Lord Stark eyes darkened. “Death.”

The Lord of Winterfell walked Prince Jacaerys inside the castle. He felt the weight of his father’s oath, the oath that was his own.

“I have thousands of greybeards who have already seen too many winters,” said Lord Stark. “They are … well-honed.”

“So they are old?” asked Prince Jacaerys, his brows raising slightly. They had reached the chambers prepared for him.

Lord Stark nodded solemnly but the North needed its best men to remain.

“I can ready them to march at once,” promised the Lord of Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, grateful for Lord Stark’s dislike of pretence.

“If your greybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,” agreed Prince Jacaerys.

A smirk crept into the line of Cregan’s mouth. “They will fight hard, like Northerners.”

***

Y/N could not even find it in her to sit down, much less fall asleep until Cregan returned to their chambers. The hour was late yet Y/N was as awake as it were mid-day. She stared at her husband expectantly when he returned, a great tiredness set in his features.

“He wants our men to fight for his mother’s claim,” confirmed Lord Stark.

And what of you? Does he want you? Y/N wanted to ask but could not make herself speak.

“I told him my men need to stay in the North. The Wall must needs be protected,” said Cregan. Y/N’s chest dropped with an exhale of relief yet only for a moment.

“I offered him my greybeards,” spoke Cregan before he walked over to one of the chests with his belongings. “I will go south as soon as they are ready to march.”

Cregan’s words knocked the wind out of Y/N as her heart dropped to her stomach. She grew sick with nausea.

“I thought to save this for another occasion,” said Cregan as he took a large package wrapped in cloth of silk from one of the painted chests.

Y/N stared at him astounded but took the parcel that he offered. She laid it carefully on the bed, pulling apart the silken wrapping. A coat as white as snow lay underneath, trimmed in fur without a single hair of colour. Y/N’s lips parted as her fingers glided through the fur as soft as butter. She frowned for she knew it came from a beast as rare as any. No wolf or mink could ever produce such a soft and white coat.

“Winter fox?” Y/N thought out loud, her big round eyes rising to her husband’s.

“To keep you warm if I do not return before the next winter,” said Cregan with a small smile although he could not hide the guilt and melancholy in his grey eyes.

Y/N looked at him thunderstruck. She did not care for the coat no matter how magnificent; all she wanted was her husband.

“Before the next winter?” gasped Y/N. “But … That could be years. That will be years.”

“I swore an oath, Y/N,” said Cregan with a heavy heart. “I cannot send my men south with no one to lead them.”

You swore an oath to me too, Y/N wanted to say but was glad she did not; the last thing she wanted was to argue. She understood that the realm was more important even if she herself would have let it burn to the ground if it meant her husband would remain by her side.

Y/N looked down at Cregan’s chest as her eyes welled with tears so hot they felt as cold as ice.

Cregan did not have the words to comfort her. He only pulled her into his arms, holding her head to his chest as she wept quietly.

*** ANOTHER 2 YEARS GONE BY ***

Many moons went by, then a year and then another during which Cregan’s letters maintained Lady Stark’s sanity. If not for her children and her ever faithful friend Lady Ellyn, Y/N would be sure to lose her mind. However, with one child running around and another at her hip - a daughter born in the late spring that she named Sarra - time went by quickly for the Lady of Winterfell after the first few moons without Cregan.

The council held news of the progress of the Targaryen war in the south. It received reports of the little prince Jaehaerys’ assassination, the death of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at Rook’s Rest, King’s Landing changing rulers faster than the wind changes in the North, and even news of Prince Aemond’s death met at the hands of Prince Daemon at God’s Eye, where the lake swallowed both Targaryen princes as well as their mighty beasts.

All the while the news of war arrived from the capital and its surrounding Houses, the Lady of Winterfell prayed in the Godswood for her husband’s safety, that neither he nor his army be met with dragonfire, and that he returns safely to her, to Winterfell, to see his son grow and meet his daughter.

Lady Stark taught her children the ways of the Old Gods and spoke often of their father. Sarra was but a near a babe still yet Rickon had known and loved his father well. He cried many a night after Lord Stark marched south, and Lady Stark cried too. However, as time passed by, Cregan’s absence became easier to bear and life forced everyone to continue living. Seed needed to be planted for the first crops and people were beginning to leave the winter town abandoned to return to their farms and fields. The castle needed mending after the harsh winter as did the Wall, and lords from all over North came to House Stark for help.

In the meanwhile, Lady Y/N grew great with child and her lady mother came to stay until the babe was born. Lady Y/N had it easier with Sarra than she had with Rickon both in terms of early sickness as well as her time in childbed. Her daughter was born in the early hours of the morning, the labour lasting only a few hours. Sarra was a small, fragile babe but quickly grew stronger as the spring turned brighter and warmer. Although Rickon looked much like his father when he was born, he had grown more and more into the character of both his mother and father. He loved climbing and riding and pestered Ser Harwyn every waking moment to train him at swordplay. Sarra, however, was silent and calm. She looked like her mother with eyes that were exactly like those of Lady Stark.

The summer neared when a raven arrived bearing Lord Stark’s grey direwolf. Lady Y/N sat with the letter in her husband’s solar and read.  

Beloved wife,

I encountered no war to speak of when my greybeards entered the red city. King’s Landing has long yielded to the many deaths of its kings and queens. I held court for six days to seek punishment for those who ended the life of King Aegon II, for no king should die of poison but on the battlefield with honour. I sought punishment for those too who conspired against the rightful heir. Many decided to take the black and join the Night’s Watch than to die at the blade of my sword. Those are the ones who will return north with me whilst many of my greybeards decide to remain in the south and in the Riverlands to attend the Widow Fairs.

I was offered a place in the king’s service that I could not accept. I long to return to you and our children, to see the towers of Winterfell rising before my eyes. When they place the crown on the boy king Aegon’s head, I will gather my men and we will march home.

Cregan

Lady Y/N reread the letter over and over again until it was engraved in her memory. Her heart beat harshly against her throat as her eyes watered yet she did not weep. She folded the letter and held it to her chest, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her husband’s chair. A ride from Winterfell to King’s Landing took a moon’s turn at the least, more with an army marching with you. Yet it did not matter. He was coming back. Cregan was returning home.

***

Lady Stark took to the Wolfswood with Ser Harwyn and an escort of knights following not far behind. She rode her mare neigh every day, the ash brown filly her husband gifted her after the passing of her beloved Blackspur. Lady Y/N named the beast Tempest for her temper and the ashen colour of her coat. Although Blackspurt had been wary of strangers but warmed up to them eventually, Tempest did not care for them. If she disliked any of them, she would show it by stomping her hooves or kicking, her teeth snapping at many a stableboy’s hand. But she was different with Lady Stark. There was a bond between the temperamental mare and the Lady of Winterfell no one could quite understand. Even in her pregnancy, Tempest sensed the change in her mistress, and whilst the horse did not care for her caretakers, she never lashed at children.

One evening Rickon resented his mother for not being to tell him when his father would return from the march. It has been close to two years since Lord Stark left for the south with his greybeards. The boy disappeared from his rooms in the night with no one being able to find him.

Lady Y/N’s first instinct was to check the stables and Squire but the boy was not there and the pony was in his stall. Whilst the castle was up in the search of Winterfell’s heir, young Rickon was hiding right where they first searched for him – in the stables. He meant to go to Squire, his beloved pony, yet as he stepped into he stable, the noise aroused Tempest.

Rickon tread carefully towards her, knowing of her temper but could not help himself. His curiosity was too great. He looked at the ashen brown mare in her stall, her breath coming out in clouds in the cold night. Rickon approached the iron bars of her door, carefully raising his hand to her muzzle. Tempest snorted, frightening little Rickon so much he fell to his butt. He did not understand why but he picked himself up and tried again. He brought his hand up to Tempest’s muzzle once again and let her smell him. Her muzzle was warm and wet against his touch, causing a smile to spread across Rickon’s lips. He carefully pushed open the door to her stall and met her, standing twice his size. His heart was thumping in his chest with excitement but he was not afraid.

They found the boy in the morning when one of the stableboys brought Tempest her grain and came to clean her stall. The mare was lying in the hay, staring warily at the stableboy whilst little Rickon slept against her belly.

Cold northern winds whooshed through the forest, rocking the tall trees of Wolfswood. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to their swaying crowns as she took in the fresh air after being cooped up in council meetings and hearing of the issues of the smallfolk. She had to condemn two thieves and a rapist – the thieves lost the same amount of fingers as the chickens they stole whilst the rapist chose death over taking the black and Lady Stark was glad for it.

Every time the Lady of Winterfell had to condemn a rapist she remembered the bandits who attacked her many years ago right there in the Wolfswood. She could not forgive herself for not taking an escort that time. If she had, the knights would have cut down the delinquents and they would never have had the chance to despoil that peasant girl. Lady Stark often rode past her father’s farm to see how they were living. When the girl wed last year, Lady Y/N then found a way to pass by her husband’s carpentry shop, making sure the girl and her family had everything they needed. It pained Lady Y/N to see the girl bow her head to her and curtsy clumsily when Y/N passed by on Tempest when she was the one who wanted to drop to her knees and beg the girl forgiveness.

“Have there been any more news from King’s Landing?” asked Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms at Winterfell, waking Lady Stark from her thoughts.

“Not since Rhaenyra’s boy was crowned,” said Lady Y/N, leading her mare up a gentle slope.

It has been more than two moon's since the youngest son of Queen Rhaenyra was crowned Aegon III Targaryen although the smallfolk had already named him Aegon the Unlucky.

“Mayhaps Lord Stark took rest at Riverrun,” suggested Ser Harwyn, following his lady up the slope on his tall red gelding.

Lady Stark did not say anything. She would not allow herself to think of Cregan’s return for she found it consumed her thoughts and she could not find the will to do any of her duties if she did so. When Cregan left to fight the wildlings shortly after they were wed, Y/N felt almost as if she were greeting a stranger when he returned; and they have been parted for only four moons. It has been more than two years since they last saw each other now. Y/N could not bear to think of her husband finding company in another woman’s arms, of his love for her blowing away like the leaves off a dying tree.

“I would return to the castle though Stone Creek,” said Lady Stark to keep her thoughts from drifting.

“Past the girl Alys’s house?” asked Ser Harwyn although he already knew the answer. He as well as any who were there that day when the bandits were tried and condemned by Lord Cregan Stark knew the wroth of the Lord of Winterfell and the justice of his lady wife.

It was Ser Harwyn too who found the girl for Lady Stark and told her of her name and where she lived. Alys wed a carpenter, a boy her age with yellow hair and eyes the colour of the sky.

As Lady Stark commanded, they passed though Stone Creek on the way back to the castle. It was a small village of some half a dozen farms and their respective fields. The smallfolk stopped their work when the Lady of Winterfell passed on her tall mare and bowed their heads with respect. The Lady Stark wore a gown of pale poppy red with hems and bodice embroidered in the string-of-gold. It has been more than five years since Lady Y/N of Whytefort became their Lady of Winterfell yet none of her beauty faded in that time. She only grew further into her womanhood although ruling Winterfell made Lady Y/N harder. It strengthened her back in her saddle and firmed her slender yet womanly body with authority.

Lady Stark passed by the girl Alys’s house. She saw her in her garden surrounded by blooming herbs as she fed the chickens, her newborn baby crying softly in its woven bassinet. It has been a while since Y/N passed through Stone Creek for the last time she saw Alys was when the girl was still great with child.

Lady Stark smiled to herself and spurred Tempest on. The escort of knights followed as their hooves thumped through the small village. Winterfell already rose in the distance when the sky turned grey, its menacing clouds foretelling rain.

The company spurred their mounts to a leisurely gallop as they crossed the fields and meadows back to the safety of the castle. A drop of rain fell here and there but Lady Stark hoped to reach Winterfell before the downpour. The air was thick with humidity in the face of the summer. Y/N thought she heard thunder in the distance yet her eyes fell upon a darkness beneath the walls of Winterfell.

Lady Stark reined Tempest to an abrupt halt at the sight of the massive host of warriors beneath her castle. Ser Harwyn and the knights pulled up their mounts to a sudden stop as well, their horses neighing and pacing anxiously.

The sound of Y/N’s heart echoed through her mind as hot fever crept up her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Gods,” gasped Lady Stark soundlessly as more raindrops began to fall but her gaze was set on the horizon.

Y/N's heels nudged Tempest’s belly as she urged her on with haste. They fell into a gallop so swift that Lady Stark’s hair escaped her pearl-embroidered net and floated freely in the wind. The castle approached quickly yet not nearly quickly enough. Tempest’s long muscular legs outran the other mounts who carried knights clad in heavy armour. Lady Y/N passed through the winter town, nearly knocking down a man and his flour cart in her haste. The sound of Tempest’s horseshoes against the cobblestones of the castle echoed in Y/N’s ears along with the wild beating of her own heart.

Lady Stark reached the innermost courtyard as thick raindrops began to fall in the thousands. As Y/N reined Tempest in, the young mare nearly rose to her hind legs. Tempest paced restlessly and snorted loudly as her breathless mistress sat frozen in her saddle. Y/N’s eyes found her husband standing beneath the stone canopy of the castle’s entrance, his formidable grey eyes awaiting the sight of the approaching rider.

Y/N’s breathing was loud and laboured as heavy rain fell down her face. Thunder echoed through the sky as Lord Stark came out to her. A stableboy rushed in and took the reins of Lady Stark’s mount. Cregan’s arms went to his wife’s waist as he lifted her from her saddle and helped her down. Y/N’s hands gripped onto Cregan’s arms, holding him tightly. To her, he looked the same as the day he left her. Her eyes welled with hot tears as heavy rain poured on the both of them.

“Is it really you?” asked Y/N, tears falling down her cheeks. Her body trembled. “Are you … Are you really back?”

Cregan watched her beautiful eyes, deep like pools with hope and longing. “It’s me,” he spoke as his large sword-calloused hand caressed her cheek, the tip of his thumb brushing across her lips. Cregan leaned in and kissed her desperately, having dreamed of this moment for what seemed to him a hundred years. His arms locked around Y/N’s waist, her feet no longer touching the floor. Even as they reached for air, their lips returned to one another’s, not being able to let go of each other’s bodies.

“Father,” said a small, breathless voice yet it was the only voice that could make the Lord and Lady of Winterfell tear away from each other.

Rickon stood beneath the stone canopy, not being able to believe his eyes either.

“Father!” called Rickon and ran out into the summer rain, his arms wrapping around his father’s neck. Cregan picked up his son and held the boy close to him, his heart aching with the time he had missed fighting for a crown he did not care for.

“Did you look after your mother, son?” asked Cregan against his son’s hair. Rickon pulled away, his big grey eyes meeting his father’s as he smiled.

“I did,” said Rickon proudly, “And I looked after Sarra too.”

Cregan turned to Y/N with Rickon securely in his arms. His grey eyes were drenched with guilt and love so profound he did not know how he was able to contain it in his chest.

“I would meet her,” asked Cregan, his voice soft as he stole another kiss from his wife. She took his hand and nodded as they got away from the rain.

Sarra was down for an afternoon sleep when Y/N showed Cregan to her nursery. The wetnurse stood up and bowed, startled as she saw the Lord of Winterfell had returned.

"Leave us please," Lady Stark gave her a small smile. The wetnurse bowed again and left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell with their daughter.

Cregan knelt beside Sarra’s small bed, his heart ripping into a thousand small pieces. A shaky breath escaped his lungs as he caressed his daughter’s soft hair from her face.

“She is so beautiful,” whispered Cregan, unable to take his eyes off Sarra. “She looks just like you.”

Y/N ran her hand across Cregan’s broad shoulders as she stood beside him, her heart filled with so much happiness it brought tears to her eyes. The Gods listened to her prayers.

Cregan took Y/N’s palm and kissed it as rain dripped off her long hair. He looked up at her. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I missed you, my love,” said Cregan as he stood up, his hands cupping Y/N’s cheeks. “I always dreamed of you.” He caressed Y/N's face gently with his thumbs, his gaze memorizing her beautiful eyes. Cregan kissed his wife tenderly.

[torpublishinggroup]

This advertisement is for Swordcrossed by Freya Marske.

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

Mattinesh Jay is the chronically responsible eldest son and dutiful heir striving to keep his family’s business running. Luca Piere is a menace of a con artist desperately trying to escape his past by taking up the blade. When the pair meet, swords clash, and sparks fly. Soon, they’re entangled in a conspiracy that may bring Matti’s house to ruin if they don’t work together.

Want to see if it’s to your liking? We’ve included an excerpt from chapter one below.

Chapter 1 Matti laid his fingers on the polished edge of the bar’s wooden surface and forced himself to stop counting sheep. And yards of twill. And looms in need of repair, and outstanding debts.

Instead, he counted today’s collection of ink smudges, bruise-black on the brown skin of his hands: six. He counted the number of blue dyes that would have been used in the fabric of the bartender’s layered skirt: four, possibly five if the palest shade was true dimflower and not just the result of fading.

The tense throb of pain like a fist clenched in his hair eased, grudgingly, to a quiet ache. Bearable. Normal.

It was busy in the drinking house, the post-dinner hour that usually found Matti heading back to his study to finish the paperwork that a member of his family had tugged him away from in order to eat. Matti counted the number of flavoured jenever bottles on the shelf behind the bar—fifteen—in the time it took Audry to finish serving her current customer and sweep her sky-coloured skirts to stand in front of Matti. “And here’s a face we haven’t seen in a while! Something tells me you’re here for a celebration, Mr. Jay.”

Matti hoped the smile he’d pulled onto his face wasn’t the wrong size, or the wrong shade of abashed. “News travels fast.”

“Mattinesh Jay and Sofia Cooper. A match surprising exactly no one.”

Matti kept the smile going. There was a silence in which Audry politely didn’t say, Pity she’s in love with someone else, and so Matti didn’t have to say, Yes, isn’t it?Audry said, “Wait here a moment. I’ve got something in the back that I think will do nicely.”

Matti cast a glance over the room as Audry disappeared. His cousin Roland made an extravagant sighing motion and pretended to check his watch when Matti’s eyes landed on their table. A burst of laughter came from a dark-skinned woman nearby; she was wearing a dress that rode high at the knee to reveal a fall of lace like frothing water, a northern style of garment that Matti’s own northerner mother seldom wore these days.

At the closest table the Mason Guildmaster, Lysbette Martens, was deep in conversation with a senior member of the Guild of Engineers. Martens met Matti’s gaze with her own and nodded brief acknowledgement. He was sure she was weighing his presence as consciously as he was weighing hers. This was a place to be seen, after all.

“Here you are. Red wine for young lovers.”

Matti turned around again. Audry named the price for the bottle as she uncorked it and set it on the bar. Matti paid her, ignoring the lurch like a fishhook in his stomach at the amount on the credit notes he was so casually handing over. Mattinesh Jay, firstborn of his distinguished House, had no reason not to indulge in one of the finest bottles of wine that money could buy.

No reason that anyone here would know about, anyway.

Matti took the bottle in one hand and hooked three glasses with the other. Making his way over to the table, his mind circled back to dwell on the wrong sort of numbers. The money in Matti’s purse was painstakingly calculated: enough for the first round of engagement drinks, and enough for him to hire a top-of-the-range duellist who would step forward in the awkwardly likely event of someone challenging for Sofia’s hand at the wedding itself.

Matti’s skin prickled cold at the very thought of what might happen if Adrean Vane challenged against Matti’s marriage to Sofia and won. His family’s last hope would be gone. Matti would have failed them in this, the most useful thing he could do for them.

He was so caught up in this uneasy imagining as he wove through the room that he collided, hard, with another person’s shoulder. Matti was both tall and broad, not easily unbalanced; the unfortunate other member of the collision made a grab for Matti’s coat, couldn’t get a good grip, and tripped to the ground with a caught-back “Fu—”

Matti tried to step backwards. They were crammed into a small space between tables and there were people moving around them. His first panicked instinct had been to keep the wine bottle upright and the glasses safe, so he didn’t have a hand free to steady himself on a chair.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, except that he ended up wobbling and stepping forward instead, and he felt his boot come down on something that was not the floorboards. A small, pathetic, grinding mechanical sound crawled up Matti’s nerves, heel to head, and reached his ears even amidst the noise of the busy room.

“Sorry!” he said at once. “I’m sorry. Was that—Oh, Huna’s teeth.”

The man on the floor jerked his head up, staring at Matti, and Matti stared back.

For a moment all that Matti could see was the wide, straight line of the man’s mouth, set beneath an equally straight nose, and the frame that set off the whole: the dark, luminous copper-red hair that seemed to be trying to grow in about ten different directions.

The man’s tongue darted out in a nervous mannerism, wetting his lower lip. Something in Matti’s own mouth tried to happen in a yearning echo.

“Would you please lift,” the man said precisely, “your godsdamned foot?” Heat flooded Matti’s face. He snatched his foot backwards with enough force that his heel collided with a chair leg.

The redheaded man stood, his fingers closed convulsively tight around a small velvet bag. His brown coat was shabby and made of a coarsely woven fabric, though his shirt was good and his trousers had probably been equally so before they’d been overwashed into a patchy shine.

“Fuck fuck shitting—fuck,” the man said in tones of despair, with a lilt to his accent that placed him at least one city-state farther east: Cienne, or possibly Sanoy. He shook the contents of the bag into his palm and ventured into new realms of inappropriate language as he did so.

Enough people had witnessed their collision, or had their heads turned by the stream of expletives, that there were a fair few necks craning to see what was in the man’s hand. Matti, at whom the shaking fingers of this hand were pointed most directly, couldn’t help seeing for himself the ragged, glinting pile of cogs and jewels and glass. Only the intact cover—monogrammed in a swirling, engraved H—spoke of this pile’s previous existence as a pocket watch. A very expensive pocket watch, by the look of it.

The man’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “Guildmaster Havelot is going to use my arm bones as a fucking lathe. He only had it made to order, and he only trusted me to pick it up, didn’t he? Two hundred gold. Fucking fuck.”

“I’m so sorry,” Matti said again. He recognised the name: Havelot was the Woodworker Guildmaster in Cienne. “Truly. I can—” He stopped. The abrupt lack of his words created a silence that seemed to suck noise into itself, as conversations died to murmurs and the onlookers sensed something interesting.

The man looked straight at Matti with a stubborn lift of his chin. His brows, the same absurd colour as the rest of his hair, had sprung up into the beginnings of hope; as Matti’s silence grew longer, they lowered again. And then lowered farther. He swept a look down and then slowly up Matti’s own outfit, and now pride warred with scorn in the way those maddening lips pressed together.

Matti felt sick. His own coat was made of the finest wool, a midnight blue cut perfectly to his figure, and the rest of his clothes were of the same quality. He was holding a bottle of extremely good wine. Anybody looking at him would make immediate assumptions about the amount of ready money that Matti might have, and the ease with which he would be able to reimburse a poor clerk, if he’d just ruined a pricey piece of artificer’s skill that the man’s employer had trusted him to travel all the way to Glassport to collect.

Of course they would make these assumptions. That was the point.

Matti swallowed and felt the burning heaviness of his purse redouble. He’d be left with enough to a hire a duellist, yes, but not one of the highest skill. It wouldn’t buy himself and his family the absolute security they needed.

His friends were looking at him. It seemed like every pair of eyes in the drinking house was looking, and in another moment the murmurs of curiosity would turn to murmurs of disapprobation. I thought Matti Jay had more honour than that, they would say. What’s two hundred gold to someone like him?

Besides, the plain fact of the matter was that Matti had broken the watch. And he couldn’t pretend that he and this man with his proud mouth and poor coat, patched at one elbow, were on an equal footing. Even if he were left without a bronze, Matti would still have influence, connections, the weight of his family’s name. That was still worth something. For now.

So that was that.

“I—I really am sorry.” Matti set the wine and glasses down on the corner of the nearest table and pulled his purse from inside his coat. He kept his gaze on the man’s face, on a pair of eyes that were either grey or brown—impossible to tell from this angle—and urgently willed them not to look away. To a degree that seemed irrational, he wanted to banish the judgemental expression from the man’s face. “Of course I’ll cover the cost. Two hundred gold. Who did the work?”

The man glanced down at the metal scraps in his hand, as though the answer might be hidden in the pile. “Speck,” he said at last. “Frans Speck, in Amber Lane.”

“He’s a fair man. Tell him what happened and he’ll rush through the repair job,” Matti said. He held out the century notes.

The man tipped the wreckage of the watch back into the bag and closed his hand around the money, slow and wary. His fingertips had rough patches that scraped against Matti’s own, sending a tingle up Matti’s arm.

“I appreciate it,” the man said. He looked less cold now, though still nowhere near warm. “You’ve saved my life. Really.”

Matti forced himself to smile. Forced himself to say, “It’s nothing,” as though it really were nothing.

The man nodded awkwardly at Matti and tucked both money and bag into a pocket. Then he turned and was gone, headed for the door.

Matti somehow made his way to his table and sat down. His heart was pounding so loudly that he could barely hear anything else, and he wanted to shout at his own blood to be quiet and let him think. He needed to be alone in his study. He needed to contemplate his options, and make lists, and pore over the accounts for the thousandth time, in case they transmuted themselves into a picture of prosperity instead of the ugly, desperate reality that nobody outside of Matti’s immediate family knew about.

“Two hundred gold,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Two hundred.”

“We saw. Hard luck,” his cousin Roland said, making a face.

Perhaps it was stretching the term to call Roland and Wynn his friends, but they were the closest thing Matti had to members of that category, and the only people he’d been able to think of to form his wedding party. At least the three of them never found it too hard to pick up their acquaintanceship again, even if it had been months since their last conversation.

Wynn turned the bottle of wine to inspect the yellow butterfly on the label. “How appropriate that we’re drinking wine from your betrothed’s own winery.”

“Audry’s idea of a joke, I think,” Matti said. The word betrothed had landed in his ears like a piece of music played in an unfamiliar key; his mind was still turning it over, trying to decide how it felt about the melody. His hand was shaking as he poured the first glass, sending the stream of dark wine shivering and slipping. He’d steadied it by the time he poured the second.

“Huna smile,” he said, opening the toasts by lifting his own glass. “Thanks for agreeing to stand up with me, you two.”

“Drown your sorrows in this one, and by the time we hit the next bottle you’ll remember that you’re here to celebrate. And that once you’re married to Sofia Cooper,” Roland went on, lowering his voice sympathetically, “Jay House will be rolling in enough money to replace a hundred watches.”

Except that Matti had to get himself successfully married in the first place. And he’d just lost his best guarantee of doing so.

He let the old, gorgeous wine flood down his throat until a good third of his glass had vanished. He felt lightheaded; it had to be panic, because the wine couldn’t be working that fast. Panic and a sense of becoming unmoored. And the image of the man’s face, pale and sharply beautiful, gazing up from where he was kneeling at Matti’s feet.

“A fair effort,” Wynn said, when Matti put the glass down. “But I’ll show you children of Huna how it’s done.” He raised his own glass. “Agar fill your plates and cups.”

Matti smiled and drank again, accepting the toast. Maybe the wine was working after all. He could still feel his panic, the wound-up watch of his worry, but he shoved it away into a recess of his mind: its own small, dark velvet bag. It would be safe enough there. It would last until tomorrow. Matti’s ability to worry was shatterproof.

For now, he was going to drink.

[vestaignis]

Парящие в небесах: монастыри Метеоры.

Метеорами (Μετέωρα) называют скалы на севере Греции, которые образовались более 60 миллионов лет назад и в то далекое время являлись каменистым дном доисторического моря. Они состоят из песчаника и обломочной горной породы и достигают высоты 600 метров.

Свое название эти скалы получили не зря. В переводе с греческого «Метеора» переводится как «парящий в воздухе». И действительно, эти скалы выглядят именно так – висящие, замершие в воздухе глыбы представляют собой что-то таинственное и божественное. Но самым диковинным является то, что на этих скалах разместились православные греческие монастыри, что добавило еще большее величие и очарование этому месту.

Первые кельи отшельников тут начали появляться больше 1000 лет назад. Считается, что некий Варнава обосновался тут в 950 году, а затем к нему стали подтягиваться и другие монахи. Два-три века образованная ими монашеская община жила без особых проблем. Но потом в 13-14 веке в Фессалию потянулись любители лёгкой наживы, вроде крестоносцев и турок. Несколько монахов бежали со Святой горы Афона в Метеоры. Один из них, Афанасий, и положил начало строительству монастырей. Всего их было 24, но дожило до наших дней только 6 — четыре мужских и два женских. Сегодня монахи в Метеорах живут по строгому Афонскому уставу, не имеют частной собственности, работают в монастырском хозяйстве, наставляют прихожан, занимаются просветительской деятельностью и культурными проектами типа возрождения византийской музыки, обучения иконописи и создания музейных экспозиций.

Опытные туристы считают, что в Метеоры нужно обязательно приезжать с ночёвкой, чтобы спокойно погулять днём по монастырям и сделать их фото при дневном свете и вечером, когда монастыри освещает закатное солнце, или когда в монастырях зажигают огни…

Floating in the sky: the Meteora monasteries.

Meteora (Μετέωρα) is the name given to the rocks in northern Greece, which were formed more than 60 million years ago and at that distant time were the rocky bottom of a prehistoric sea. They consist of sandstone and fragmentary rock and reach a height of 600 meters.

These rocks got their name for a reason. Translated from Greek, “Meteora” means “floating in the air.” And indeed, these rocks look exactly like this – hanging, frozen in the air boulders represent something mysterious and divine. But the most outlandish thing is that Orthodox Greek monasteries were located on these rocks, which added even more grandeur and charm to this place.

The first hermit cells began to appear here more than 1000 years ago. It is believed that a certain Barnabas settled here in 950, and then other monks began to join him. For two or three centuries, the monastic community they formed lived without any particular problems. But then, in the 13th-14th centuries, lovers of easy money, such as the Crusaders and the Turks, began to flock to Thessaly. Several monks fled from Mount Athos to Meteora. One of them, Athanasius, began the construction of monasteries. There were 24 of them, but only 6 have survived to this day - four male and two female. Today, the monks in Meteora live according to the strict Athonite charter, do not have private property, work in the monastery economy, instruct parishioners, engage in educational activities and cultural projects such as the revival of Byzantine music, teaching icon painting and creating museum exhibits.

Experienced tourists believe that it is necessary to come to Meteora with an overnight stay in order to calmly walk around the monasteries during the day and take photos of them in the daylight and in the evening, when the monasteries are illuminated by the setting sun, or when the lights are lit in the monasteries…

Источник: //tourpedia.ru/meteora-monastery/ ,//alexio-marziano. livejournal.com/193649.html,/www.airpano.ru/gallery.php?gallery=77, /www.vash-otdyh.by/images/Blog/Greece/Meteora/Греческие_ Метеоры.jpg,/pikabu.ru/story/meteoryi_gretsii_7932658,/dzen.ru/a/ZDlcHwAyoF1ar_Nf,/tourpedia.ru/meteora-monastery/,// t.me/roundtravel.

[gotranting]

The Winter Feast - Part Two

Cregan Stark x Female Northern reader Summary: The last celebration before Winter comes. A time when blessings and protection are sought from the Old Gods. A time of feasting and song before the biting blizzards arrive. A time to indulge in all pleasures before survival becomes the only thing that matters.

A/N: You can technically read this without part one as that was an introduction to the characters. English is not my native language, and any constructive criticism is welcome! ...I think the grammar is in order. Would hope so. *Hides behind the Wall*. Is it too sappy? Warnings: smut at the end, slight breeding kink, fluff, minimal description of reader (red hair, brown eyes). I tried to use Y/N as little as possible. Hope you enjoy!

The Feast was a magical affair. Fire embers lit up the night sky as the sound of drums echoed through the forest.

Sat on a wooden bench, an elderly woman created all sorts of creatures with her hands, as the children around listened to the tales of monstrous beings beyond the Wall. Huddled next to each other, some shivered, others covered their eyes with their little hands, yet they could not stop listening to all the frightening details of each tale.

No matter where you turned, one could hear the chatter about all sorts of subjects. From shared worries about the oncoming winter, to idle gossip about the neighbour next door.

The sweetness of mead was felt heavily in the air as men and women joined together in their merrymaking – singing the Northern songs, their voices complimented the jolly tunes of drums and lutes.

...That is, singing was done by those who had not been defeated by one bottle too many. True, even those who decided to empty their tenth cup, before the Feast even began sang along. Although, many who heard those screeches hoped that the drunken sleep would take over as soon as possible and rid them of their misery.  

A lively affair indeed.

But the largest attraction stood proudly in the middle of the gathering. A massive bonfire, made specifically for the celebration. Its flames danced along with the common and highborn folk alike, all lost in their own music. Children ran around the fire, some folk danced on their own, elders were moving as much as their old bones allowed them to.

The young lovers, who wanted a blessing from the Old Gods, jumped over the blazing flames, hand in hand, as others cheered and wished them a long and healthy union.

And there, far away from the light of the flame, shielded by the deep green branches of the trees, were lovers who wished to dance to their own tune. Either they already jumped over the flames, or they did not care for such trivialities. Some tried to hide from disapproving members of their kin in order to have their own moment of peace, as bittersweet as it was for them.

One last moment of peace before Winter arrived. Last time for the folk to release all of their troubles, before survival became the only important matter in their life. This was a time of songs, dance and spending time with family or friends. For one knew that not all would survive the harshness of the arriving blizzards.

Sacrifices were brought to the Old Gods, in hope that they would protect them all. Food and drink covered the tables, while the rest of it was stored safely for the harsher times.

If there were any mischievous children trying to sneak into the pantry, Aida would welcome them. From then on, their plan was doomed to failure.

Same went for the young lads who tried to snatch away one more barrel of ale to their company. Woe to the man who was caught by the watchful eye of Aida.

„That wench is like a guard dog standing beside those barrels“, grumbled Arnolf as he tried to devise a strategy to get closer to them. At least one.

„You could always try and sweet-talk her dear friend“, laughed Osric taking a swig of his own mead.

„Tried it, and it did not work!“, Arnolf cried out, still in disbelief that his charm did not sway the old crone.

„Well, if you hadn't asked her if she wanted to join you in the forest and taste something far sweeter than mead, perhaps she would at least refrain from hitting you right after the words left your mouth“, Osric added.

„Oh, then you do it. Come on now, show us how it is done Lord Mormont. Let us see the mighty bear come alive!“

„Maybe I will dear friend if only so you would stop whining for a moment." Taking another swig, Osric glanced to his right.

"Or, we could send our Warden to use his wolfish charms on her. Instead of snapping his head to the crowd every time a redhead passes by.“

Cregan averted his gaze from the dancers, at the mention of his title. Aye, he sought the young sorceress, however he should do so with some resemblance of control.

Besides, he wasn't sure if she would even join the festivities in the end. Even though, the feast was the type of gathering she rarely missed out, her plans often changed. It was quite possible that she ended up celebrating on her own.

Or, whispered a voice in his head, she might already have company. Stormy eyes glanced at the darkness beyond the fire, his thoughts creating an image of her sprawled on the forest floor as some inexperienced boy tried to pleasure her in vain.

His grip tightened around his cup as another image appeared of her, only this time with a man – one who knew well how to make a woman cry out their name.

„Dear brother, whatever did that cup do to you?“

Too engrossed in his thoughts, Cregan did not even notice a new member joining their group. He scolded himself once more.

A Warden on whom thousands of people depend on, cannot allow himself to be taken by surprise like that.

Releasing the cup, he turned to his sister, as she beamed innocently at her older sibling.

„Sara“, he nodded, gruffly as she kept on grinning.

„You are looking the wrong way“, she muttered taking a swig from her cup.

„Am I now? And what exactly would I be looking at sister?“

Sara could only snort as her brother tried to seem disinterested.

Nodding off to the left, she watched Cregan's face softening as he noticed the young woman standing by the fire.

„My job here is done“, she turned to their friends, finding their banter far more amusing than her lord brother's incompetence in approaching a woman.

Cregan was in awe. What a sight she was.

Standing at the edge of the dancers, her curls resembled the very flames that surrounded her. She smiled fondly as another couple jumped over the fire, laughing as her friend dragged her into the crowd.

The drums were becoming louder. 

He watched as she twirled around with a black haired woman, both of them picking up the pace at the merry tune. Cregan's heart stuttered, as she threw her head to the night sky, releasing a wild cry along with the rest of the townsfolk.

Perhaps the Southerners were right in calling them savages. No matter. None in the crowd cared for any of the nicknames as they lost themselves in the roaring of the drums.

„You could join them you know? They would be glad to see their lord among them“, whispered Sara as she turned to him once more.

„I am among them, in order to protect them Sara, should something happen. A lord cannot just abandon all of his sense for a fleeting moment of pleasure.“

He could see the annoyance at his answer. His sister never failed to voice out her displeasure, and this time was no different.  

„Cregan, you are not one of those lordlings that cannot lift a finger without being instructed on how to perform each fucking movement. Aye, you are our Warden, but do you honestly think we expect you to be proper all of the time?“

Her tone softened at her next words, as she tried to catch her brother's gaze.

„The elderly here remember the small boy who ran through the town with his leathers all covered in mud. A boy that loved the company of the common folk, who loved to observe as the blacksmiths brought in new material for their weapons.“ A cheeky grin flashed over her face.

„A Northerner. If we wanted a proper Southern princeling, we would have made it known.“ 

As she recalled their childhood, Sara was well aware how fast it all changed after their father's death. Suddenly, most of their freedom was gone. Cregan had to adapt to his new title, as new problems appeared every day. He handled them well. But there was no time left for carefree rides through the northern tundra. No more time for competing in archery with his sister. No time to visit Y/N, as much as he wanted to.

The betrayal of their own uncle hardened the young lord unlike any battle he fought.

Starks valued family and honor above all else. Many Northerners did, no matter their last name.

It was an unbearable pain, witnessing to what lengths his own kin was capable of going to, in order to obtain power.

His uncle now rots in chains. It is still no easy task, to sentence one's own family to such a fate.

Now all grown up, Cregan was as gruff as any Northerner. Sharp with the greatsword, and ruthless to those who tried to use sweet words in order to hide the truth.

He was not as happy as he once was, Sara knew that. His attention was on the Wall, on helping his people to survive, and on ruling his country. Boyish dreams were forgotten.

Alas, she knew her brother was still capable of quick remarks, especially in the company of Arnolf and Osric. Or when he was with her.

Or, with the young woman whom he waited for the whole evening.

A wave of sadness washed over her as she witnessed how her brother kept seeking out her friend. Nudging his shoulder, she nodded towards the crowd.

„Go to them. ...Go to her. Allow yourself one night Cregan. Whatever it may bring.“ 

Cregan thought about his sister's words. His eyes found the redhead once more, right in the moment she leaped over the fire.

The drums thundered as the dance began to transform into something far more primal. He watched her eyes falling shut, as she followed her own rhythm. Curls ruffled by the wind would not stand still, as she spun around.

Sara only smiled as her brother left their table.

.

Y/N was startled to see Cregan walking towards her as she reopened her eyes.

Cloak left behind, it was easy to admire him dressed in leathers, the Stark sigil lying proudly over his chest. He always looked handsome, she thought with disdain. With the firelight as their only source of lightning, it all became a rather intimate scene as the pair met in the middle of swaying bodies.

„I thought you would already be lost in your own celebration somewhere“, Cregan greeted her, as he surveyed the people around them.

An unfamiliar woman had her legs wrapped around her partner, as they ground against one another. Another man's hands roamed over his partner's body as they moved towards the forest.

The children had left the bonfire, as the drums changed their pace. Mostly young men and women remained, as others either succumbed to their mead, or discussed other matters, not paying much mind to the dancers.   

„Later perhaps. I still owe a few drinks if I remember well.“ Although, seeing Arnolf and Osric barely sitting upright, perhaps drinks should be saved for some other time, she mused.

„I did not think you would partake in this part of the Feast lord Stark.“ She never expected him to, knowing that he preferred to keep to the sides.

„I did not plan to. Sara thinks it will do me some good“, he looked around him once more. „I'm not sure I remember the steps of this dance anymore.“

„It is certainly not the kind of dance they teach you in the great halls,“ the girl chuckled under her breath.

„Look around you Cregan, and follow the movements of others. There are no rules to this, one dances how they wish to, that is the beauty of it.“

Truly, each pair moved to their own tune. Cregan sought out someone who danced on their own, and found that only a few twirled without a partner by their side.

„It is not a dance for one person alone it would seem?“ he huffed out a breath as he stood unmoving. The sweat clad bodies around barely left any space between as they glided against one another.

...It was difficult to tell who collided with the young pair, but both were brought back from their observations as his hands grabbed her waist, luckily preventing them from falling.

She could feel each beat of the drum coursing through her as she gazed up at him, only to find grey eyes already boring into her.

He cared little for anyone around, his voice only heard by the two of them.

„Will you teach me?“

She found herself nodding before she had time to think anything through, her hands covering his own. Trying to hide her own nervousness, the little witch smirked at Cregan.

„Think you can keep up Lord Stark?“

The proper titles once more. He could not help but want to hear her teasing each morning.

Another image appeared in Cregan's mind. Both of them laying in his chambers. Him nipping at her neck each time the words lord left her mouth. Not that he would stop once she gave up and used his name. It was only imagination, yet he could hear so clearly each laugh that would escape her as he trailed over her more sensitive parts.

Her hands left his own, lightly trailing over his chest. Breath catching in his throat, he was brought to the reality.

The wind picked up, as the fire blazed behind.

„Dance how you wish to Cregan...“ the girl whispered, as she circled around him, her hands gliding over his back.

As if the vixen was unaware that if he were to move as he wanted to at that moment, he would have taken her without giving a damn who watched.

He had to let her set the pace. Cregan could not trust himself with her hands all over him.

Alas the self control did not last for long.

Hooded eyes met her as she stood in front of him once more. Cregan watched as she threw her head back, her eyes fluttering shut. Mouth falling open, as another laugh escaped her, he watched utterly spellbound as this girl in front of him allowed herself to be free. He wanted to be so as well. With her if she would let him.

Damn propriety.

In one swift motion, Cregan pulled her towards him, his hands wrapping underneath her thighs, lifting her into the night sky. Her smile turned into a gasp, as he watched what little of the brown hue in her eyes disappeared. Smiles fading, both tried to control their breathing in vain. Whatever control was left, it was bound to snap at any moment.

It snapped when the girl made the first move. When he felt her hips slightly rolling against him, as she tried to adjust in his arms. When he heard her gasp as she felt him hardening below her.

Cregan could excuse her the first time.

He could only groan the second time he felt her move against him, his head burrowing in the crook of her neck. His hips responded to her own, the scent of her making him lose what little sanity he had.

„Perhaps you do know the dance after all“, she gasped. Cregan only hummed against her, his lips busy with tracing an invisible line up her neck. She could barely feel his lips on her, as he seemed to enjoy torturing her.

She needed air. More so, she needed to stop him before he did something he would regret.

„Cregan, we can't...“ her sentence was lost in another quiet moan as he left an open mouthed kiss over her pulse point. She would've let him take her in that moment. Gods, she would let him do whatever he wanted right there. But one of them had to think rationally.

Feeling the graze of his teeth, she wasn't sure if she could achieve such a task. Still, she had to try. Cupping the back of his head, the girl pulled at his hair as grey eyes met brown once more. Or whatever little was left of the two colours.

He was beautiful like this. She wanted to see him without breath every day, as long as she was the cause of it.

No. She needed air.

Releasing the stone hard grip on him, the girl lowered herself back to the ground, but Cregan would not let her go, as he tried to memorize each part of her in this moment.

„You'll be the death of me“, he murmured, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Pointless, as the wild mane just fell back where it was.

„A slayer of the Wolf in the North. Now, that is a title indeed“, she whispered back.

The way he looked at her. As if she was Nature herself in all her wildest glory. The word witch never fitted her better, than at this very moment. She could see the adoration in his eyes.

Dare she say, even love.

Her chest tightened in pain. Air. She needed air.

And yet...

„I propose a hunt Lord Stark.“

Cregan narrowed his eyes.

„If you catch me, you win. If not, I take the victory.“

„And when I find you? What then?“ He tried to catch her mouth, but the vixen moved on time, her lips leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek.

„Do not get ahead of yourself my lord.“

With a devilish glint in her eye, she blended into the crowd, red curls the only trace Cregan could follow.

He only stood there for a moment, before heading after her.

.

Moving between gasping bodies, she didn't dare turn in case he was nearby. It was a thrill she had to admit, knowing that he was trying to find her. Wondering what he would do if he did.

Being skillful when it came to hiding in the shadows, she thought herself hidden well enough. After all, she was not the only one with auburn hair among the folk.

Coming to the other side of the bonfire, surely she could stop for a moment to admire yet another couple leaping over the flames.

It was always endearing when they jumped, she thought. The leap itself was a simple enough task, yet it symbolized the trust that lovers held for one another.

By tradition, they crossed the flames together, in order to have their union blessed by the Old Ones. It was a way to make their intentions known, before they took their vows underneath the Weirwood Tree.

A binding ritual of sorts, it was never taken in a light manner by those who chose to go through it.

As she watched another happy pair, she wondered for a moment if such a fate was in store for her. Would she want it?

When she jumped before, it was only with the intention to ask for the blessing of the Old Gods. That she can continue to help her people, and everything around her. But to jump in order to bind herself to another man? Could she do it? Did she want to do it?

Her musings were cut short as two strong arms wrapped around her waist. The chase was over.

„Found you“, he murmured, as he nosed at the sensitive spot behind her ear, tickling her as he did so. She always smelled of fir, and various sorts of herbs kept on her all of the time. Cregan tried to focus on that, hoping that it would help him ground himself.

Her hands came to rest upon his once more, as she leaned back into the warmth of him. Cregan's head rested on her shoulder as they both looked upon the fire.

„Jump over the fire with me Y/N“, he left a soft kiss on her shoulder.

Her breath hitched in her throat at that. Turning her head slightly, she was met with the same warm look from before.

Another painful tug at her chest.

„That is a heavy request Cregan“, her eyes softened, no doubt reflecting the same feeling back at him.

„Mead and the heat of fire can damage a man's mind just as any poison...“

He cut her off before she could finish that thought.

„Tonight, tomorrow, in five years, or ten I would ask you the same question Y/N. The mead plays no role in this, my mind is clear.“ He almost sounded offended that she could even suggest that.

„I was yours when we first went horse riding as children.

I was yours when you taught me which herbs are used in treating the strongest of fevers.

I was certainly yours when we fought side by side a few moons ago.“ Cregan's voice could barely be heard as he nudged his nose against hers.

„I'm yours every time you bicker with me when you worry for my safety. Just as I do for yours.

I'm yours. My mind is clear on that matter.“

And she was his. Surely he had to know that. Cregan could feel her hands trembling as she returned the nudging back to him.

But they could not. If he was to bind himself to anyone, it would be to strengthen an alliance, at least that is what the other houses expected of him. A southern lady, or one from the Riverlands to bring the two houses together.

And she couldn't either. There was no possibility of her abandoning her home or the woods, in order to become a Lady of Winterfell. She was bound to the land. Managing a castle, and bringing up heirs was not her future.

Her smile faltered. „We both have a duty Cregan... you know we cannot.“

„Damn the duty. Tomorrow is not promised to us Y/N. Other lords would come to understand. They know you. And they respect you. They would have a fierce lady protecting them, just as you do now.“

„A Stark forsaking their vows? The world must truly be on the brink.“

He did not smile at her attempt at a jest. Sighing the girl tried once more. „The Northern lords would understand. Others would not. You need alliances Cregan, especially now when there is talk of another war brewing.“

A sad fate. To have them be in love without being able to act on it fully. Another pair jumped, as they got lost in their own thoughts, holding onto one another. As the lovers rushed somewhere into the woods, Cregan nosed behind her ear once more.

„Then let us have this night together. In the morning we will go back to what is expected of us.“

The witch turned in his arms. Another nuzzle.

„Spend the night with me Y/N.“ 

...There were no words for an answer. Only rushing into the shadows as the young lovers laughed breathlessly. If anyone noticed, they were happy for their Warden. Alas, not many did, too occupied as they were in their celebrations.

.

Abandoning the light of the fire, only the Moon lit their path as they ran deeper into the forest. It was truly a joyous sight to witness them so carefree, even amongst all the trouble in the world. Cregan lifted her again, twirling her in the air, as she let out a shriek of laughter.

As soon as the first tree shielded them from the view, her back was met with rough bark as Cregan's mouth crashed against hers.

There was no patience, years of holding back catching up with them at last. Hands fumbled around, as both of them tried to reach any part of exposed skin they could find, letting out frustrated noises as the layers of clothing only slowed them in their goal.

For Cregan it proved even more difficult, as the little vixen tugged at his lower lip, her tongue quickly lapping over the sensitive skin.

Groaning, he pulled back briefly to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers.

"You're making me lose my mind woman," he rasped, as his thumb traced over her lips. Unable to restrain himself for too long, he pulled her back into a deeper kiss.

"I'm glad of it" she moaned, as he began to leave open mouthed kisses down her neck. "Gods Cregan..."

Cregan hummed at her words, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of her throat. He nipped at her skin, revelling in the taste of her.

It was frightening how she ruined him with only a few fleeting touches. Luckily, it seemed that he had just about the same effect on her.

"You're a sorceress," he mumbled against her skin, "I should lock you up for trying to seduce your lord." He was met with only a deep chuckle in response. She seemed to take it as a compliment.

Without warning, Cregan lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him, as he pinned her against the tree.

No prying eyes to worry about this time. They were free to do as they wished.

She could not help but laugh as he kept stealing small kisses from her, and each time she tried to deepen at least one, he withdrew far enough from her reach.

„You're not playing fair“, her eyes crinkled as he kissed the tip of her nose.

„If I'm to have you for this night alone, then I'll make love to you properly“, Cregan murmured, as he ground against her. She truly hoped no one was nearby, as a loud gasp echoed through the forest.

„I want to know what it would feel like to care for you each morning when you wake up“, another feather-like kiss to her cheek.

„I want to know each sound of pleasure you can make while I'm fucking you“, she tangled her fingers tightly in his hair, as grey eyes met brown ones.

„I want you. Even if it is only for tonight.“

Her hips met his thrusts as she watched him shut his eyes in pleasure. Releasing soft grunts each time her hips rolled against him.

Urging her on to keep doing so, just to hear him rasp her name again.

Putting more force into her next movement, Cregan lost his footing, pulling them both into the soft snow beneath them. He let out a breath as she fell on top of him, both laughing along before they continued to explore one another. She reached for the laces of his breeches, impatient now.

"Slowly little witch", he chuckled as he helped her with unlacing. Or perhaps he was of no help at all - distracting as he started peppering kisses along her neck, deciding right there that he loved how she stuttered when his mouth grazed over a specific spot.

Her turn, she thought. If he is to distract her, she would return the favour. Finally, moving the offending fabric aside, she wrapped her hand around him.

"Fuck, Y/N!"

Slowly stroking his length, Cregan let out a choked off moan, buckling involuntarily under her touch.

"Slowly, little wolf" she teased back. "We have all night". As if to emphasise her point, she slowed down her movements even more, gliding her finger back and forth only over the tip.

She was going to be death of him.

"If you keep that up", he barely ground out, "we won't last through the night."

"Good." she smirked, as her finger lightly traced under the head. Foreheads touching, both watched her hand sliding down his cock.

„Perhaps I want to see you come undone in my hands", she murmured. Each time his breathing became too laboured, she would put a stop to it all, loving to see him chasing after her. Loving to witness how his eyes scrunched shut in frustration, as he tried to control his breathing.

What she did not anticipate was for her skirts to be lifted, as Cregan roughly tugged her into his lap, thrusting hard along her slit. His mouth met her own, silencing both of their moans, as she tried to line him up to her entrance.

Steadying her with his hands, he would not allow her the full satisfaction. Even if it was torture for Cregan to feel her wetness, yet unable to fill her up as both of them wanted to.

They always matched each other, no matter what they did. If she was to tease him, he would show her exactly how that feels.

"Ride me."

A command uttered loud and clear, as stormy eyes observed the beauty above him.

There would be times for soft touches. Times when they would be able to fully explore each curve of one another.

He would come to her, or they would meet in secret once more.

It was foolish to think, they could keep apart after this night, no matter how much they kept lying to themselves.

She obeyed without question. Taking him into her hand, she lowered herself down, gasping as he filled her up completely. Breaths mingling, they clinged to each other, trying to adapt to the overwhelming pleasure.

After what seemed an eternity, two fingers at last tapped her hip, allowing her to set her own pace.

Cregan looked to the stars above them, as she started to slide up. Tightening her cunt every time she did so, his jaw clenched at the feeling, hands grasping her hips, sure to leave a mark on the morrow. Pleasure overtaking him, Cregan pulled her along, as his head met the soft ground.

He was beautiful underneath her. She watched his eyes shut in pleasure, his frown a reminder how hard he tried not to thrust into her.

She wanted him to take control. Wanted him as he was at the Feast. Without holding back.

Grazing her teeth over his ear, the girl mustered enough control to whisper. "Why do you hold back my love?"

With a sharp movement, she slid down until he was fully sheathed in her, leaving him completely out of breath from the sudden movement. „Fuck me Cregan...please. I want you to.“

He wasn't sure what made him buck sharply into her as deep as he could.

Perhaps it was hearing the profanities coming out of her mouth.

Perhaps, it was the fact she called him hers.

Cregan's hands guided her as she moved against him, as he tried to mark every part of her skin exposed to him.

"I want to taste you next time." An open mouthed kiss left on her neck.

"I want to feel you come undone from my mouth alone Y/N." His lips lowered.

When she cried out from the pain of his teeth marking her, he was quick to soothe her, his tongue lapping over the bruising mark.

A sharp tug on his hair, the girl pulled him back to her. Wanting to see him as he made those promises.

"And if I wanted to use my mouth on you lord Stark?"

A sharper thrust into her at the idea of it. As if she had to ask him.

"If I wanted to be the only one to pleasure you like this Cregan? Would you let me do so?"

"I'd let you do whatever you wished my lady." A breathless chuckle, as she limply smacked him in the arm at the nickname.

"I'm yours, and yours alone."

A heavy promise.

"As I am yours Cregan."

She begged him not to stop, crying out each time he hit the right spot, as only noises of skin against skin echoed through the air.

"I'm close" he choked out as she threaded her fingers through his hair, wrapping herself around him, fearing to let go. "Me too", she kissed the side of his cheek, her lips lingering there.

Pressing their foreheads together, stormy eyes met brown ones once more.

„Where do you want me to...“ "Inside...please. Inside, Cregan.“

It was difficult not to imagine what that could bring. At the thought of his seed taking hold in her, Cregan thrusted deeper.

Her arms wrapped possessively around him, not allowing him to spill anywhere but inside of her.

"Are you sure?" "Please."

Hips stuttering, he choked out her name, the sound muffled in her neck as she felt him spilling in her.

The lovers held onto each other, as they shook from their high. Barely any coherent words leaving their mouths, apart from sighs of each other's names.

...She must've whimpered as she clenched around him, for he was whispering sweet nothings to her, fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back, bringing her back to him.

Taking a moment to return to reality, Cregan nosed at the side of her head, urging her to look at him. Capturing her lips, the gesture was gentler than the previous they shared.

As the lust left them, he could not stop himself from leaving soft kisses over her face. From one on the cheek, to one on her nose, not finding it fair to abandon the other side.

Trying to catch her breath, the girl could still feel him inside of her as she moved. Feeling the mixture of them leaking down her thigh, a sudden shyness of what they had done started to grow, urging her to hide in the crook of his neck.

"What's this now?" Cregan murmured, his fingers gently caressing her back. "No need to be bashful, my heart."

He pulled her out of her hiding place, his hand under her chin, trying to catch her gaze. He looked at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her.

The curls were scattered in all directions. Red cheeks from the cold, and puffed lips, she looked completely wrecked. Cregan wished he could see her like that every day.

"Do not hide from me", his thumb traced the line of her jaw. "I want to see you. All of you."

Her eyes were filled with warmth as they met his own. Seeing the softness and love in them as he gazed upon her, she had to let him know. There was no point in holding back anymore.

„I'm yours...whatever may come, know that I'm yours Cregan.“

The words were not hasty mutterings, spoken in the moment of pleasure. He could see she had meant them.

„And I'm yours. From this day until the end of my days.“

Interlacing their hands he laid them between their hearts. The branches shielded the young lovers as they traded kisses, for however long the cold allowed them to.

True, they didn't jump over the fire tonight.

It mattered not.

They were bound to one another after that night, with the Moon as their witness.

It was amusing that both of them thought one night would be enough. They would always come back to one another, whatever may come.

[g-xix]

🔞White Mustang | WillNE

Summary: In which WillNE moves to Cusco, Peru in search of business as a mechanic, but finds his attention reverted to the woman across the street, who seems to blush at anything he has to say | Shy Peruvian!reader x Mechanic!WillNE Notes: 13.7k (LONG) fic, contains sexual themes, swearing and drinking. Inspo: this edit, the read-along playlist (best played in order), WillNE's Peru vid

song: perfect pair, Beabadoobe

There was something about that new guy that'd moved in opposite you. Tall with dark hair, messily slicked back to expose the milky pale skin and husky stubble, forearms and biceps showing definition with every movement as he pulled the bonnet of his car down, wiping his hands over a rag and raking his fingers back through the black locks with his eyes closed - head leaned back and adams apple bobbing, illuminated within the golden Peruvian sunglow which seemed to wash his skin with a rich tint.

You couldn't tell what it was about him, as you peeked through the creamy blinds which covered your window - paper shutters slicing back into the pads of your fingers as if telling you to stop being so nosy - the humidity making a sweat prickle over your bare shoulders as you found yourself staring at his own body, covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he'd worked on the bumper all day, wearing simply a wife beater and black, worker trousers.

He turned over his right shoulder, shocking you and causing you to stumble back from the blinds - knees bending as your calves hit a stool, toppling your body backwards with a bang as you messily attempted to escape being caught watching your hot new neighbour.

Hot? You repeated incredulously at yourself. Get a grip, one new face and you're already developing a crush... He hasn't even been here a WEEK and you're already getting heated up about him, get a hobby or something, woman...

The dinging of your oven was what eventually broke your mental berating, reminding you of the brownies you had decided to make as a little welcome gift for the neighbour two hours ago, when you hadn't quite seen him properly.

Now, the idea of walking up to the unreadable neighbour with a tray of baked goods felt a little bit silly.

Regardless, you picked yourself up and off of the space you'd collapsed onto, pulling the metal tray out and accidentally giving yourself a minor burn on the arm you'd fallen onto - leaving a bright red mark from the hot oven's side.

The air was heavy, sky painted a pomegranate pink with the purple twilight inching over the horizon and foreboding the night, hurrying your actions as you sliced the brownie into bite-sized squares - plating them up on a nice little dish that you'd hoped your mysterious neighbour would have the courtesy to return to you. 

Hurrying out of the door, you noticed that he had gone inside since you had last seen him from the window. Which made the process of giving him a little gift feel a lot more daunting, knowing that now you had to actually knock on his door and try to get his attention.

Your hand met the mahogany front door thrice, knocking at the wood before stepping back and waiting - looking down and only just noticing you hadn't exactly come in your best clothes: simply wearing a thin, white maxi skirt with an old Primark crop one of your friends had given - v-neck and thin straps perfect for dealing with the heat of the day, yet not so much the ideal outfit to greet someone with.

"One second, one secon'!" You were mildly surprised to hear a thick accent from behind the door, English and definitely Northern of some sort. 

And after a second or so, the door did swing open - yourself emitting a little gasp as you saw the man behind wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, hair dampened and a white towel slung around his neck. Yet for some reason, between the two of you, you were the one that flushed at the cheeks and broke eye contact abruptly, whilst he leaned against the doorframe with an unbothered grin, eyeing you up and down and smirking at your demurity. 

"Can I help you?" He brought your eye contact back as he asked the question, teasing lilt in his voice going straight over your head due to your flustered nature, only entertaining the brunet further. 

"U-uhm, sorry, yeah," You brushed your hair over your shoulder and took a breath to steady yourself, embarrassment already building within your throat from how much of as mess you felt you were. "You're new here? I baked some brownies sorta as a - uhm - welcome gift as your opposite neighbour..."

Holding up the plate of brownies, you watched as his expression fought mild surprise, looking up with a flattered grin.

"For me?" He repeated, steadying the plate which you handed to him. 

"Yeah, thought it'd be a nice little gift... Although I wouldn't be too flattered until you've tried them - I might've left them in for a bit long..."

He picked a brownie from the bunch, biting into one end and chewing with his eyebrows pinched together as if concentrating on assessing the taste, though his brows raised back up with a few head nods.

"You said you made these? They're fuckin' lovely - here -" His appreciation was cut short as he thrust the bitten brownie to your own face, holding it at perfect eye-level for you to take a bite... right from the piece he'd just eaten from. 

You weren't offput or disgusted by his action, but you were undeniably blushing from something more... guilty about the way you slightly liked his unfiltered confidence, uncaring of how you would respond to the almost intimate action - slotting the sweetness between your lips and biting down to take a chunk, your lips brushing over his fingers as you took your bite before pulling away, chewing down and barely even noticing the rich, chocolate taste under the intense eye contact which you held with him. 

"I think you've got something jus'-" He reached out, fingers finding the underside of your face, delicately leaning your chin just ever-so-slightly upwards so that his thumb brushed over the corner of your mouth, pulling away with a chocolate smudge over his finger before bringing it up to his lips, licking it away with a near pop sound with such unwavering eye contact you felt obliged to be the one to break it as heat spread across your entire face. "Didn't catch your name, sweetheart, I'm Will, just moved from London - can probably tell I'm from Newcastle by the accent, though."

"Right, yeah," You nodded, despite your heartrate erratically beating as though it was trying to rip through your ribcage. "New 'round here... How come you decided to move?"

"Business." He grinned, arms crossing over one another, having placed the tray on a nearby coffee table, you watched as his forearms redefined from the butter gold streetlamp's dim shine, the soft contour of the sculpted muscles making another round of sweat prickle over your back as a gentle gust of wind moved his hair a bit. "I'm a mechanic - down in the town - my old business partners moved here a few years ago 'n' I thought I'd join, given everything..."

"Mechanic, huh..." You pondered, now understanding why you'd seen him at the beautiful White Mustang all day. 

"Yeah, your car or any vehicle ever need any sort of fixing then I'm your man," He spoke with a wink, enabling you to laugh with him to cover up any signs of being flustered, this time. 

You observed the muscles on his arms a little more, the subtle definition and even the outline of the veins that laced around them, like lightning bolts wrapping around the dense forearms that lead up to bulging triceps and built delts which gave the illusion of a strong, broad chest and shoulders-

And you hadn't even realised that the two of you had stopped laughing, and your checking out had become not-so-subtle, as you made even contact with neighbour Will, who had a brow raised - half of his lip curled in all-knowing amusement. 

Embarrassing. 

"I-I think I'll head home now... You know, considering it's getting a bit dark n all-"

You attempted to slip away, scurry back into your house and away from being any further ridiculed for stupidity, though as you turned over your shoulder, you felt a hand on your arm prevent you from leaving.

Whipping back over your shoulder to see what held you back, Will's hand encompassed your wrist - firmly to hold you there - yet not forcefully to scare you. No, his eyes simply fixed on your skin, particularly two marks that had bloomed across the otherwise clearness.

"Oh, I just fell over and bruised myself today - they're nothing really," You rushed out as you yourself noticed the red burn alongside the darkened purple bruise. "Just some stupid accidents, y'know?"

His hand fell from your wrist, head shaking slightly before looking up with a small smile. "Right, my bad," he picked himself up from the doorframe, static electricity still playing over where his skin had touched your own. "You have a good night, I'll see you 'round."

"Yeah... you too."

As you wandered back to your house opposite the neighbour, all too aware of his eyes still on your back as you crossed the road and stepped through to your house, you couldn't say that your short discussion with neighbour-Will had you any less discombobulated.

song: My Love Mine All Mine, Mitski

Will played on your mind for the next few days. As you went between work commutes, late-nights on your laptop and occasional walks to the nearby market. 

Mainly, the fact that since that encounter, you hadn't seen him since. When you woke up to drive to work, his car was already gone. Return from work? He hadn't. Only sometimes during the early hours of the morning, you'd hear what sounded like his thick accented voice, alongside another Brit with a more typical posh accent. 

Only when the week groggily rolled around, from Sunday all the way through the undulatingly boring weekdays, back around to Friday - did you walk out to see Will stood at his car, tucking a spanner into the glovebox - the mere presence of the attractive neighbour that you hadn't seen in a while making your heart jump into your throat, skip excitedly manifest into your step as he looked up and saw you - smile spreading across his face.

"Look who it is," He greeted, holding an arm out at his side to introduce a side hug which you gladly agreed to, feeling his skin (warmed from the sun) blanket around your shoulder. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"No, been a whole week." You agreed, looking up to catch a glimpse of that face once more, having been mentally scolding yourself for the entirety of the past week for not looking at Will's face hard enough to clearly remember what it looked like. Dark brows, grey irises and a light stubble over his strong jawline; he was undeniably good-looking.

"You got any plans for tonight?" Will questioned, his middle finger tapping against the red body of the car in such a way you questioned whether he was a smoker. And whilst you personally weren't one to smoke, something about the thought of him leaning his head back with his adams apple bobbing as he exhaled a cloud, long fingers clutching the cigarette and stubbing it out - you felt yourself clenching your thighs together subconsciously, having to shake your head to remove the thoughts and answer Will's answer instead.

"Not really, I've got quite a boring night planned, just staying home, I think..." You spoke, almost shrivelling into yourself as you realised how boring you must come across to him. He seemed interesting - or at least like he did more interesting stuff than you. 

"So you're free?" He looked up, lips curving into a smirk that made you feel heat rising to your neck.

"Depends what for..."

"Well, there's a bar I found down in the town aaand I was hoping I could check it out with someone who might be more... local." He smiled at you, taking his tongue between his teeth afterwards and looking at you with prospecting eyes. "You wanna come down, tonight?"

"Tonight as in... Like, eight?" You were stunned to hear him asking you out. "Like, us, together, going out tonight...?"

"Us, together, tonight, eight o'clock." Will doubled down with a grin on his face at the shock you couldn't hide.

"U-uhm, shit, yeah let's do it, just... knock on my door and we can... go then." 

"It's a date, then." Will winked, pushing himself off from his car and surprising you with his height, gently pushing a strand of hair over your shoulder before saying "See you then," queueing you to cross back to your house with an overwhelming blush all over your face - shutting the door behind you before sliding to the floor with your back still against the door - placing your head in your hands in inexplicable feeling.

What. The. Fuck.

You weren't used to being asked out. Especially not that confidently - in person - by someone you'd known for barely a week... And now that you think of it, was he really asking you out in a romantic way? Everyone who lived nearby was either old or a family with children; was he just looking for a friend somewhat his age? 

And that stupid smile came back into your head, then, the crease of his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way he took his lower lip between his teeth whenever he was thinking...

You smacked the palm of your hand into your forehead to wake yourself up. Pull yourself together. 

Go get yourself a drink, your internal monologue spoke to you. Go and get yourself something to drink and ease yourself so you're not a stammering, awkward mess around him - and then go get yourself in something nice - even if he just wants to be friends, that doesn't mean you need to dress down or act any differently. Just get out there and enjoy. And right now, just get ready to enjoy. 

Song: Glue Song, Beabadoobee

"And don't you jus' look bloody gorgeous?" The tall Geordie commented as soon as you opened the door, leaning back against his car with his arms crossed and a smirk plastered across those lips as he looked you up and down, taking in the short skirt and top combination, your hair thrown over your shoulders and looking silky smooth as you closed the door, swishing as you turned over your right shoulder with dark liner and pinked lips that gave you an almost ethereal beauty despite the typical club sort-of clothes you wore.

You on the other hand, couldn't help but admire Will - wearing a white button up with blue paisley details that matched the navy bottoms he wore - (slutty) pearl necklace peeking out from beneath his collar, and his hair messily slicked back just like how you'd first seen it styled. He looked damn good. 

"What can I say, we both clean up nice," You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, stepping down the porch and allowing Will to open the passenger door to let you in (the chivalry of course warming your heart; something you'd thought a romance myth proved viable in reality) before getting into the driver's seat himself, resting one hand against the wheel and propping the other up on the windowsill - legs lazily manspread within the footwell - looking so effortless whilst he smoothly manoeuvred the car into the main road, you felt your core heating from your own seat.

The car you'd seen time and time again from your window was a beautiful ride. The convertible roof pulled back, exposing you to the warm night's breeze - and the speed Will drove at was just fast enough - sending you through the town at good pace, whilst the gentle winds lapped at your hair, making the strands lick at the sides of your face, the liberating feeling of the breeze against your tan skin allowing you to relax - melting into the creamy leather seats which were still warmed, from having soaked in the Sun's infrared rays during the day.

You could've fallen asleep in his car, you felt, as you watched Will's fingers meet the centre console, long digits messing with the volume dial until you heard a familiar oldie begin playing in the background - Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers sang their mellow tune through the speakers, Will's fingers tapping against the wheel and almost lulling you to sleep, despite the fact the night had even started... Yet as you neared the town, the familiar buzz of conversation and frenzied local nightlife met your ears, awakening you with the spill of music from nightclubs with open doors, and even street performers trying to earn some money, gathering little crowds who clapped or danced, whooping with enjoyment in their little masses.

The Mustang slowed down, pulling onto a spot on the side of the road before the engine rumbled to a stop, indicating the real start of the night as Will accompanied you out of the car - walking along the sidewalk alongside each other... When you realised:

"Will, where are we actually going?"

"New bar, like I said - it's called Cuzco Cantina, jus' a road down from here - I think one of my mates might even be playing tonight," He furrowed his brows in thought of the prospect. His hand wrapped around your far shoulder, pulling you closer into his body as a group of kiddos ran past the two of you, giggling with little fried picarones and surprising you momentarily, causing your hand to stabilise yourself against Will's chest - the movement enabling you to feel the firmness of his body beneath, clearly well sculpted and defined beneath the shirt - making a blush rise up to your face at the intimate contact before your hand dropped back down to your side. But you were no stranger to the fact that Will's arm remained comfortably around your shoulders even once the kids had passed.

You crossed through the street, admiring the corner shop which now donned flashing LEDs to to create a hazy green glow, illuminating the path ahead - something you had forgotten about since you'd not left the house at night in so long. It almost felt funny that Will was the one to ask you whether you could 'show him around the town', considering you'd not seen your town at night in too long - and the fact you could hear Will's voice in the 3ams of the night from your bedroom window only further told you that he might have a greater understanding of the town's nightlife than you did. 

The pink LEDs from a loud bar captured your interest as you read the sign above - Cuzco Cantina - Will's hand detaching from your shoulders to pull the door open and allow you in first, exposing you to a seemingly club-bar hybrid, with a serving space on one side, seating on another, and staged platform further down. The room jostled with activity and buzzed with life, the ambience of gentle clinks and thuds of the glass mugs against the wooden tables and pleasant hum of conversation lingering within the cooled air - still slightly heavy from the outside's rising humidity, yet countered by a few fans and cooling panels on the ceiling. 

"What d'you drink?" Will questioned as he pullet his wallet out, leading the conversation to a pair of barstools. 

"Oh, uhm, I'm not a very heavy drinker... I'll take any beer - Cusqueña Premium if they have one," You dug in your purse for the spare change you could find in the wallet which seemed to be stuck under all your other junk.

"Don't even try pay  - two Cusqueña Premiums, please, Sir -  " Will stopped you, interrupting himself to address the bartender.

"Well I can't just have you pay for my drink-"

"Yes you can." Will intervened, pushing his money over the counter in exchange for two ice cold and deliciously fresh seeming dark brown bottles, icy droplets still dripping down the side as though they were fresh out of an advert. "If I don' pay for you all the other men in here will try be trying to buy drinks for you."

You blushed at the compliment he gave, pulling the beer to your lips and taking a sip - looking off to the side to try and avoid him seeing the blush over your cheeks - though as you turned, you realised Will wasn't just flattering you... Some men had turned their heads and were definitely checking the pretty girl at the bar out.

Conversation bloomed between yourself and Will however, as he picked up a few questions about your job, your interests, your life... 

He made a nice change to your evening. Whilst most days you'd be in bed on your laptop by nine, it felt nice being outside, sat opposite someone for a change. And Will was such wonderful company. Date or not. He was so selfless - throwing question after question at you - and not shy to back down or back out of anything, his humour so flattering and simultaneously crude that you felt yourself get stitches from laughter multiple times.

"What's happening over there?" You squinted, watching a couple men scurry on and off stage, setting up a drum kit and a couple of microphones.

"Live music Fridays," Will tapped against the blackboard reading exactly those words behind him, nailed up against one of the wooden beams connected to the ceiling, creating a rustic warmth 'round the building. "This guy's James, one of my mates - comes round every so often."

You tuned in, hearing James' voice as he helped the drummer adjust his drum pedal.

"That the one who comes by your house at like, 3am every night?" You questioned, only realising the stupidity of the question after it'd left your mouth. Maybe that sounded just a little bit too specific and gave a stalker-y impression. Though you had to admit, that RP diction that fell from James' lips was undeniably similar to the voice you'd heard just yesterday (and the days before that) from the house opposite yours. 

"That's the guy," Will brushed over your stalker-ish tendencies (much to your relief), instead lifting his beer by the neck of the bottle and taking a swig before getting up and out of his seat - standing up with an outstretched hand and a devious grin as he put his beer down. "We gonna go or what?"

"Pardon?" You raised your brows and asked.

"Come up, before everyone hogs the floor and we're out back besides the bar." Will restated like it was obvious. You turned to look at the stage, seeing as a few people had already gotten up and out of their seats to stand below live-music-man, who had began his little pre-concert chat with the audience. 

"I don't really dance." You stated, shaking your leg slightly. You did dance. In fact, you'd been part of the underground freestyle scene for many years as a teen. You just didn't know whether it'd be awkward or not, and did you really want to take that risk with Will.

"Like fuck you don't dance, I know a dancer body when I see one -" His words made you choke on your drink, redness rising to your cheeks at the compliment laced within his words. "C'mon sweetheart, we don't even have to dance - we can sit right back down as soon as you aren't enjoying yourself - yeah?"

Will noticed your expression. Considering, but not sold.

You sighed and caved. "Fine-" Will cheered at your agreement.-, "-BUT as soon as it's too much I'm sitting RIGHT BACK HERE-!" Will had grabbed onto your hand and was too busy pulling you into the thickening company to even let you think about returning to the bar.

song: Duvet, Boa

You did end up returning to the bar. 

Not because you didn't like the atmosphere and being back to back with people, looking up into Will's eyes and bopping your head to the pop-rock guitar and drums that played from the stage - rather because you were getting so into the songs that you needed to rehydrate yourself with a few more drinks (which Will insisted on paying).

But as a cause of not drinking water a single time you went to the bar, you could feel yourself getting bit by bit more tipsy as the night continued, not realising just how drunk you were however, until you went from holding Will's hand and doing your little side-to-side dance, to bent over in front of him, still with your hand attached to his above your head, hips flush against his and dancing leaving no room for self respect. 

And the two of you were loving it.

"Thank you for coming tonight, that's me done, I hope you all enjoyed!" 

You joined in with the crowd that'd grown as time progressed, cheering as James Marriott took a bow alongside the band, the crowd dissipating and leaving with jovial chatter, electricity of the loud guitar and shouted songs still buzzing within the room.

"Bet you're happy you got up now, 'ey?" Will's arm found it's arm around your shoulders, his accent thicker with a few drinks in his body - the alcohol within your system boosting your mood and confidence as well, as your hand reached up to the one that lingered on your shoulder, interlacing your fingers with his whilst you giggled a reply.

"Over the moon, glad you invited me out," You spoke with honesty, giving a little shiver as you stepped outside with Will, the humid warmth having left the atmosphere within the early hours of the morning, leaving your arms to prickly with goosebumps at the uncomfortable coolness of the night.

Will detached his arm from yours, leaving you to turn to him with a betrayed expression at the cold that rushed your side from his lack of contact, feeling berefted until you realised he'd taken off his jacket, and was holding it up by the shoulders, opened up so that you could slip into it.

"C'mon, can't have you catching a cold the first time you agree to come out with me," Will shook the jacket with a bit of added persistence. 

"You sure you won't get cold, though?" You asked, Will just shaking his head. Too weighed down  by the dopiness of drinking, you just nodded with agreement and slipped into the oversized leather, feeling the inner lining warm your body, having retained the heat from Will's body. 

As Will opened the car door, you collapsed into the passenger seat, turning around and stretching as well, allowing yourself to comfortably sprawl over the centre console and Will's side also - lying across his lap without a care in the world.

"Y'alright, pet?" He asked almost cautiously, slightly worried upon seeing you sprawled out across his lap, clearly the alcohol taking it's effects more and more as time went on.

"Mhmof course," You responded, your hand placing high on his thigh as you lifted yourself up and off of his lap, instead plopping your head against his shoulder. "We should go out more often, I had like, so much fun, you couldn't even imagine."

"Oh I can imagine," Will's smirk was ubiquitous in his voice, his fingers dancing over your face to push strands of hair behind your ear whilst you felt his other hand inching over your thigh, palm sitting graciously over the soft skin whilst his thumb rubbed over your inner thigh with a teasing tempo, almost making you want to move his hand up higher.

Though you refrained from your impulsive urges and instead pulled yourself up and off of Will's shoulder, wanting to see his face again. 

He stared back at you whilst your eyes zipped across his face, taking in every ruggedly handsome feature of his face, all the way from the purple sweeping lines like paintbrush strokes beneath his eyes, to the little galaxies of freckles across his nose, each one a little pinprick star across his milky pale skin - eyes two glowing orbs of nameless colours - a symphony of greys and greens and ambers.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"I don't wanna take a picture, I wanna admire you whilst you're here in front of me." You mumbled your response. "Beautiful eyes."

Will was stunned by your confidence - his laid-back and cool demeanour only slightly thrown off by your forwardness, drastically juxtaposing the shy and flustered personality he'd found himself falling for over the past few days. 

It was untellable whether it was the weight of your body that drew you closer to him, alcohol fastening gravity's control over your body and letting you shorted that gap between him - or genuine acting upon inhibitions that made you lean closer into the man opposite you, eyes dilating and focussing on the almost delicious pink of his lips that seemed to be edging ever so closer to yours also...

You could feel his breathing fanning across your own lips, cool stream of air making the lipgloss across your lips feel colder and almost icy, almost begging for his lips to crash on top of yours and warm them up with his own -

"WILL, D'YOU WAIT FOR ME?" 

You jumped apart at the loud shout from further down the street, separating you from Will as the noiseless hum of the night was broken by a shout from just besides the lit cornershop - burly man with dark hair and a guitar fastened 'round his back ambling closer to the car.

"Yep, sure I did you great big donut," Will responded, agitation underlying within his tone as he withdrew his hand from your thigh, whilst the smiley James Marriott spotted you within the front seat.

"No way, absolutely loved your stuff up there, you're completely... Rockstar material." You splurged your praises, watching as James' face lit up with every little word.

"You really think?!" James almost exclaimed, opening the back door and putting his guitar safely in before clambering in himself. "Fucked up the chords for the opening songs."

"You really can't tell," You assured him, "You sounded like all those rock artist bands I see my girlfriends in England go to concerts for."

"My God you are a flatterer - Will, you never told me you had any friends that were actually nice-"

"He's not gonna shut up now you've started him," Will grumbled from besides you, revving the engine as he pulled out and sped down the street, making you laugh and lean back into the warm leather as you felt the wind sensation on your face once more - arms thankfully covered by Will's jacket, providing your body a fraction of warmth against the cold winds whilst James provided talking entertainment from the backseat until you found yourself back at your house.

"Right, are you staying at mine tonight then?" Will turned to ask James, James nodding with a little please, which Will obliged to with only a slightly begrudging nature in his voice.

You yourself stepped out with wobbly legs, body tired and almost begging for sleep, not used to late nights and drinking anything more than a glass of wine within one night. Will tossed  his keys to James so that he could let himself in - Will instead focussing his attention on you, and getting you to your house without falling or doing anything drunkenly stupid.

"Hey, pretty boy," You smiled up at the man who'd attached himself to your side. His hand sat on your waist, large fingers encompassing the space of your hip, protectively sat there so perfectly you considered taking his hand within yours and leading him upstairs to your room. Obviously just a drunken thought. But the size of his hands in comparison to your body was a thought which most definitely had you feeling something within your core. 

"Heya gorgeous," You paralleled your words, getting you up the stairs without a hassle. "Keys?"

You slot your keys into the door with minimal problem, twisting the lock with a click before turning away from your house to return back to your moment with Will, not quite wanting to say goodnight and end your time with Will, yet.

 Choosing to wrap your arms around him instead, your pulled Will into an embrace, letting your head sit against his chest as his own arms wrapped around your waist, hands folding together just above your behind, pulling you closer into his body as well.

"You know you gotta go in there and go to sleep, right?" Will chided, his voice husky and quiet, and chest sending vibrations through your body from the lowness of his voice - grounding you and reminding you of the close proximity between the two of you which only draw you closer to him.

"Can you come with me?" You requested, even shocking yourself with the statement. "I don't wanna end it with you here, tonight..."

There was a pause between the two of you, Will digesting the words and having to genuinely consider the prospect. 

"You need some sleep," Will spoke slowly, persisting despite the groan that left your mouth. "I don't wanna have you regret anything in the morning, you go to sleep and we can talk then, yeah?"

You let out a whine, and Will sighed in response.

"C'mon my girl-"

"Pleeaaase?" You looked up at Will, pupils blown out and expression so angelic as his eyes met yours - cheekbone softly outlined by the dim streetlight a few houses across. 

"Right love," Will bend slightly so that he was eye level with you, staring deeply into your eyes to maintain your attention as he spoke slowly. "I want you to go up, take your makeup and your dress off and put on some pyjamas - drink some water or eat some food if you need - and... I'll come over in an hour or so, yeah?"

You were convinced as soon as he'd made his promise. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you happily bade a short farewell, skipping into your house and doing exactly what Will had said - the sight of his grey eyes and face so close to yours relaying through your mind as you brushed your teeth, slipping into a nice silky pair of shorts and camisole instead of the normal spiderman PJs you would don. 

It was hot. Too hot. And so you cracked a window ajar, letting the sweet flow of the cool nighttime air into your room.

Jumping into your bed, you giggled as you looked at the time on your phone, audibly groaning at the sight of another forty-five minutes until an hour had passed and Will would join you in bed. 

Oh, Will...

Evanescent snippets of senses passed in and out of memory as you recalled the night - how Will had opened the door of the car for you, and how fresh and delicious he smelled as you had traversed the street together - the feeling of his hands over your waist and body as you'd danced at the club together - the way your faces were so close in that car you could practically feel static dancing between your lips, and almost taste the beer that lingered over his tongue -  his eyes grey and speckled with starry little nebulas as he'd talked to you outside the house a mere few minutes before, hair still slicked back, except the few strands that had messily sprung back over his face - shirt unbuttoned and pearl necklace almost teasingly peeking out from beneath his collar...

You could almost feel his fingers dancing over your wrists, beckoning further up your arm and pulling a strand of hair behind your ear - tracing down over your lips and the vulnerability of your neck until his fingers wrapped around the thin strap of your cami - pulling the silky material slowly down...

A heavy breath fell from your lips as your hand wrapped around your exposed breast, cupping the pliant flesh as your other hand explored further down your body, not bothering to pull your shorts off, but rather to simply move the skimpy material to the left and expose your already dampened core to your fingers - middle fingers swiping up your slit until you made a high noise at the stimulation of your sensitive spot, eyes rolling back and closing whilst your back arched off of the bed.

You rolled over onto your front, hips arching off the mattress as the pillow stifled an embarrassing moan - eyes already closed yet crushing together in the moment as you felt a pang whilst your fingers shaped tight circles and made your thighs shake whilst you imagined it was Will that was here -  between your legs, doing this to you. As though it were his forearms that clasped around your thighs and pulled your hips up - those long fingers running between your folds, collecting your arousal and pressing tight circles over your delicate bud and bringing you ever closer to your orgasm as he muttered sweet little nothing into your ear with that sexy accent you'd grown a passion for.... 

Truly unable to control yourself, your lips quivered, shakily pressing together and whispering,

"Ohmygod, Will..."

song: Sweater Weather, the Neighbourhood 

Will groaned as he saw James searching his fridge upon entering his house.

"C'mon James I told you before - I don't have shit in my fridge, if you wanna eat you've gotta tell me before and then I can get you a take-out -"

"D'you fuckin' bake?" James turned around with a plate of brownies in hand. "Or did you get weed brownies."

"No I don't bake, and they're not weed brownies," Will huffed at his friend's poor assumptions. "That's her homewarming little gift or whatever. Help yourself to them, I don't like brownies."

"Say less," James mumbled, pulling them out of the fridge and setting them on the coffee table opposite the sofa which he lay across, pulling a blanket over his makeshift bed. "That girl you brought to the gig you said made them?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Will paced the kitchen. "She's asked me to come over to stay with her tonight."

"You going?"

"Hell no," Will shot James a look. "She's drunk off her ass, I told her I'd come - hopes are she's too drunk n falls asleep without remembering." 

"You like her?" James questioned, biting into a baked good. "Cuz she makes damn good brownies."

Will rolled his eyes. "She isn't nothing special to me."

"Still not over just fucking around..." James sighed at his friend.

"What's that mean?" Will felt affronted.

"That means you're treating a good girl like she isn't shit and it's painful to see."

"Good girl" Will scoffed at the name, turning his back on his friend. "You're talking bullshit, James, either get a drink or go to sleep."

"You know I don't drink."

"Smoke?" Will pulled a pack out of his back pocket, flicking the cardboard lid open to reveal the packaged carcinogens. 

"You know I quit those years ago." James huffed, shaking his head as he removed his glasses. "You should too. They're bad for you, y'know."

"Yeah I know." Will bluntly responded, words slightly muffled by his lips which clenched down on the paper between his lips, reaching into his other pocket to find a lighter.

"Go smoke that shit outside man, not all of us want to die at thirty." 

Will rolled his eyes at his dramatic friend, huffing as he switched the light off and exit the room, shoving the front door open and dropping onto the wooden chair on his porch, covering the lighter's flame with his hand as he ignited the end of his cigarette, letting little embers glow orange as he pulled the chemicals into his body with an inhale -  letting a cloud obscure the moon above as he exhaled.

Looking up, Will noticed lights on, coming from your house. Upstairs and dimly lit. Like a bedside lamp. And the windows open. 

He sighed at your eagerness earlier - the pleas, the way you held his hand, your wide innocent eyes as you looked up at him...

You were too innocent for your own good. Too sweet, too pliant, too good. 

And yet something about that made Will want you - want to corrupt you even more. He loved seeing how you got shy; you couldn't keep eye contact and couldn't conceal your blush when he mentioned something even slightly flattering. He felt almost powerful, at the way he could choose just slightly different words, or say something with just a slight lilt in his voice, and that was the catalyst for you to start talking quickly or stumble over your words...

Will pulled another drag of his cigarette, leaning back as he exhaled the foggy grey - though he was pulled out of his seat and up onto his feet as he heard his name called.

Faintly. 

It wasn't loud - and it wasn't from his own house...

Hopping out of his seat, Will stepped down the from his porch into the main street, looking down either way and unsurprised to see nobody out and about in the early AMs of the morning - yet confused by where the sound of his name came from.

He stood for a minute or so.

And there was nothing.

And so Will assumed it was perchance just his own delusions, his mind hearing thing that didn't exist - his brain trying to tell him to go to sleep.

Turning around to return back to his house, his room, and go to sleep - he heard it again.

Coming from your house.

Your  voice, high and sweet, breathy and so quiet it was almost impossible to hear. 

And just when he thought he'd missed it, it came from your open window again. 

The sound of his name, rolling so sweetly from your tongue, almost... moaning it... Will felt himself getting hot - his skin prickle at the knowledge he shouldn't hear this, he shouldn't know how you pleasured yourself for him - and  yet something about it was so... so...

The tightening of Will's trousers was enough to explain how Will felt from the noises you made. 

Will could feel a smirk tracing over his lips, tugging up the corners of his mouth until his teeth peeked from beneath, and he brought his cigarette back up to his lips to take another drag - breathing the drug in before blowing it upwards, a stream of smoke directed towards your open window - like some sort of dark and corrupted air-kiss towards your innocently unknowing self up in your bedroom. 

Grin still unwipeable from his face, Will allowed himself to close his eyes and tune into the mellifluous sigh and highness of your voice as his name - "Will" - filled his thoughts and his memories, letting his ego rise up to his chest as he returned back to his porch and shut the door behind him - hand pressing over his trousers, palming and stimulating the bulge beneath his trousers- letting his head fall back with his eyes closed, groaning lowly at the feeling of his head rubbing over the rough material and pushing his hips off and away from the wall to press himself into his hand more, chasing that stimulation as the sound of your voice ricocheted from wall to wall of his skull; an echo-chamber of your lewd moans that caused him to let out another groan. 

What the fuck was going on with his neighbour and what the fuck was it doing to him...

Song: Daddy Issues, The Neighbourhood

The headache you woke with the next morning was truly diabolical. 

It was like someone was drilling away at your skull - a builder bashing his hammer against your forehead at the same, constant, metronome pace which had you elicit a groan at the feeling.

"Y'alright sunshine?" The Geordie yell from across the street made you wince at the noise, the brutal sunlight lasering into your eyes with intensity of a burning hot fire. 

"Do I look like it?" You grumbled, not making eye contact with the tall man who stood all too jovially in his driveway, white shirt and black worker cargos accompanied with a sunshine smile and jolly mug between his hands, likely holding some iced tea or coffee.

"C'mon, how you doing after yesterday?" Will crossed the street to join you at your car, making you turn your back so that he couldn't see your face. Puffy from the drinking and sleeping on your front alongside the lack of makeup you'd opted for - you were really hoping Will wasn't interested in conversation today morning. "You know, considering you were quite drunk... D'you remember everything?"

You hadn't even considered what you did and didn't remember - your mind all too blurry having woken up with your clothes discarded from your body - freezing from that and the window which was kept ajar all night - memories flooding back of how you had ended your night, mind infiltrated and intoxicated with lustful thoughts of Will which had you feeling shameful all morning as you brushed your teeth and raked your brush through a knotty head of hair.

One thing you certainly remembered was asking Will to come inside and come back with you, which was undeniably embarrassing in hindsight - your unfiltered thoughts seeing the light of day for a mere second, and serving to do nothing but embarrass you. 

"Yep." You nodded.

"Ya like the date?" Will cast his dazzling grin, watching as a pink flush unfurled over your cheeks at the reminder that last night wasn't all embarrassing. Despite your drunken mishaps, you had indeed enjoyed the date prior - the night of dancing regardless of the songs you had no idea of - the laughter, the smiles, the time you had spent with someone.

You hadn't previously lived with a friend. Or lived near to a friend, anyways.

No, following your studies which had kept you close to your friends, everyone separated and moved further away for their occupations, and rendered you isolated. It had been too long since you'd been out with someone, and going out with you neighbour yesterday was a reminder of days of clubbing and going out - enjoying the nights alongside your girl-friends. 

"Yeah," You breathed with a smile dancing over your lips. "Thank you, the date was lovely."

Will was satisfied by your response, and leant back onto you car in response - his tall frame resting back against the shiny metal, supporting his weight for just a moment before his brows furrowed in confusion as he made contact with the vehicle - lifting himself up and whipping around as though bemused by the car.

"What's wrong?" Your own brows furrowed in concern at Will's confusion. 

The mechanic bent from the hips, lowering himself to get eye-level with the wheels.

"D'you realise you have nails in your car wheel?" Will piqued a brow as he looked back up at your concerned expression - your own brows flying up as your eyes widened in shock, as you in fact did not realise that.

"WHAT?" The exclamation fell from your lips in shock...Just two days ago when you'd come home from work they'd been absolutely fine.

"Yeah, look, that's completely flat," Will clucked his tongue. "I'm going into the garage today - you want me to get that wheel replaced?"

"You would?" A gasp left your throat at the kind offer. You'd forgotten how absolutely wonderful it was to have multi-skilled friends who were able to offer services or help with different issues you were completely clueless on.

"Yeah 'course." Will nodded his head with a little smile towards you. "Why wouldn't I help y'out?" 

You gave a shrug, blush dusted over your face at the kind gesture. You weren't really used to niceties, quite frankly. And goddamn was Will a nicety. 

"Let's jus' get it out the road, then I can attach it to my car n get it to the garage, yeah?"

Will graciously got into your Ford Fiesta and was the one to pull your car out onto the drive before getting into his car and positioning it just in front so that he could attach his rear to your bumper, essentially towing your car.

Popping his head out the window - arm resting along the windowsill, Will pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look you up and down.

"You wanna come to the garage with me for the day?... Given I'm taking your car n it'll be easier for you to take it home..."

You pondered on Will's request for a moment. You weren't exactly dressed all that good to be going out, and you hadn't done any makeup either... But it was a Saturday which meant your work wouldn't interfere with the opportunity, plus Will wasn't wrong - it would be easier to just go with him...

"Right, one sec then-"

You quickly opened your car and dug through the glovebox to find your travel makeup kit - hopping into Will's car which had the convertible roof drawn up and covering the two of you from the grey clouds and cooler conditions of the day.

"You're too pretty to feel pressure to put on fucken' makeup." Will muttered as he twisted his keys, adjusting his wing mirror and making you roll your eyes as you tapped your liquid blush over your cheeks to mask the natural blush that the underlying compliment had you fostering.

songs: Birthday Sex, Jerimiah -> White Mustang & Black Beauty, both by Lana Del Ray, for when you see Will's italics.

You were incredibly hot in the garage.

Not from the hot engines and sweltering heat of the day, but from watching him work.

Garage heating up, temperatures on the rise - Will took his overjacket off and revealed those delicious biceps that had you feeling whorish as you shamelessly stared at the brunet at work - muscles flexing beneath the grease-stained shirt as he worked on a car that'd been brought in just the other day. His hand met his forehead - pushing beads of sweat from exertion to the side, pushing his mullet back - slicked with effort and revealing more of his face whilst he worked, letting you focus on how his adam's apple bobbed with the deep breaths he took - brows furrowing together whenever he put effort into an action, the rugged charm of the mechanic making it completely impossible to look away as you felt a flush creeping up your neck. 

The heat across your face was unmistakeable and irremovable at this point - but the heat that crept below your neckline and all the way to between your legs was something so intimately embarrassing, you could only feel your cheeks reddening further. 

Though you'd woken up ashamed, knowing what you'd fallen asleep thinking and doing last night - you realised that those feelings weren't just fleeting, embarrassing thoughts of a drunken version of yourself. Because you knew exactly what you were going to be doing tonight to ease that aching between your legs the very moment you returned home. 

Fuck, if you watched Will any longer you might just pull over to the side of the road as soon as you get the car back and relieve yourself right there and then.

The two other mechanics present were nice enough, too. One short one wearing a bandana 'round his mouth to keep the fumes out of his mouth as he worked on the fuel tank of one car - the other a built ginger with spikey hair who seemed to be something of Will's helper, but appeared to have a knack of just getting in the way.

Around halfway through the day, when you'd realised that whilst watching Will's muscles flexing as he used the wrench was good and all, but you'd prefer not to get heatstroke from staying in the steaming garage - you retired into the pleasant air conditioned staff room which Will had given you the passkey for.

Laying across two of the plastic chairs with broken arms, you fanned yourself with one of the dated magazines that lay across the coffee table. Of all days to be in a steaming hot garage, the hottest day of the year definitely made it difficult to fully appreciate the opportunity to observe Will's muscles and alluring presence whilst he worked. Especially when you were fearing you would pass out whenever Will turned and caught you staring - flashing a wink and making the heat feel ten times more intense.

"Ayup Ma'am," A London voice broke your midday siesta as you realised you'd been dozing off - snapping to attention and turning to face the door where bandana-man and ginger were stood in the doorway. "We're off on lunch break - d'you want to come - or for us to bring any refreshment for you?"

"Mmm-is Will going?" You mumbled, still feeling dozy from the overpowering heat. You wondered how the two of them were still wearing their thick-looking polos in the heat.

"He's staying - I think he's gonna finish your car then go on lunch break," The ginger one piped up, and you nodded. "Did you say you want us to bring you something?"

"Oh-err- any drink really, whatever's cheapest at wherever you go, please." Your request was met with a sure nod of the head, the shorter of the two grabbing the wallet from a jacket suspended besides the door before shutting the door and leaving you alone once more.

Alone only momentarily, though.

"Y'alright, love?" 

You internally groaned as you were interrupted once more, though your body's enthusiastic reaction to hearing the Northerner's voice spoke volumes about how annoyed you really were about being interrupted by your favourite mechanic.

"How's the car going?" You cracked an eye open to look up to Will, noticing his eyes jump up to meet yours upon noticing you'd removed your arm from over your eyes. And following the path of his eyes, you realised he'd been looking over and observing your resting body - the maxi skirt and the small crop top that had been shifted askew, having rested across the chairs, and now showing more cleavage than you thought you'd ever let Will see.

Your cheeks darkened at the obviousness of Will's actions - so unapologetic despite having been starting at your tits when he thought no one else would see. Sinful. Though you didn't readjust the top, as you noticed how Will licked his lips whilst his eyes flittered back down between your chest and eyes, and felt your thighs once again clenching around nothing.

"Jus' replaced that tyre, you can give it a spin."

You followed Will to the car, getting into the driver's whilst he got into the passenger seat on the other side, letting you ignite the engine and reverse out of the area, just driving a few metres across the garage. The car felt unreasonably slicker than normal, given all that Will had done was replace a tyre.

"Yeah, also pumped up the tyre pressure to just give you a smoother ride."

That'd explain the smoothness of the ride.

"Gosh, thank you so much Will - that's really perfect my word, you're truly a godsend," You thanked the man, truly wondering to God how such a perfect man had been dropped into your life so randomly. Thoughtful, helpful, romantic, actually likeable, respectful, sofuckingsexy-

"Aye that's no worries my love," Will wiped his hands over the cloth he's tucked into his trouser pockets, spreading his legs out in the footwell before looking back up at you. "That'd be two-hundred-n-fifty sol for that, though."

What?  Your jaw went slack, blankly staring back at the brunet as you digest his words. Two-hundred and fifty Sol. Fuck. 

"Uhm, w-what?" You couldn't get yourself to speak as you gulped down in fear. Your wallet was back home - in your bag - and fuck, you didn't really have two hundred to spare... Not for a fucking wheel anyways, when you still had you electricity and water bill to pay - and you knew your car needed fuelling, soon.

"Two hundred fifty sol for service and the wheel," Will repeated with a sure nod, interweaving his fingers together over your his middle as he looked towards you as though waiting for you to give him the two-fucking-hundred right then and there. 

"Will," You could feel bubbled of panic rising through your oesophagus and entire ventilation organ system at the realisation you owed money that you just didn't have- "I left my purse back home, I don't have two hundred on me - I don't have any money on me right now - other than maybe five sol in my glovebox - I literally just came here to the garage with nothing, I-I didn't realise-"

"Payment is payment," Will broke your panicked stutters and eye contact as he looked down to his lap. "You've gotta pay some way or another I'm afraid - and I can't exactly give you a return with this one, love."

Well fuck. You sat there. Arms crossed and head lowered, deep in thought about how you could maybe cut corners to pull together 250 sol... You could ask him to go home and give it to him later tonight when he returns from work...? And then that money would be taken from the electricity bill... But realistically you couldn't live without electricity for another week - Water bill...? Even worse idea, no showers and practically unable to cook - yeah, no...

"There... is another method of payment, y'know..."

Your head snapped to the right side of the car, perking up in hope as Will mentioned some form of out or alternate suggestion that could save you. He licked his lips, meeting your gaze momentarily before looking back down to his lap again.

"You know what form I'm gonna suggest, right?"

You shook your head, brows furrowing in confusion. Should you know what payment he was talking about...? Will almost seemed taboo as he beckoned you closer with two fingers to lean into him from over the central panel so that he could lean towards you also, pressing his lips to your ear and making goosebumps form along your skin as he said with a low, husky voice...

"It requires gettin' in the backseat."

Will watched - his smirk widening and increasing as your face so obviously showed your thoughts - the realisation spreading across your face, from the eyes that widened, lips that opened ajar, eyebrows raising in the realisation that... oh my God... Will's idea of an alternate payment was.... well...

Something you'd wanted. From last night to just fifteen minutes ago when you were envisioning him in your sensual siesta, heat between your legs almost begging for another round of fingering and whispering Will's name into your pillow. 

But here? 

In the garage where his co-workers would be returning back oh so soon from their lunch breaks, under the pretences that this is all just to pay off some bill, deciding to fuck before having your first proper, real kiss with Will...?

It felt so extortionate. You had real feelings for Will. And you thought he did, too... Which made it just so much more unnecessarily confusing that Will was proposing having sex just to pay off a bill. To have sex with you, as a meagre transaction. No romance, no intimacy, no feelings - just financial business. 

Your morals were all over the place, your mind firing into overdrive as you felt yourself picking apart and trying to figure out - did you want to fuck Will? Here and now? To avoid paying up? In such high risk where his friends could see you at any moment?

Will could see the mental battle through your face.

"Y/n," His words were ever so soft, drawing you from the chaos of your mind as his fingers found your jaw, pulling you to face him and let your eyes meet. That soothing chalky mix of powder greys-blues-and-greens, undulating waves washing over and cooling your fiery eyes, glazed with half-formed tears from fear and confusion. "Let's just start... Where we were last night."

You didn't realise what he was referencing until his lips were on top of yours.

Oh.

'Let's start from last night': from when you were drunk and across Will's lap, hand placed high on his thigh and leant over his centre panel instead of the panel of your ford fiesta - feeling the breath from his parted lips across your own, leaning in ever so closer and closer where you were so close to kissing-

You closed your eyes and melted into his lips, the taste of chocolate and cocoa butter across his lips delicious and making you chase his lips, your lips opening whilst his did also - synchronising with his rhythm and pushing yourself - pressing your lips further against his as though you wanted to taste more - you needed to feel more-

His hands came around the underside of your thighs, you noticed as you felt his teeth sinking into you lower lip - halting your kissing as you were stunned for a moment - shock lingering over your lips as they emit a gasp. Taking the opportunity for all it's worth - Will's hand gripped your leg and manhandled you across the centre panel - from the driver's seat to over the control panel and onto the passenger seat - on top of him - straddling him. His lips reconnected with yours. Hungrier, faster paced, ravenously, his tongue ravaged your mouth, sloppy open-mouthed kiss making your head absolutely spin as you finally gave yourself a chance to card your fingers through that irresistible mullet, that head of brown hair that you wanted between your thighs for what felt like so long.

Your lips detached, letting you suck in a well needed breath of air because holy shit had Will taken your breath away.

Will was relentless however, not stopping to catch any breath as his lips moved on from your lips to the flesh that was openly available for him - your neck - exposed and almost calling for him as you'd thrown your head back. Again, a gasp left your throat, eyes instantly snapping shut as you felt a sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck, Will's skilled mouth finding that sweet spot almost instantly, suctioning his mouth around the point before biting down and brushing his finger over the marking - moving to make another hickey over the collarbone that was exposed by the v-neck top. Whimpers fell from your throat as you opened your eyes- your thighs which landed on either side of Will's body clenching and squeezing his hips that were flush with yours, your body begging for stimulation from him... Though as you opened your eyes and looked up to the grey, material car ceiling just a mere few centimetres from your face, you could feel your moral conscience weighing down on you again. Quite literally pushing an admittance out of you.

"W-we shouldn't-" You spoke with a strained voice, as though your voice box and all the muscles within your wind pipe were closing up and trying to restrict and prevent you from speaking out. Your words were hushed by the vibrations of Will's own voice, his words mumbled against your skin, brushing over the sensitive skin of your collarbone and reverberating on your chest.

"We shouldn't, hm?" He repeated, kissing the prominent bone of your collarbone. "Sure, maybe we shouldn't, but that isn't what matters-do you want this? That's what matters - if you don't want this then you just tell me and I'll stop."

You couldn't even stop the embarrassing noise that left your throat, your legs squeezing ever harder around Will's thighs as he hickeyed your collarbone extra roughly. Your moral conscience was still unbearable though, and your counter left your mouth as a squeak.

"B-but they could come back a-any minute and see us..." You referenced those other two mechanics through a tight throat. And your heart sank as Will just laughed against your skin.

"Fuck-you can't even tell me to stop can you, because you've been fuckin wanting this, I bet you wouldn't even care if those two came and saw you in this position," Will's words confused you, cutting deep with those words you would struggle to deny, yet nonetheless were confused where he was going with this. "Act all innocent but secretly so pathetic-don't think I haven't caught you staring at me through the blinds, fucking yourself on your fingers at the thought of me- fuck - you might be more desperate for this than I am."

Your eyes shot wide open, jaw dropping as those words left his mouth. He'd seen fucking everything, Good Lord - from the first day you'd ever seen him when you peeked at him through the bedroom blinds, to last night when - shit - you'd left your window open. You were too shocked to even gasp at that - yet too embarrassed to even look down and make eye contact with the proud brunet as you realised you were completely vulnerable; an open book with truly no secrets from him anymore. Because fuck: he already knew everything. And if he already knew everything - if he truly knew every embarrassing thing you'd thought and felt about him...

You weren't going to tell him to stop. 

Because as horrible and corrupted as it was - to sleep with the guy that gave you butterflies and you wanted to see out a relationship with - he was getting a job done for you. And fuck it, if this was going to get your bills paid, you might as well enjoy it, too. 

You pushed your hips down against him, pushing your clothed sex against his own as a sign of consent. That you weren't going to stop him. Will's hands gripped your hips in response, pulling you closer, his breath hot against your ear. "That's it," he whispered, voice laced with a triumphant growl, "I knew you wanted this. I knew you'd cave."

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, shutting him up with your hand reaching to the side of the seat, pulling the lever and flattening the seat - shocking Will as he found himself lying flat against the declined carseat - his hands on your waist and paused for a moment as you straddled him, lever in your hand - control in your palm for the first time.

"Get in the fucking backseat, then."

You don't know where the confidence came from in that moment, but it appeared as though Will loved it as a grin lit up on his face, his grip sharpening around your waist and causing you to let out a yelp as he himself didn't get into the backseat - but instead quite literally manhandled you into the back - knocking the wind out of you as your back collided with the seats, and barely getting a moment to recover before Will's body was on top of yours - his chest pressed up to yours - knee between your thighs and tongue in your mouth, back to that same ruthless pace.

You could taste cigarettes and chocolate on his tongue, bitterness and sweetness colliding and tasting of sweet, sweet corruption, the smell of diesel and passion lingering with his touch and driving you wild - once again mimicking your previous actions in the frontseat as your fingers carded through the brunet's locks, finding a fistful and pulling it between the knuckles of your fingers - making him groan between your lips, causing a smirk to light across your face at the noise that he elicited - an indicator that you were doing something right.

Will's fingers moved from besides you on the carseat where they stabilised him, etching over your stomach and diving under the hem of your top, the long smoker's fingers playing over the edge of the bra you wore beneath, before detaching from the kiss to allow him to look down and over your body. You were still fully clothed, and Will seemed to hate that, as he hastily helped you remove your top and admired the cleavage you beheld in just the bra. 

Fingers trailing over the black lace of the strap, you looked up from your chest to Will - looking at the pink dusting across his cheeks from the mouth-workout you'd exercised together, and blown-out eyes that traced over your curves. Though that blush you admired across his cheeks was soon embarrassingly spread to yours instead, as Will's fingers found the middle piece of your bra which held the either two cups together, a small black bow tied over the centre-strap which he held between two fingers - looking up at you with a grin, one brow raised as if non-verbally questioning you. 

"Shut up. You grumbled through the blush and coy smile over your face, feeling judged by Will as he chuckled lowly.

"It's cute," He plucked at the little bow, making you roll your eyes and lose eye contact, not interested in being embarrassed by the man who found it all too easy to get you flustered.

Will didn't send any more time at your chest however, having admired your bust, and didn't bother to remove your bra as he got down to your maxi skirt. He wasn't interested in fighting to take it off, his passion relighting as his hands felt over the plush skin of your thighs beneath the thin material - simply pushing it up so that your bottom half was exposed - material pooling together on your stomach as Will pulled either of your legs over his shoulders - dipping his head between and pulling your panties to the side - once again not bothering to discard the item, only remove it as an obstacle.

He laughed lowly as he saw your core. Dripping. Highlighted with arousal that'd formed from seeing the brunet working and using those muscles, from having him looking down at your cleavage when he'd found you in the staff room, from having his tongue in your mouth...

Cruelly, he blew over your soaking wet sex, cool stream of air further causing your slick to sit cold across your slit, whine leaving your throat as Will focussed his exhale over your clit - the sensitive nub making your core throb with desire and lusting to just have him inside you.

Your thighs squeezed along either side of his head, applying pressure as a warning that he wasn't gonna tease and prolong foreplay when you were literally soaking wet in front of him.

"Alrigh', alrigh'," He grumbled, letting you release the pressure around his head and giving him autonomy to press his tongue flat on your core - trailing up from hole to clit, lapping up arousal and letting a moan drip from his tongue whilst he was still connected to the sensitive bud - making your eyes roll to the back of your head from the stimulation of the vibrations that channelled from his tongue to your clit. His mouth curled into a smile at the noise that exited your lips, his mouth wrapping around your clit and sucking it with just a bit of force, which had you genuinely gasp from the sensation. 

His mouth detached from your sex with a purposeful pop noise, and you looked between your legs to see Will's wet lips fashioned in a devious smirk which you promised yourself you'd keep in the back of your mind forever.

 Digging through his back pocket, you watched as Will withdrew a condom from his back pocket - securing it between his teeth before ripping the packet open - holding the opened pack in his teeth as he tugged his trouser down to free his cock, hand wrapping around the base as he rolled the thin plastic film down the length.

And oh.

Oh my did he look completely Godly as you watched him with his head bowed, hand pumping his erection a few times - his length more than satisfactory, tip reddened from the intense blood flow ever so deliciously. Once again, another image you mentally saved and promised yourself to store in the back of your mind forever. 

He looked up at you, through the few strands that had fallen from his slicked hair - smirking and chuckling at how you looked away as soon as he saw you were staring. Only you could be shy enough to be undressed beneath him, having kissed and gone halfway through intercourse in the back of your car, and still be made shy by the man.

"So cute," He mumbled, smirk still evident in his voice as his fingers traced over your jaw, palm connecting with your cheek affectionately, letting his thumb glide back and forth over the soft skin comfortingly - like he was soothing you. That thumb slotted between your lips, then - pressing down ever so slightly on your tongue and making you subconsciously suck on the digit, your tongue wrapping around the underside whilst your lips pouted around it, looking up and making eye contact with the man in such a way he could only feel his cock getting harder at the sight - imagining what it'd be like if that was his cock between your lips instead of his finger.

He chose not to act on those thoughts for now, instead letting his cock penetrate a different hole. Holding eye contact and and watching as you face distorted - from clarity and confidence in maintaining eye contact - to your eyes rolling to the back of your head and mouth unlatching from his fingers, watching as you emit a visceral groan as you let your head roll back at the feeling of Will's tip sheathing between your folds and entering you, slowly sinking in between those velvet walls.

It was a tough process for him, struggling to not to act on impulses and pick you up by the lower back and slam you down on his cock until you were crying. And it was a tough process for you also, trying to accustom yourself to a size that you'd never had to before. 

He paused as his hips touched your sticky thighs, wet from your arousal that'd transferred from skin-to-skin as he bottomed out.

And just as you looked up, wondering whether Will was going to move or simply stagnate his movements - you only caught a brief glimpse of his bowed head - lips taken between his teeth, before you felt him slowly withdrawing his length from inside you, smooth lubricated silicon thin enough to let you feel every valley and peak of his cock as he pulled back before - SNAPPING his hips into yours with a brutal force - his fingers vicing on your hips as a gasp left your lips upon feeling him bury his cock deep with you.  

And Will didn't pull out slowly this time. 

No, he kept that brutal pace, his cock pulling back and slamming back into your pussy, jerking and jolting your body back and forth as he lifted you by the hips with his hand - tilting your hips upwards and off the car seat so that he buried his cock deeper within your sex, the tip kissing your cervix and causing short, sharp bursts of pleasure to spiral through your body as you felt pangs deep within your core - a type of pleasure which your fingers just couldn't provide.

Every snap of his hips had your bra's hold over your tits weakening, the pliant flesh rippling with each of Will's thrusts and spilling from the sides more and more until the dark areolas beneath peaked from behind the cups and threatened to completely escape, render the bra useless. Will got there before that happened, however, his roughened fingertips groping and pulling at the black lace and ripping it from your tits - revealing the libidinous flesh beneath that now rippled freely as Will only thrusted harder, enjoying watching them jolt with each rough hammering. 

You realised you'd been too careful last night when you'd envisioned that it was Will pulling your cami down. No, Will wasn't soft and gentle enough to slowly pull the material to reveal your skin - he was roughly cut and hard edged - he wanted to ruin you and treat you mercilessly.

And you fucking loved it.

You felt as though you were becoming zombified as your chest heaved, heart itself palpitating sporadically and violently as though it were trying to rip itself from its bone cage and offer itself up to Will himself, as the brunet took your nipple between his fingers - roughly peaking it and squeezing the sensitive bud between his skilled knuckles, trained will expertise as a mechanic, and you let out truly obscene noises with each unapologetic shove of his cock between your walls.

The whole car smelled of sex - the air heavy and weighted from the sweat that prickled over your skin and Will's also - the smell of car grease and pine from his body intoxicating you like a drug - the taste of cigarettes still lingering on your tongue and making you absolutely need him more. His tongue in your mouth again. To ravage you. Break you. Destroy you.

"Fucking violate me-" You hadn't meant it to come out so violently, so raw, so visceral - but you lived to not regret it as you felt Will's cock bury somehow ever deeper within you, his hips oh so disgustingly  fluid as he oscillated back and forth and began moving your hips oppositely to his - pushing you away whilst he pulled out, before pulling you closer as he snapped his hips into yours as though trying to lodge himself within your walls with each deep stroke. You were going fucking wild, and the moans and whimpers which left your throat became higher and higher in pitch; an indicator of your pending orgasm.

Will pushed his hair back again, grunt falling from his lips in such a way you felt yourself clenching over his cock, drawing you closer and closer to your climax, the tightening of your flesh around his cock making a gravelly groan fall from his lips, throwing his head back at the compressions around the circumference of his cock. He could tell you were close.

"You can cum any-fucken time, sweethear'," He grunted between clenched teeth, each word enunciated. "-Jus' so long as you realise that even when you cum, I'm gonn' keep fucking myself - right back - into you - until I cum-"

That was it.

That ruthless admittance of nothing but using you like a fleshlight, or an object of self-use to get himself off so arrogantly, with no care for you or your climax - not a threat - but a promise, that he'd keep mercilessly fucking into you until he was satisfied-

It pushed you over the edge.

Your whole body was shaking, your thighs that held you up squeezed around Will's body, crushing his waist between the muscle as your hips raised further, chasing the pleasure that rolled through your body and juices that ran from your legs. Your whole head was light and orgasm had you feeling light everywhere else. And just as promised, Will didn't stop.

He truly did violate your body, just as you'd asked. He let out a noise as he felt your cum coating his cock, though he didn't stop his strokes as you came. In fact, realising you'd reached your climax he only further chased his - hand moving up from your tits to your neck - wrapping around either side and squeezing the sides. He used your neck like a vice to clamp your body in place - pushing you down into the plush seat of the car and holding you there as he adjusted your hips and just kept snapping his hips back and forth, pushing his cock in and out of you with a pace uncaring of the overstimulation you felt - your body and abs quivering from the cramp you could feel forming from the lack of a rest for your muscles, no post-orgasm relaxation allowed as Will fucked into your body, chasing his climax.

Your g-spot was crying out for a break, your abused hole and hurting muscles the same - though your head still couldn't get a post-haze clarity, as your internal monologue kept the nasty thoughts flowing through your mind and entire system. You fucked yourself back on his cock, arching your back and circling your hips to match his thrusts, have his cock press against every angle of your overstimulated interior.

Thrusts becoming sporadic and erratic - more forceful, less coordinated, you could tell he was going to cum, and you clenched your muscles - squeezing around him and watching as you pushed him over the edge, his head throwing back and guttural groan falling from his lips like liquid gold - his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped down swathes of precious, precious air whilst you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

You'd both climaxed. His grip fell from your hips slowly - fingers shaking and indicating this was just as hard of an orgasm for him as it was for you. You rested there in the moment, your skin wet and coated in a thin sheen of sweat, your thigh still touching Will's. You acclimatised to the moment; the brief peace and serenity and quiet. That was that; the fun was over and the transaction was finished.

Your body was the first to break, between your mental, emotional and physical states. You collapsed in the backseat, your hips flattening against the seat, back losing it's arch as all muscles relaxed and curved into the seat beneath you. 

That was that; the fun was over and the transaction was finished.

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...THOUGHT?!?! First big long fic + proper WillNE fic, so how'd we feel? Also gonna be continuing this as a full WillNE fic on my Wattpad - so go check is out n stay updated there! LMK EVERY THOUGHT U HAVE ABOUT THIS IN MY INBOX!!!

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[tieronecrush]

🎃 trick or treat 🎃

summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.

wc: 10k (oops?)

warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!

a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!

Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.

Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.

Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands. 

Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.

Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely. 

There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.

Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble. 

Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.

The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.

Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.

“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin. 

Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”

He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”

Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.

“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.

In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.

“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.

“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”

“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”

Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.

However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.

Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.

“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.

“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”

“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.

“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”

“What?”

“No way!”

Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”

As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.

“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.

“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.

“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”

The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.

“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.

“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”

“You sure you need me for this group costume?”

“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”

“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.

It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.

At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.

Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.

There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.

Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.

Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.

Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.

All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.

With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”

A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”

A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”

“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.

In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”

“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”

Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.

“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.

Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.

Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.

You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.

Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.

“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.

Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.

“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”

Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.

“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.

“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”

“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”

Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.

Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.

“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”

With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”

“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”

“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.

“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.

Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.

He looks ridiculous.

Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.

No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls. 

The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.

Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.

The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.

Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.

These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.

Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar. 

You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.

His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward. 

All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.

Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.

“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.

“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.

Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”

“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.

“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—

Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.

At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.

“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.

“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further. 

Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.

He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”

“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.

“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”

He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”

“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.

“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”

They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”

Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.

“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”

Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.

They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.

Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”

Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”

Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.” 

Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.

With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”

Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”

Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”

Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”

They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently. 

Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.

The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.

The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.

He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?

He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.

Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.

Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.

Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.

But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.

Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”

Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”

Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”

“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.

Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response. 

Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.

 “Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.

“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.

“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.

Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”

“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”

“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”

“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.

“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”

Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.

Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.

“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.

You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”

His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.

“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.

He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.

“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”

His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.

Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.

Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.

Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.

“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.

Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.

“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.

The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.

“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”

A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.

You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.

“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”

“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”

“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.

“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.

“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”

“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.

Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.

“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.

“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.

“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.

“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”

You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.

“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use. 

Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.

“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high. 

A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.

Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.

The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.

“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.

“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.

Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”

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𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖘𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖔- 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

Author's note: Sorry this one's a bit short! Finals and work are killing me :<

ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

You sigh heavily once you shut the door, the interaction leaving you more stressed out than before. You could already sense the dynamic you were going to have with them, however long they ended up staying in the village or being involved in your life. 

You were beneath them.

You could sense it, the way some of them almost looked down at you, judging you by the information you gave them. But, frankly, you didn’t care. This is your era, not theirs, so you were going to fulfill whatever purpose you had your way.

You walk through the path that lead deeper into the woods, eyeing the cottage on the edge of the forest. It was already getting dark out, the sky a dark shade of periwinkle.

Walking up to the door, you knock lightly calling out to the woman inside, “Impa? You there?”

“Y/n! Come in, come in!”

You opened the door to find Impa hunched over a map in front of her small fireplace. Closing the door behind you, you walk up to her to see what exactly she was looking at.

“Heard some family has come to see you.”

“They’re not my family. I’m not even remotely related to them.”

“Your spirit says otherwise. Have you told them?”

“Yes. Well, the important parts at least.”

“Lying will just end up making things worse for you, Y/n.”

“I didn’t technically lie. They just happened to not ask certain things.”

“I see.”

You both stay quiet for a moment, basking in the embers of the small fire. Fire was a necessity in this day and age, considering how you almost never feel warm enough now, regardless of how many layers or how many fires you have. Impa stands up, setting the map down on a nearby stool.

“Care for some tea? It’s spiced, so it’ll warm you up some more.”

“Sure, I'd like that.”

She hands you a carved cup full of tea, the rivulets of steam dancing on the surface of the liquid. Blowing at the tea, you take a small sip, the warm drink soothing your throat and warming your chest.

“It’s good, Impa, thank you.”

She nods in thanks, sitting back down on her chair. Her face looks worried, though you anticipate her discussing what’s on her mind. 

“Y/n there’s activity at the Northern edge of the forest. Presumably, followers of Hylia have found our encampment and want to gain access into our underground archives south of the village. I’ve already communicated with Arden and the others. It’s best you leave at dawn in order to cut them off. We can’t risk any discovery, not now.”

You stare at the tea in your hands as she tells you this, already in the process of formulating what you need to bring and what tactics you should use.

“It’s also best if you travel by foot to avoid any technology tracking or excessive noise, especially with Hylians. You and I both know they have better hearing than most.”

You know what she was hinting at with that statement: an accident that had occured during your travels a couple years ago. 

She scootches up to you, hands on her knees.

“We both know we want to avoid conflict and move towards a peaceful future. We can’t do that if our entire village is massacred and stripped bare of records and families. I’m sorry I have to ask you again, you know I can’t promise it’ll end anytime soon.”

You smile sadly at her, nodding at her words.

“I know. I’ve come to terms with that for the most part. I just… hate having to get rid of her servants, knowing they can be saved from her manipulation and control.”

She nods, reaching for your hands. Despite years of training and combat, her hands felt so comforting and warm. Something you’d never expect from an old, hardened woman.

Sighing, you place the tea down, looking at Impa.

“I better go. I promised the… ancestors I’d find them a place to rest for the night. I’ll converse with the rest of the team before tomorrow to make sure we’re well prepared.”

You take a pause, walking towards the door. Looking back, you whisper,

“Thank you, Impa.”

~

You made a straight bee line back to the main camp, hands balled into fists to contain your nerves. You couldn’t wait, all of you needed to leave now. 

Hylia’s followers were unpredictable, and you knew that if you didn’t leave soon, the camp would be dead by dawn.

You finally see the main cabin in view, panting lightly from trekking in the snow. Pushing the door open, you immediately start looking for Colin, Arden, Dusk and the others. The heroes could find their own damn house, they were more than capable of that.

Speaking of, you could feel their eyes on you, no doubt curious as to why you were in such a rush. Time and Wars were already standing up, making you curse under your breath. Finally spotting them in the far corner of the room, you walk over.

“Arden, we need to leave.”

“What? Why? Impa gave orders to leave at dawn-”

“You don’t know them like I do, Arden. They’re fucking unpredictable, their going to kill everyone here if we don’t move now.”

“Who is?” Wars asks, a few feet behind you. You jump slightly from the unexpected presence, recomposing yourself quickly.

“No one. Just nightly patrol.”

Arden gives you the look, which you just glare at him. Now was not the time to invite new recruits.

“We could use their help, Link.”

“No, we couldn’t. They’re staying here.”

Wars scoffs, settling a hand on his hip, “Says who?”

You look him dead in the eye, already tired of rambling with everyone. You throw up your arms in defeat, wanting to get this over with.

“Fine, fine. You lot can come but you follow my lead, got it? I don’t want any casualties tonight.”

He nods, satisfied with your answer. He relays it to the others, some of them looking less passionate than others, but agreed upon nonetheless. 

Turning back to Arden, you mutter “Meet me at my place in half an hour, we leave in an hour. Finish up here and get whatever you need, I’ll make sure the others are equipped and ready.”

He nods, the others agreeing alongside him. The plan was set.

You start speed-walking towards the entrance, not waiting around for the men to follow you. You had shit you needed to get done.

ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

[styllwaters]

Primarily airborne sophonts hailing from the low-gravity planet of Hanidias, the Arrows are one of the oldest species in the Zhagaviit Galactic Community.

___

Introducing Arrows officially! These guys are the revised version of my older spec bio species, the Angelum. They've since undergone a lot of changes. Further information below!

Before I begin, I would like to make some things clear. A lot of the lore in the old Angelum info post is now irrelevant. Here are the revisions:

The Sacrazoa, Thronalia and Seraphae subtypes do not exist. Additionally, there is no 'Original Angelum'.

Previously I stated that the entirety of the population was genetically modified, but I've retconned this to only a select few individuals.

The only Genizix-touched Arrows are the Higher Arrows, which I will delve into later.

Lifepods do not exist.

Rather than communicate telepathically, the Arrows communicate with chemical signalling/pheromones.

Now that that's out of the way, time for some fresh new lore!

___________________

Arrows spend a good amount of time floating in the air. They possess a specialised 'gas bladder' which they can inflate and deflate to control their position, slightly similar to how a fish controls its buoyancy in the water.

They do not have the same level of agility as a bird or other winged creatures, their lack of powered flight making them significantly slower. However, they can change direction, dive quickly, land, and often take advantage of air currents and wind to increase speed.

Arrows feed on floating 'aeroplankton' which thrive in the atmosphere of their planet. Concentrations of these microscopic lifeforms are farmed in enormous quantities. Arrow's feeding tendrils are typically only deployed when they are eating; the aeroplankton is absorbed into the tendrils and nutrients are transported upwards to the main hub. However, they can also be deployed for courtship displays (especially for the males) and dancing.

Arrows, in the past, were the target of many predators. They were mainly concerned with attacks from other smaller, faster, flying organisms. To combat this, their five eyes aided in a wide peripheral vision enabling them to spot trouble quickly. In addition, they evolved countershading in order to camouflage with the dark sea below and the cloudy sky above. Males sport a more contrasting palette, clearly outlining them against the sky, but those who were able to survive indicated a viable choice for a mate.

Nowadays, with safer areas, infrastructure and impressive technology, predators are no longer a threat.

There are four main ethnic groups on Hanidias; namely Cursors, Needles, Indicators and Darts. Cursors and Needles mainly reside in the skies above the open ocean and cliff sides. Indicators make their home in the icy Northern and Southern poles, and Darts above the brackish river water further inland. However, all Arrows are very widespread.

___________________

This is just an introductory post - there's still a lot to say about these fellas - but i'll leave it there for now. As always, asks are welcome!

[luteddecoction]

Okay, I have a theory. I think I know how Niko is going to be rescued in S2 of Dead Boy Detectives

--------

I don't know if the #DeadBoyDetectives writing team did some research on Canadian folklore before they came over to film and that somewhat became some sort of source in their writing to add some extra elements to the story; but bet they did because there 𝘐𝘚 a Canadian Inuit legend that 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 could connect to the open ending of Episode 8: 'The Case of the Hungry Snake'

And please do correct me if I’m wrong: According to the Canadian Constitution there are 3 primary groups of Indigenous people. These being the Inuit, the Métis and the First Nations. Each of them having their own legends and fair amount of local stories to share. The Inuit are mostly located on the Northern regions of Canada. The Métis live amongst the Metropolitan areas while the First Nations are situated on the Northwestern territories.

I’m going to focus on a very particular folklore tale from the Northern territories of the Inuit here, which revolves around whistling at night. Out of all the world-wide folklore tales about night time whistling I find this one to be the least scary. This Inuit legend says that if you whistle at night time you will risk calling the spirits of the Northern Lights to come down and swipe you up to carry you elsewhere into the sky. And 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 is where I think that Canadian Folklore connects with Dead Boy Detectives and Niko’s potential rescue in S2. They leave us with the image of Niko sitting inside an igloo right by the Dandelion Sprites. And we get to see the Northern Lights shining 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 right above them.

The Northern Lights could by the sky’s path for the boys to connect with wherever Niko’s at (this being the Neitherlands in the comics).

In the comics, we see Charles going into the Neitherlands to help Rosa. And in order to achieve this he enters into a half-living, half-dead state by merging back with his bones. I highly doubt that Netflix will take this route if Netflix!Charles is the one ending up going after Niko to parallel his comic version. I think that if they do go with the parallels, they will achieve this by linking in the Inuit folklore. The boys will probably be adventuring out at night time and Charles will start whistling. It’s at this point in which he will probably end up being swiped up and end up somewhere nearby where Niko’s potentially at.

I know that the bear talisman is important and it must have some sort of key part to play. If it belonged to Mick's shop then, there must be a good use to it. I just can't exactly pinpoint 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵. To finish this thread, I want to link a poem written by Kate Tuthill titled: "Labrador in Winter". (which I'm guessing refers to the Aurora Borealis that happen strongly in Labrador Newfoundland).

I couldn't find the full poem but only pieces of it

[fairysluna]

what lives in the dark.

In the middle of the Godswood of Winterfell lives a creature that appears at midnight with the full moon, but you and your boyfriend were too stubborn to believe it.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING – Werewolf!Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader.

TAGS/TW – smut (breeding/creampie, p in v, cunninglus, size kink, squirting, and praise), dubcon/noncon, infidelity(?, hunter/pray dynamics, lowborn!reader, feral!cregan. if something is missing pls let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE – so, this story contains a bit of omegaverse dynamics bc Cregan is a werewolf, but only basic aspects like the rut and knotting. It took me a while to write this actually, but i hope you all enjoy it!! also, thanks to my beautiful wifey @targbarbie for being my beta reader, love you to the moon and to saturn🤍

WORD COUNT – 4.792

GENERAL TAG LIST – @borikenlove @melsunshine @clairacassidy @satansdarlin @aelora-a @cullenswife @ilikeitbetterangsty @jvpit3rs

FEEDBACK , SHARES AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!

"I'm starting to regret this."

Your voice came out as a whisper, almost being silenced by the sounds of the nightlife of the Godswood. The darkness surrounding you was scary enough to spook away to the bravest of men, and yet your lover decided that it was worth the try. You were barely able to see the stars in the sky, for the trees did not allow you to have a clear view. The moonlight was dim, the only thing that helped you to see was the candles on your hands.

"Just a few more rounds and we'll get back home," your lover promised, holding your hand and guiding you deeper into the woods.

A quick look at him was all you needed to start to feel unsure, not safe. He was not tall, one or two inches taller than you, his body was slim and skinny, and he certainly was not the greatest of fighters. He was the son of a stableman, the closest thing to battle he had experienced was when a horse almost kicked his gut. And yet, he believed to be brave and strong enough to submerge into the darkness of the woods.

Even when the whispers say that every full moon, a howling creature appears. The northerns usually hide in the safety of their homes when this time of the month arrives, but there you were, following your lover into the craziest thing you have done in your life. Oh, how stupid you were.

"My love, I don't think this is a good idea," you insisted, already being paranoid with the whistling sound of the wind, "this is not safe, please, let's just go home."

He didn't listen, so you froze in your place. Once he realized you were not moving, he turned around and pressed his lips with disapproval, almost looking mad at you for stopping his adventure, but you were not going to bend, you wanted to go back. Your instinct was yelling for you to turn around and run.

"I want to go home," you said sternly, firmly expressing your annoyance and slight fear.

"Love-"

"No," you interrupted him, "it's enough. This is stupidly dangerous, I don't want to do this anymore, I want to-"

His lips pressed against yours, silencing you as he pushed you against a tree. His hands went to your rear, cupping your arse and stealing a small gasp from your mouth. You squirmed under his touch, accidentally brushing your thigh against him and causing a moan to slip out of his lips.

Almost immediately, you pushed him away.

"Stop this!" you grunted, "what are you doing?"

"Trying to calm you down, that's what I'm doing," he said with a smirk, and you could not help but to roll your eyes as he came closer to your lips once again.

"I want to go home," you demanded.

"I want to make you mine," he muttered, going to attack your lips once again.

His hands cupped your face in order to retain your position between his body and the tree behind you. You moved your face, and with a single push you managed to get him away from you. He groaned, angry and upset, but you decided to ignore his furrowed expression as you turned around and started to walk away.

"Wait!" you heard him yelling, but you didn't stop, "My love, please, wait!"

"I'm going home with or without you," you answered, keeping your pace steady and firm.

"You can get lost, the Godswood is too big!"

"I'll find the way out," you assured him.

You didn't turn around, but you knew he was walking right behind you because you were able to hear the leaves cracking under his shoes. Your breath became unsteady as you started to get slightly tired of walking, and you couldn't find the weirwood tree that would make you know you were going in the right direction.

Trying to look at the sky to see if the star could help you with your orientation, you realize that the crown of the abundant trees were covering almost the whole sky, leaving you with nothing that showed you where you were going. You cursed yourself on the low, losing your pride and turning around to finally face your lover and ask him to guide you through the forest.

But he wasn't there. No one was, actually. As soon as you turned around, you were able to hear a movement in the trees and bushes, and the only thing in front of you was darkness. The candle in your hand was soon to be extinct, for the wax was already fully melting in the cup. You started to feel genuine and pure fear, you were alone, in the woods during the full moon. Nothing good will come out of this, of that you were certain.

The sudden movement of the trees put you on alert. You swallowed hard as your body tensed, stiff as a rock. You tried to remain quiet, thinking that perhaps if the thing that was out there did not hear you then you would be safe. Your shaky breath became a bit too loud for your liking as you slowly started to move backwards, resisting the imminent urge to run away.

And then you saw it, two yellowish spheres that were seen hiding behind a tree not so far from you. Your lower lip trembled, and when you heard it grunting, you knew you should run.

The candle, the only thing that provided you with light, fell from your hand and was turned off by the traces of snow in the ground. You were staring at it, and it was staring right back at you. You could recognize a tall and big shape, almost too big to be human… no man you have known was that tall, and that's how you knew you were in the presence of the frightening beast the northern tales tell you about.

You saw it move, and before it could come out from its hiding spot, you found yourself running away, completely blinded by the darkness surrounding you, and the panic and adrenaline of the moment. Your hands were grasping your skirts, lifting them up so it was easier for you to move between bushes and branches.

It was almost impossible for you to know whether you were going for the right path or not. The adrenaline of the moment led you where your instinct would take you, and with a bit of luck, you managed to arrive at the center of the Godswood, where the Weirwood Tree was standing. Its fallen red leaves were decorating the white snow, and you finally were able to see beyond your own hands.

You looked up, and the stars were shining bright, the moon giving you the light you needed to realize where you were standing. You fell to your knees in front of the carved face, and you started to pray for your safety, cursing the name of your lover who had no remorse in leaving you to go by yourself.

You noticed you were crying once you touched your face and felt your soaked cheeks. Whines and cries were heard in the quietness of the night, your body shaking with fear as you were looking at your surroundings like a paranoid.

The sound of a branch being stepped on was heard, and your eyes quickly saw the tall frame of a man. You felt relief, a weight taken off your shoulders as you stood up and sighed. He walked slowly, getting closer to you, and once he was close enough you were able to identify him as Lord Stark.

A tall, handsome man that you had the chance to meet a few times around Winterfell; now you were seeing him as your salvation from the terror that was starting to consume you.

Of course the panic in your mind did not allow you to notice his bright yellow eyes.

"Lord Stark," you breathlessly said, standing up to face him. His tall frame in front of you, your eyes looking up at his face. "What a relief…"

He remained silent, your eyes kept wandering around going from his face to your surroundings just to make sure the thing didn't follow you to that place. Once he reached your side, you felt some sense of calmness and peace.

"We need to go back, I intended to go back but I got lost in my way and I couldn't- this is not safe, we must go now!"

You saw his shoulders move as he took a deep breath and his intense haze was on you, examining your body from head to toe. Suddenly, your demeanor changed, and the feeling of safety was no longer there. Your body tensed, staring at his eyes only to notice the color of them, and how big his pupils were.

Then, you knew you were fucked.

In a pathetic attempt to run away, you tried to turn around, but big hands wrapped your waist and placed you against the tree. His body pressed against you, and you sensed his scent; he smelled of wet dirt and sweat, but there were still traces of his cologne in his skin; a sign that there was still a man behind those predatory eyes.

"My Lord-"

"Your smell…" he interrupts your whines, tears falling down your cheeks once again. His voice came out as low and raspy, almost in an animalistic tone that made you freeze with fear, "I could smell you from miles away, sweet doe." His nose buried in the crook of your neck, you whimpered, closing your eyes, "so inviting, so tempting… so arousing."

His tongue traveled in your soft skin, leaving a trace of saliva on you, causing chills down your spine. Your lower lip shook as you took a deep breath. Soon you were able to feel his teeth brushing against your neck, biting gently without the intention of leaving marks behind; he just wanted to taste your sweetness. But, of course, that was not enough for him.

"I wonder how you taste," he purred, his fingers collected some of the tears that had fallen down your warm face before he licked them out of his digits. A groan escaped from his lips, his eyes were closed, that tiny, little taste from you sent him over the edge. "I bet you are so sweet… your scent tells me you are."

"P-please…" You pointlessly begged him, feeling his hands going down to reach your skirts and starting to lift it up. You could've ran away, but you were frozen in that position; back against the holy tree, and your chest pressed against his.

"How dare you ask me to stop?" He scoffed, "you've been spreading the smell of your arousal around the woods, and you expect me to control myself and let you go?" He clicked his tongue, his fingers slipping between your legs until he reached your warmth. He hummed, delighted to feel some of your slick covering his thick, big fingers. "I usually hold myself back, but you have made it impossible… I'm acting as if I'm going through my rut, but in reality it's all you." He spoke, grunting as he leaned impossibly closer and his finger played with your sensitive bud. "You wanted this, did you not? You came here because you knew I was going to be here-"

"No… no, I didn't know, please!" You cried out, whimpering in the low as he rubbed his raspy fingertips against you, "I- I didn't-"

"Sh, sh…" he silenced you, his free hand wrapping around your neck as he pulled back and led you to the ground. He forced you to kneel, squeezing your throat in a subtle but demanding way, and you were too scared to even dare to go against his wishes. "You are a terrible liar, my sweet doe."

Somehow you ended up laying in the ground, your body on top of a bed of fallen leaves covered by the traces that the snow had left in them. Your back soon was wet because of the melting snow, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. Cregan forced you to spread your legs, positioning himself between them as he towered your body with his. He leaned closer and harshly bit your lip; the gesture was so careless that it made you cry out loud. However, there was no point in screaming, you were too far to be heard by someone from the town. Your only option was to close your eyes, pray and cry in silence until everything was over.

His big hands grabbed the back of your knees and forced them against your chest. The cold breeze smacked against your bare cunt and you whined due the sensation. Inevitably, you clenched your walls and he was able to perceive it, his bright, yellow eyes sparkled with the sight as he sighed. A smug smirk appeared on face, giving him a wicked look on his devilish features; such a view made you feel fear once again, but also made you sense some familiar feeling in your gut.

"Oh, fuck-" he said, shifting his position until his face was right in front lf your cunt. "Look at this… so fucking pretty."

He moved his hands, one of them was big –and strong– enough to hold your legs up. His free hand went to your folds, spreading them without shame as he took a closer look. He managed to see your little clit, already getting swollen for the stimulation he was providing you, and your hole… so eager and desperate to be filled up by him. He leaned even closer, his nose almost brushing against your pearl. He took a deep breath.

"Gods be good," he moaned. His mouth dropped open as he panted, his heavy breathing smacking against your wetness. Your hips twitched and you hiccuped, not even sure of what you were feeling at that moment, "just let me have a taste of you before I knot you."

Before you realized, his both hands were on your arse, his thumbs spreading your lips as his thick, warm and raspy tongue lapped onto your soaking cunt. Your eyes rolled to the back of your hand almost immediately as you tried to move away from him, but his hands were too strong and you could barely shake under his frame.

He had absolutely no shame in devouring you. His saliva dripping from his tongue and slipping down your arse as he moaned and whined against your sensitive skin. You tasted so fucking good, better than any other sweet or desert he had ever eaten before. Your soft whimpers and cries were edging him to the point where his mind felt numb with pleasure and lust. He could not help but feel the pleasuring pain growing inside his pants to such an extent that he started to cry out of the ache.

Your hands were on his hair, doing actions that did not have a clear intention; you were pulling it to keep him away from you, but at the same time, your hips could not stop following his hungry mouth. It is as if your body was asking for something you cannot quite comprehend, your lover has never pleasured in this way before… Cregan was the first person who dared to kiss such a private part of your body. It felt different, and it felt so fucking good.

Soon, your legs were wrapped around his head as he pulled your hips up. His mouth sucking on your clit and slurping your juices, your moans becoming as loud as screams. Your mind confused with the overwhelming sensation your body was experiencing, completely numb as a response for the unbeknownst feeling growing inside your belly.

Stammering, mumbling and cries were the only thing that left your mouth, for you were unable to put words together to form coherent sentences that express whatever you were feeling at the moment. It was completely new, you were feeling fire running through your veins that intensified with each movement of his skilful tongue against your folds. You felt your skin burning, sweat covering your shape as you kept struggling to move; your chest moving fastly, your nails digging in his skull, and your hips humping his face.

You melted under his arms as a sudden feeling washed you over with such an intensity that your vision became blurry. Black spots appeared in your eyes as you gasped loudly, you felt a certain relief followed by wet sounds that made Cregan whine even louder than you. His tongue collected all of your cum, seizing the sweet taste of your release as you were too numb to even realize what had just happened.

"Your cunt is so fucking wet right now," he growled. His tone made you wake up from the cloud of ecstasy you were in. It was lower, barely human. An animalistic demeanor was seen on his predatory eyes as he examined your shaky body under him. Your juices and the traces of his saliva made his chin glistened under the moonlight, such an obscene view to witness, so sinful, so shameful. "You pretend you don't like this but look at you, you came so fucking hard on my mouth, sweet doe… I want to drink from this cunt forever."

He let go of you just so his hands would reach his pants. You held your weight over your shoulders and while you looked at him struggling to get rid of the bothering fabric, you saw the perfect opportunity to attempt an escape. A stupid action, that's certain.

Your shaky legs were not much helpful as you turned to crawl away from him. Your knees being scratched by the branches on the floor as you cried your way out of that place. A big hand was wrapped around your ankle and dragged you backwards until you felt his hardened cock hitting your arse cheeks. His hands fell at each side of your hips and you cried at the impact as your arms failed to keep your body up.

Soon he grabbed a fist of your hair and pulled you back until his mouth was beside your ear. You felt his length between your folds, and he slowly started to rub against you, your poor, abused clit throbbed due to this action and a moan left your lips. You were able to perceive his anger in his heavy breathing as he tightened his grip in your hair, your head falling backwards until it was against his shoulder.

"Don't you dare to do that again," he whispered in your ear, his voice growling, so raspy that it did not even feel human anymore. "Don't make me hurt you, sweet doe."

You felt your nose itching as the tears started to escape from your eyes, though you were confused about the reason behind them. Pleasure, pain, fear. All emotions that overwhelmed your senses and confused your mind as Cregan's hands touched your body without shame at all. Such a devilish act had you wondering what you have done to deserve it, or if your lover will ever forgive you for this adulterous sin.

"I'm going to make you mine," he said, "I'm going to fill you with my cum and make you my mate and you will take it."

"P-please, no…" you mumbled, sobbing already as he kept fucking your thighs. "J-just let me- let me go, please."

"Why would I do that?" He asked, his words being followed by a moan, "I've tasted you already, my sweet thing… How am I supposed to let you go after I've become addicted to the way you taste? To the way your sweet cries beg me to keep going. Oh, my doe, you're asking me something completely impossible."

"I won't tell anyone, please… please, m-my lord-"

A loud chuckle was heard, echoing in the open space and causing you shivers down your spine. You soon felt his fat, thick head brushing against your drenching entrance and he slowly started to push inside of your tight walls. Your eyes widened as his thick cock spreaded your insides in such a painful way that made your mouth drop open for the intrusion.

"S-stop!" You yelped, trying to move your hips away, but his hips were impossibly strong, "It hurts! Please, stop!"

"Sh, sh… it's okay," he cooed, his voice shaking and unsteady, "just take it, doe, feel my cock spreading you open… Your cunt is so fucking tight."

"S-so big… Gods!" You cried out. "Please!"

"It's okay," he repeated, using the same tone as before. Hisses leaving his lips as he sinks deeper into you, "you need to get used to me, sweetling. I plan to fuck this little pussy every day from now on."

Your eyes clenched shut as he pushed harder until you were able to feel his heavy sack against your skin. Cregan pushed your head down until your cheek was pressed against the dried leaves in the ground. Your arse up in the air gave him the perfect view of your tight hole greedily receiving his cock. You would say it hurted you, but your cunt was taking him so well, eager for more.

He started to move, slowly at first, he wanted to make sure you were able to feel every inch of his pulsing cock, every vein in it. Your walls would squeeze him tightly, clenching around him everytime he would bury himself inside you. Your mouth remained open, and your eyes remained closed. He was filling you up so well.

The sound of your wetness was heard even when your moans were getting louder. It was such an obscene view, the way he would slowly pound against you just so he can watch how your creamy cunt left his length soaking with your juices. His eyes were fixated on that part of your body, bewitched by the scene, completely lost in the feeling and the rush of lust running through his veins. His big hands spreaded your arse cheeks just so he can have a better view; his animalistic side took over him as soon as he saw your tight hole greedily clenching, as if it was begging to be filled too.

His nails dug into the skin of your hips, and soon his thrust became harder. He kept the same velocity as before, just that now he made them deeper and stronger. You started to get used to the way he would move, the fact that he started slow made you adjust to his size and actually find some pleasure in his thrust. Your hands gripped the dirt under your body as you were desperately looking for something to hold on to. His pounding getting wilder with each passing second, as if he was growing desperate to feel you again as soon as he could.

You found yourself enjoying it, and feeling guilty about it… your lover was somewhere around the woods, wandering around the acres trying to discover something new. But then something happened, the mere thought of him finding you like this, with Cregan's cock buried in the deepest spot of your cunt, make you drool and clench around the man that was restlessly fucking you. Cregan hummed as your walls tightened around him, and that would only make him go faster.

"You finally are starting to enjoy this, aren't you, my doe?" he teased, squeezing the soft skin of your arse before slapping it, "I'm gonna make you my sweet little mate, darling, I'm never going to get tired of fucking this tiny little hole of yours."

"Mhm… I- I…" you intended to say something, but nothing would come out, he fucked you dumb.

"I'm going to breed you, sweet thing, I'll- fuck," he interrupted his words with a loud groan as he looked down, "I'll make sure to fill you up with my seed every fucking night until you're swollen with my pups."

The way he spoke to you, so shamelessly and unhinged, made you get even more aroused. The thought of being used by him once again stopped making you feel scared, and started to make you feel excited. Your mind sent you images of how good it would feel to have his load dripping from your cunt. But you were not supposed to be enjoying this, you were supposed to be scared, screaming out of fear, not pleasure. This was so wrong.

But it felt so fucking good.

"I will knot you, I will claim you as mine forever," he panted, fastening his pace to an animalistic speed. "I will claim this delicious cunt of yours every fucking night only to make you remember to whom you belong to."

"Yes…" you softly said, barely audible. But Cregan was able to hear it, and that only made him go harder, faster, deeper.

"Yes?" He chuckled, a moan escaping his lips soon after, "Say it."

You drooled under his touch, moaning uncontrollably loud as he kept moving without stopping any second. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other grew louder, both of you were consumed by the desire and lust that you did not care for anything anymore. Your mind went foggy again, and the same feeling was installed in your gut as you desperately tried to move your hips against his.

"Say it!" he repeated, thrusting harder. His sack smacking against your clit, adding more stimulation that made your legs shake.

"Please…" you managed to say, a thin, weak voice that was barely heard. "Oh! Gods, yes!"

"Look how desperate you are for my knot now, my sweet doe," he mockingly laughed, breathing heavily and grunting, "I knew you wanted this as much as I did."

"F-fill me…" you cried out, your cheek bruised with the movement against the rough dirt under you, "oh, yes! yes, please!"

"You're mine now, remember that, little one."

Those were his last words before he started to moan and groan as loud as you. His sweet and obscene sounds were making you wetter, your slick falling to the ground as you felt the head of his thick cock kissing your insides each time he would bury himself in you. He managed to find that sweet spot inside of you, and once his moans turned higher, you felt him stretching you even more.

You froze as you felt him spreading you so much that you thought it would rip you apart. The delicious mixture between the pain and pleasure made you come undone almost immediately; your cum gushing out of your cunt as your vision became blurry and your whole body shook. You soaked him completely, even staining your dress in the process. The pleasure was overwhelming, like flames wrapping your body and making it burn.

It became worse, because Cregan was too focused on searching for his own release that he did not realize how overstimulated you were. You bit your lip so hard that drops of blood fell down on it, Cregan's length going in and out of your abused cunt as rolled his eyes and gasped loudly.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of his cum painting your walls as you mewled under him. Your hips were still twitching, your legs shaking, and your face soaked with tears of genuine pleasure. Cregan thrust a few times before his knot swelled so much that he was not able to move anymore. Your lower belly had a bump now, as strings of his release filled your insides. You felt so good.

"Take it all," he grunted, "you're mine now, you belong to me…"

He leaned over, leaving soft and careful kisses on your clothed back as his hands roamed around your trembling body. Your dress was still covering those parts of your body, but you were still able to feel how hot his skin was. He was burning, and you were melting in his arms. He started to whisper soft words, but some of them were almost impossible to understand. His soft touch was a big contrast to his prior actions, but you were not complaining.

"So good," he praised you, "so fucking good. You took me so well, such a good little girl you are."

"M-my lord…" you tiredly said, your eyes closing by themselves as a sudden tiredness washed over your body.

"Sh, don't say anything…" he cooed to you, "just go to sleep, my sweet doe, I'll keep you safe forever."

And for some reason, you believed him. The last thing you felt before passing out, was Cregan pulling out, and his seed quickly falling down from you.

Inevitably, and drunk by pleasure, you smiled.

[astronicht]

Okay I feel bad posting a lot on OP’s post on the days of the week in lotr but I am kind of going nuts about it. He really saw “Tew” in Tuesday and said ummmmmmmmm “Trrrew” which yeah in Old English goes from one of the many spellings for the god Tyr (who was probably a war god, as the Romans picked him to be an avatar of Mars, tho tbh I actually don’t think he was associated with the planet Mars in any way) to an attested variant spelling of “treow” for tree.

(my personal feeling is that Tyr/Tew was more of a god associated with justice or something similar; he put his hand in the wolf’s mouth as a gesture of goodwill, knowing he was betraying the wolf— and got his hand bitten off) (because of shape of the rune named Tir I’d also guess he maybe had something to do with arrows as well).

Sterrendai for Saturday is hilariously clever in again changing a couple letters to change the meaning; “sterren” is just literally Old English for stars. Actually weird to have both stars-day and heaven-day since in the context he’s working in, those were often kinda interchangeably the firmament; the stars (unless they’re the wandering stars… hm) are simply part of the sky, not a separate object. Hevendai as Heaven Day tracks just fine except that I think Thor was supposed to be the sky god guy, not so much Odin (Wednesday guy; Woden’s Day -> Odin’s Day). Might be misremembering. This is what I get for posting out of order when I’m not actually TO the appendices.

But what about my new beloved Ocean Day (actually just sea-day; ocean would be garsecg usually), Meresdei? Mere is a sea or body of water (also a horse but I’ve been informed that this is NOT Rohan 2.0 thank god.) But it’s acting as Thursday (Thor’s Day or Thunder Day); I’m sitting on my sofa reciting the days of the week but there’s no obvious pun like Saturday and Tuesday or a meaning connection. I wanted Ocean Day because the sea SHOULD show up in what is basically a list of major cosmological features in early medieval northern—ah okay. Ah.

Right so all of these were necessary and fit the pattern. I can’t believe he keeps doing this to me. I’m going to make everyone listen to every cosmological tree story ever once I hit the freaking two trees in the Silmarillion or wherever they’re lurking. Alexander’s Letter to Aristotle trees of life and death I’m coming for you. I’m posting this whole fucking thing too it’s not going to drafts. It makes no sense that’s fine!! That’s fine!!

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Sansa Stark

Sansa Stark x daughter reader (platonic)

Warning: mentions of sexual abuse and trauma (to Sansa)

-From the moment she first meets you Sansa is fiercely protective. She knows girls are not kindly treated in this world. So the realities of this world are shown to you from a young age. Sansa has no interest at you being as naïve as as she had once been as a child. You are taught to be cunning and observe everyone. After all, no one can be too careful.

Y/n's little head rested on her mothers chest as Sansa walked through the quiet halls of Winterfell. Lights flickered in the hallway. Every step she took echoed through the ancient stone. Y/n stirred in her mothers arms, a small coo escaping her. Sansa's grip tightened. Even if she was a Queen there was no guarantee that Y/n was safe. Queen Cersei was a powerful Queen and all of her children were gone. Could she, still so young, succeed were Cersei failed? Sansa had always wanted a son. As a young girl it was to please her husband and continue his family line. Now as a woman grown, she feared to have a girl. She worried that her daughter would be burdened with the same worries she did. The night dragged on, the Queen's thoughts a blizzard of torment.

-Sansa will be a strict mother. As a child you would not understand why she labored over your upbringing, constantly tormented by a past you did not understand. She would always warn you of the dangers ahead. This does mean that while you know your mother loves you there is a wall. She is someone you don't fully understand. But you also admire her for being so strong. Sansa has always been a pillar of strength, she understands that her action will be an example to you. From the time you are old enough to, Sansa has you sit in on council meetings and affairs' of state. Because the world shows mercy to none, especially young girls.

Lady Karstark was arguing the case for her right to land against the Glovers. Both parties stood in front of the Queen who sat on her throne. On a seat beside her was Princess Y/n, wearing a newly forged circlet that would now be passed down to each heir. You took note of their arguments, the relationships between each person and the old alliances. You remembered the lands, having been to them on tours in the past. Beforehand, you had looked over documents, no matter how tedious they were. As future Queen you had learned that knowledge is power. Sansa put up her hand. Silence fell upon the crowd. You wondered if one day you would hold such power. The Queen looked to you. "And what does my daughter say?"

-There is still happiness in your relationship. When Sansa has a few hours away from the throne she spends time with you. She will tell you stories of the old Northern Kings, of the white walkers and the Old Gods. The two of you will gallop on horses for hours, the cold whipping your hair. There are times she will allow herself to enjoy things long left in the past. The two of you will sit by the warm fire, as a snowstorm rages outside. There isn't much talking, but that doesn't bother either of you. Warm lemon cakes sit on fancy plates, a delicacy the Queen rarely indulges in these days. She watches her daughter enjoy them, and although she wishes her daughter to grow up as hard as steel she can not bring herself to take this small joy from her.

The two of you found a hill. Breaking off from the party, Sansa made orders for the knights to keep an eye out. The two of you galloped to the top before dismounting. You stared in awe at the setting sun, casting its great light over the sky. The sent of trees and fresh running water overwhelmed you. For a while the two of you gazed out at the scene. Sansa walked back to her horse. "Are we leaving now?" You asked, disappointed. Sansa unclasped a pouch on her saddle. Out she pulled two things wrapped in cloth. You caught a sent and suddenly your tummy rumbled. Lemon cakes. Sansa gave her the lemon cake, and both mother and daughter sat and ate.

-Your betrothal and marriage will not be a happy occasion for Sansa. She knows what marriage means and what a man may take from her. Even if she can protect her Sansa knows that her power as a mother and Queen. Any guy who hopes to marry you had to go through the formidable woman that is Sansa Stark. Many a young man has cowered over the Queen's eyes. And you bet your butt that Sansa will have the boy's every footsteps observed.

"He is friends with Lady Karstark's eldest son. But he's a letcher." A small golden symbol of the boy's house bounced across the table. Sansa would be dead before she allowed her daughter to marry any such man. She critiqued each and every suitor whom desired to marry her. Beside her were stakes of paper. Anyone who married her daughter would have to agree to these terms. 1. Her daughter would be the sole occupant of the throne 2. If Y/n died without an heir, it would pass to the next Stark, not her husbands family Many more terms had been set. Y/n entered the room and everyone but the Queen bowed. "Come Y/n. We are looking to find you a husband." Having her daughters attention, Sansa made room. Y/n looked through the list of suitors before placing it down. "Well, do you see any that appeal?" "Not entirely, should we not look beyond our boarders. Perhaps any of the other six lands may have a second son to marry to me for an alliance?" Sansa gave a small smile. She was learning.

[family-blug]

Fgggg

Emergency: Help Evacuate What's Left of My Family From the Gaza War Dear Humanity.🍉🚨🚨

Here is our story - On October 7, our lives changed forever, we witnessed the real tragedy, 45 days we lived in our house surrounding the Al-Shifa hospital Complex with terror and pain every day, new events, and the most heinous crimes were practiced, shooting everywhere, terrifying fire belts that continued for half an hour, the sky lit up red, bombing all the towers and bakeries surrounding us, and all the solar energy on the roofs of the buildings and electricity motors, bombing all the surrounding restaurants and practicing starvation as a weapon, cutting off water, cutting off all types of meat, cutting off communication and communication networks, rising prices. Two days passed and we were unable to obtain potable water, we were drinking polluted water, and after our insistence on not evacuating the house, my family was evacuated from the house under threat and force in the northern Gaza Strip in (Al-Wahda Street opposite Zahran Restaurant), hoping to return soon, but that was not intended. On the same day we left the house, we learned that the house that was once a fortress of hope, is now destroyed and unfit for habitation, but our leaving the house was The real supplication as my room was destroyed, bordered by the living room, which was completely destroyed by the force of the explosion, and all the shrapnel penetrated the walls, where my mother's room, the shrapnel penetrated the ceiling of the room and the missile fell on her bed, where we were with my grandmother hoping that the danger was far away, but we were not spared from the brutality of the occupation. The danger approached two days later, the night when Al-Shifa Hospital was invaded was screaming.

The sounds of bombing were everywhere, causing a loud noise that seemed to penetrate our souls. Each explosion shook the ground like earthquakes, sending waves of fear through our trembling bodies. The air smelled of destruction and blood, making it difficult to breathe. When dawn broke, we saw the destruction around us, and we realized that our home had now become a symbol of loss and despair. We were at my grandmother’s house, hearing the sounds of approaching vehicles and death surrounding us from every direction, telling us, “I am here.” It was a very terrifying night. Flare bombs were everywhere in the city. Everyone was targeted. The occupation was calling all our phones and ordering us to move to the southern part of the Strip, and that we were in a dangerous combat zone. It was sending messages: “You must leave your homes immediately and head south for your safety. You must not return to your homes until further notice, according to the Defense Forces.”

Since that time we left and did not return to our home. Everything was completely destroyed. I was separated from my fiancé and my brothers. My father was killed in this fierce war. Our souls ascended to heaven. I lost everything, all my belongings, my office and my laptop. I left our clothes. The house was destroyed by 80%. The furniture was completely destroyed. My bedroom was destroyed.

In the 3-storey building we had a group of shops for rent that have now been completely destroyed and everything has become ashes and we have no other livelihood

I have no income here, just tell me ، how to live!

Pleas if it is not donation, help me with areblog or like and thank you front the bottom of my heart.🍉

‏Iam Diaa‼️🚨

‏I graduated from the Faculty of Sharia Law at the Islamic University with a Master's degree and now I am a doctoral researcher. I was hoping to complete my doctorate degree which I registered for in Egypt, but I will not be able to complete it yet because of the poor internet network. The price of the crossing ticket is very expensive. I was working in a private company in Al-Galaa, but I lost my job since the beginning of the war because my workplace was destroyed. I also lost the family home and my future home which I have not yet celebrated with my fiancée, Lauren, unfortunately. Now I want to leave to complete my doctorate degree in law. I aspire to do so and I cannot sleep because I dream of completing it.

https://gofund.me/142cc793

‏Please help even if it's $10 it can make a difference and if not just share the post

‏Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #218 )✅️

@90-ghost @sar-soor @sayruq @herecomesthementalmeltdown @words-of-emotion @sar-soor

[talonabraxas]

Anu - Mesopotamian God and Sky Father Talon Abraxas

The Sumerian god of the sky and head deity and ruler of the highest realm, Anu was the child of Ansar and Kisar, the very first set of gods and descendants of primordial beings. Anu was known as the father of the 50 great gods, and ruler of the stars and the spirits. Anu, Enlil and Enki were the trinity that ruled over the heavens, the earth and the seas. Anu is sometimes referred to as “An”. “An” translates from the Sumerian language as “high one” and the name Anu eventually became synonymous with “god”.

Origin

Sumer was the southern region of ancient Mesopotamia, considered the cradle of civilization. Today, the area forms part of the countries of Iraq and Kuwait. Sumer means “land of the civilized kings” in Akkadian, the language of northern Mesopotamia. When the gods initially gave humans the gifts required for cultivating a society, the first city of Eridu was created in the region of Sumer. It was here that order and civilization originated.

Records of Anu date back to at least 3,000 B.C., making him one of the oldest of the gods. Originally known as “An”, he was later called Anu by the Akkadians who were the rulers of Mesopotamia after their conquest of Sumer. In the stories of Mesopotamian mythology, the earth was separated from heaven at the beginning of time.

[ivnxrori]

When Sun and Moon meet - S2

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: Fighting, arguing

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Chapter 7 - Refreshing Tea

“Have you heard of that tea-house? All of a sudden their tea has been the best in Ba Sing Se!” One of the men said. “Oh then I must try it out! I have been craving tea recently," the woman responded with a laugh. I wasn't the biggest fan of tea outside of the northern water tribe. The only tea that exists was Spirit Oasis Tea which was only used for meditating in the Spirit Oasis to the Moon spirit. Ironic that the water tribe doesn't have a variety of drinks. “Uhm ma’am” I snapped out of me zoning out. I have been doing that more recently. “Sorry…” I said sheepishly as I handed him water tribe money. “You must be hearing about the new tea at the tea-house, I haven't had the time to go there but man I really want to. Sadly I'm constantly stuck at work.” The worker complained. Maybe I should check out the new tea area. “Water tribe money? Wow I haven't seen this currency in a while” The store owner said as I packed up my groceries for today. “Sorry, that's all I'm able to carry” Internally praying he accepts the pay. “Money is money” He shrugs and I let out a sigh of relief. “Have a nice day” he waved off while I smiled in gratefulness, taking Aku by the lead.

  ҉   ☾

Aku and I managed to get there, the sky was dark and the moon was slowly rising up. I really like the night sky because that's the only time I get to see Yue again. I smiled and parked Aku near the entrance. “Stay here buddy” I consoled before going into the tea-house. Once I walked there were still a lot of people, only one table was empty. Is the tea here really that good? Or this is the only tea-house here. I'm here to find out anyway. I was able to sit down at the empty table after making my order, which was just…tea. My mind wanders off thinking my father and Yue would have loved tea, not just specifically from here but in general. “Here’s your tea” a boy said, placing down the cup on the wooden table. I smiled softly “thank you” looking up at him, the realization hitting me. He has a very familiar scar on the left side of his face, it was none other than Zuko himself. Both of our eyes widened from the realization of who each other was. He totally figured out who I was. I immediately got up in fear, preparing to run away however it was prevented by Zuko himself. He grabbed my wrist, softer than I expected. “What are you doing here?” He whispered which made me irritated. “What are you doing here!?” I hissed. I didn't even get my answer due to an interruption made by…Jet?! 

“These two are firebenders!” Jet yelled out, holding two of his swords. How did he figure that out? Did he fight with them? “I saw the old man heating his tea,” Jet continued to yell. “He works at a tea shop,” one of the soldiers defended. He made eye contact with me, I freaked out internally thinking what was he going to do. “He is attacking this girl right here!” He pointed the sword at Zuko and I. We both looked down still seeing Zuko’s hand wrapped around my wrist. Due to this we quickly pulled back, I blushed in embarrassment. “N-No! The tea was too hot so he pulled my hand away before I could get burnt” I explained, my voice going a pitch higher than I wanted it to be. I don't know why I defended Zuko, but he didnt do anything bad to me at that moment. Zuko said absolutely nothing, way to go Zuko. “Drop your swords boy, nice and easy” The soldiers got up but Jet didn't care. “You have to defend yourself, then everyone will know. Go ahead! Show them what you can do.”  Zuko took the sword of one of the soldier’s “You want a show? I'll give you a show!” I grabbed my cub and tea before Zuko moved the table with his leg. I honestly couldn't be bothered with this situation. It doesn't include me and I wasnt that close with either of them to care. I tried taking a sip of the tea made, which was surprisingly still warm and I was even more surprised that it tasted really good. No wonder everyone wants to come here, and father would love this!

I continued drinking until I realized Aku was still outside. I went outside near the door frame to see a crowd of people surrounding Zuko and Jet, who were on opposite sides. “It's true sir, we saw the whole thing, this crazy kid attacked the finest tea maker in this city.” One of the soldiers said, making the old guy blush. Jet's eyes meet mine again making me flinch and look away. “Y/N do you trust me?” He says out loud making all the eyes go on me. My eyes widened and I looked down in embarrassment. What should I say? It's not like me saying anything would make much of a difference, unless if I took my hood down I would be able to use my princess card. “Stop bringing the young lady into this, can't you see she is scared” One of the women said, shielding me. Slowly everyone was defending me. I looked at Jet one last time before turning away. I'm sorry Jet, the person you shouldn't trust is me. He looked at me painfully before getting taken away from the guards. Jet continued spouting out words which slowly went faint and slowly everyone in the circle disappeared. “Some kinda friend you are” I turned around and saw Zuko. “He was not my friend,” I sneered. “Why did you defend me anyways, your the one that actually saw me fire bend”

“I didnt even defend you, I was trying to keep attention away from me” “Did it work?” “What is your problem? Isn't it more beneficial for you than it is for me?” I spat in annoyance. 

“Calm down you two” The old man said, calming the both of us down. “How did both of you recognize me?” I asked worriedly, holding the hood closer to my face. “Your face is quite recognizable once you've seen it, Princess Y/N. Now how about some tea, it will be on the house.” The old man whispered the second part which made me breathily sigh. “I'm good for the day” I glared at both Zuko and the old man. I go outside to take Aku and leave.

“Sorry Aku, i'm just going to go for a little walk okay?” I patted Aku on the head before I left. I was never allowed to go out at sundown before so I wanted to see what it was like. I stretched my arms over my head before seeing a kid and an adult. The adult had the kids' ball, taunting him. Really? How immature are these adults? “Hey, let the kids have some fun” I stated, defending the kid who turned towards me. His eyes were bloodshot red, tears were streaming down his face. “Hah, what are you gonna do? Hit me?” The guy taunted, shaking the ball. “I might just do that” I get water out of my water pouch, slapping them. “Ow” the guy hissed and let go of the ball “you will regret this!” he yelled running away. I grab the ball and gently hand it to the boy. “You need to be careful at night, who knows what could happen” I wiped the tears that were on his cheeks. He sniffed in response, grabbing a ball. Shakily saying “T-Thank you kind lady” He looked down. I smile softly “No problem, now where are your friends?” I looked around to see no one. “They all left once the scary man came” He sniffled. I patted his head sweetly. “Let's get you home little guy” I smiled as he grabbed my hand.

“Say thank you to the kind lady, who knows what we would do without her” The mom patted his back, ushering him to thank me. “Thank you!” He smiled. Both the mother and the son waved in delight. I waved them back and turned around, away from the house. I should probably go home by now, I'm feeling a bit tired. I yawned in my hand, till I heard something. I turned around quickly, searching for anything but there was nothing. Huh…I guess I'm just hearing things. Then I felt a grasp around my wrist. I immediately flick it away, using my water bending to hit them back. “Who's there?” I said out loud. “I told you, you will regret this” the guy from before said, chuckling evilly. The same guy who stole a kids ball. This time he had two additional accomplices. “Please you're so immature” I laughed mockingly which heated him up furthermore. Before he could strike, a figure barged in, striking them with two blades. My eyes widened at the scene and I quickly took out the figure behind me, whacking him down. I turned around to check out the scene again. I got a better look of the figure who held two swords, wore a blue mask and an all black outfit. “Just who…are you?” I raised my brows, moving closer. Just as I was about to get close enough, he ran, taking the three guys with him. That was awfully weird, man I really need to get home now…

<- Back - Next ->

a/n: Sorry for the late post WOOO Managed to post it on time!! So yeah! Thats literally it LMAO have a nice day and take care fo yourself!!

--

Taglist: @luvkvni @katovano @karmaswitch @someonesmember @velvet-spider @sh3sa1dwhat @nerdisthenewcool @meiraloves2dmen @fqnfics101 @iluvme547 @leaderwon @yukihatesreoyo @heart4hees @4l3x1s @kkissaku @corpsebridenightamare @newjellis @fatkish

[shit-solkat]

Names for every sprite (canon and not) - Homestuck

After this post (link), I started thinking about names for every sprite (prototyped Kernelsprites) that isn't simply their names smashed together. You can totally disagree with me :) I'm fine with it.

Yes, I will also explain my thought process and the names' meanings.

Note: I love using common words as names, but there will be other options as well :)

Note2: I find translations and meanings on google; of course I don't know all the languages of the world. So if I fuck-up some names, pardon :( (I can't fuck-up italian names cuz I'm italian tho lolz).

Note3: Not everyone has 2 names, it's hard :c

Note4: Many characters miss, and I WANT to make a second part!!! So don't worry too much about it (but you can totally contribute if you want :) )

Note5: No ship tagged cuz it's not a ship list lolz, but you can consider it like that if you want :3

Long post

Canon:

* Davepetasprite^2 = Paws, Hunter

>Paws: cuz i said so (scientific answer).

>Hunter: Both cats and crows are hunter-animals.

* Erisolsprite = Selvhad, Jabez

>Selvhad: "Self-hatred" in Danish.

>Jabez: Hebrew name, meaning "born in pain".

* Fefetasprite = Harcsa, Nyna

>Harcsa: Means Catfish in Hungarian.

>Nyna: Means "enclosure of fish" in Babylonian, but it sounds kind of like Nya/Nyan too (onomatopoeia for cats in japanese). Also, niña in spanish translate to little girl (which is cute).

Non-canon, random order:

* Johnrosesprite = Spring, Aurora

>Spring: When there's a lot of sun but breeze as well.

>Aurora: Girl-name (so perfect for Junerosesprite); an Aurora in italian also refers to Northern Lights, which are formed through "solar winds" (at least that's how we call them).

^* Rosejadesprite = Spring (it's perfect here too!!), Wisteria

>Spring: There is SUN, the FLOWERS blossom!!!

>Wisteria: Purple flower that is toxic to cats and dogs (and horses, if you care).

* Aradavesprite = Jikan, Horatia/o

>Jikan: Means Time in Japanese.

>Horatia/o: Latin names that means Timekeeper (or Hour, Time, Season). Horatia is feminine while Horatio is masculine, I imagine them simply switch from day to day.

* Jadekansprite (Jade+Kanaya) = Lotus, Zhade

>Lotus: Frogs often use Lotus leaves (alternative to frog leaves, called "common plantain" lol).

>Zhade: French name that means "precious stone". It's Jade in french, basically.

* Johnluxsprite = Netsky, Cloud

>Netsky: It's a PC virus. I choose it because of its name. Obvious reasons.

>Cloud: Another word for name srr, but John=Wind/Sky, Sollux=PC, Cloud=The thing on the sky & The App(s) (there are many).

* Solkatsprite (/Katluxsprite) = Downup, Moros

>Downup: One of the names of a powerful virus, which locks all accesses to infected advices and that permits to others to control the device from distance. It mostly uses fake anti-virus programs to spread - like "scareware" (it was used as a war weapon too).

>Moros: In Greek means "Doom"/"Impending Doom", but it also looks like moron so of course I had to include it.

* Rosekansprite = Rosemary, Ambrosia

>Rosemary: Yes, their ship name. But it simply fits!!

>Ambrosia: It's the Gods' food; Ambrosia is the *pollen* that Gods drink to stay immortal.

* Calliejadesprite = Titan, Oxalis

>Titan: Could be just me flashing like crazy, but anyways the Titans where the children of Heaven (Calliope, a Cherubin) and Earth (Jade, who saved Earth + plants + green + oh my god).

>Oxalis: It's a flower that looks like a candy cane.

* Davejadesprite = Saros

>Saros: A period of about 18 years between repetitions of solar and lunar eclipses.

* Calliroxysprite = Mojito

>Mojito: It's a "candy alcoholic drink", made with white rum, sugar, *lime juice*, soda water, and mint.

* Aratavsprite = Cornelius/Cornelia

>Cornelius/Cornelia: Means "horn" in Latin :) Cornelius=masculine, Cornelia=feminine.

* Nepquiusprite = Witten, Kamala

>Witten: Masculin Germanic name that means "Pale person" (also "Blonde" but ignore that part).

>Kamala: Hawaiian femminine name that means both "Lotus" and "pale red".

* Vriskansprite = Kyanite

>Kyanite: Blue-Green gemstone that has healing properties (allegedly), useful for low blood pressure, relief from physical pain, as well as a mind-calmer for trauma-recovery.