#a wolf with wings masterlist

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

The Northern Winds

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Warnings: mention of blood & (domestic) violence, mature NSFW content (18+), mention of sexist and misogynistic medieval notions on women, arranged marriage

A/N: The story is set a few years before the Dance of the Dragons and somewhat inspired by Cregan's first marriage from the book. Many of the characters are fictional of my own imagination but I tried to keep some and the setting as close to Martin’s universe as possible – with some changes here and there for the sake of the plot.

Plot: Arranged marriage between the Lord of Winterfell and a lady from a minor house

Words: 18k

MASTERLIST

***

Letters of more and more wildling invasions of the Wall, reports of their hosts gathering even south of the Wall reached the halls of Winterfell on a weekly basis in the past months. When young Lord Stark rightfully took his father’s seat from his usurper uncle, he also pushed the wildlings back north. However that was some years ago and winter was knocking on the door. The wildlings have become bolder even.

Lord Stark was working with Maester Bennard, his most trusted advisor, on letters of diplomacy and matters that needed the noble seal of the Warden of the North. The solar where the Lord of Winterfell worked was located in Rodrick’s Tower, the largest of all of Winterfell’s towers. A smaller tower grew from its western wall a few hundred years ago where the Lords Stark carried on their duty to their people as masters of Winterfell.

A fire was lit in Lord Stark’s solar and many more candles to light the spacious chamber. The stone walls were lined with scrolls of parchment and important letters, which arrived from both the north and the south, along with some books containing lineages and retellings of the great events of Westeros. There was a great oaken desk in the middle of the solar and yet close enough to the window to allow for some more light. Behind it sat Lord Cregan Stark in the company of his maester, who handed him the most recent letters of the lords closest to the Wall, who were all asking for aid in the fight against the wildlings.

Maester Bennard hesitated as the matters of the day came to an end. “There was another letter, my lord.” Lord Stark pressed his seal into the hot wax. “From Whytefort.” Lord Stark’s hard grey eyes rose to meet his maester’s. Although Cregan Stark was a young man, he was much his father’s son; much a Stark. While his face displayed youth on the one hand, he was a man of solemn expression and of a formidable build. The Wolf of the North commanded respect in his subjects and was regarded as an honourable man and a great warrior. Unlike the Lord of Whytefort.

“Apparently Lord Whytefort shares our struggles with containing the wildlings on the northern side of the Wall, particularly in the mountains. As you know, castle Whytefort lies—”

“At the foot of the Iceraven, yes,” said the Lord of Winterfell. Iceraven was a mountain chain stretching from the north of Deepwood Motte all the way to the Kingsroad. It was in the shape of a flying raven’s wings with its peaks covered in ice and snow all throughout the seasons, hence the name. The Whytefort was built in the foot of the mountain; its stone, white walls making the castle one with the mountain and its caves. Although Deepwood Motte was the seat of House Glover, the Lords of Whytefort had maintained their seat, on what were officially Glover lands, beneath the Iceraven for thousands of years. But what land they had, it was watery and more clay than it was soil. However, it mattered little because the Whyteforters were mountain men. They were shepherds and craftsmen. And although not particularly wealthy or strong of a house, their words read Pride is our honour.

“There was a falling out when my father was still the Lord of Winterfell,” recalled Cregan Stark. The maester nodded. “Jonos Whytefort refused to bend the knee to Lord Glover as his liege lord, not even when Lord Rickon demanded he does so.”

“Why does he send a raven now?” asked Lord Stark rather displeased. It has been a long day of tedious letters and little solutions on how to face the wildling problem. “Which noble house offended his pride this time?”

“Actually,” broke Maester Bennard, “Lord Jonos offers his men to join forces with Winterfell against the wildlings. He speaks in the thousands.”

Lord Stark frowned as he looked at his maester. Even just five hundred and a thousand well-trained even if not seasoned men could make all the difference in defending the Wall and pushing the wildlings back. It would take a significant strain off his own greybeards and the rest of the houses sworn to House Stark on whom he called for aid. Yet although houses honourable and strong like Dustin, Umber, Karstark, and even Glover were more than gland to answer their lord’s call with nothing but good favour in return, that was not the way of House Whytefort.

“What does he ask in turn?” spoke the young Lord Stark gravely.

“He …” began Maester Bennard hesitantly. “He offers his daughter’s hand in marriage, and therefore the end of animosity sealed by this marriage arrangement.”

Lord Stark scoffed. “Of course he does. Does he also suggest which one of my three wretched cousins I should have the pretentious wench wed to?”

“Actually, Lord Jonos’ offer extends only to your person,” spoke Maester Bennard cautiously.

Lord Stark’s eyes darkened at the audacity expressed by Lord Whytefort through the making of this offer. Cregan squeezed the brass seal of his house in his large hand, leaving an imprint of the direwolf on his palm. Still, as the wildling attacks grew stronger by the month, Cregan was not in an entirely clear and straightforward position to refuse thousands of trained warriors.

“My lord will have to marry sooner or later,” offered Maester Bennard in consideration.

“I’d rather have it later than sooner,” said Lord Stark. He had only been Lord of Winterfell some years. It was his duty to marry but he had rather hoped it could wait a while longer. “And you advise it, Maester Bennard? Whytefort is a small house. They have some land but most of it belongs to the mountains. Little wealth to speak of …”

“I do, my lord, under the circumstances. Winter is coming and the Wall must needs be secured before it arrives. We do not know how long the winter will last this time. We might not even have enough for our own, much less to feed a mass of wildlings.”

Cregan Stark knew of that without his maester having to say it. He looked through the window and saw the snows sticking to the grey rooftops of the castle. Although this was still just summer snow he was watching fall, Lord Stark knew one thing was certain. Winter is coming. And with it cold and death. There was no time to waste.

Lord Stark got up. “Have a raven sent, Maester Bennard. I leave the arrangement of this folly in your hands.”

"As my lord commands."

***

“Do you know what the girl is like?” asked Cregan Stark as he took his supper in Rodrick’s Tower. Maester Bennard was often by his side even at mealtimes as the work often could not wait.

“I believe you met her once, my lord. As a boy of nine or ten if I am not mistaken,” said Maester Bennard, helping himself to some black pudding. Lord Stark washed down his meal with a small cup of ale. He had no recollection of any young Lady Whytefort or the Whyteforts ever visiting Winterfell. As mountain men they more oft than not kept to their lands beneath or atop the Iceraven.

“They visited Winterfell on their way to castle Cerwyn for Lord Cerwyn’s son Erick’s wedding. You may remember from your studies that Lady Whytefort is Lord Erick Cerwyn’s half-sister.” Cregan Stark nodded although he had no memory of ever learning that either. His mind must have been on swordplay or horse riding at the time Maester Bennard instructed him in the family ties of the minor houses of the North. He was desperate, however, for his mind to conjure an image of his future wife, even if only from childhood.

“I do not remember them visiting,” said Lord Stark. There hardly passed a week in his life without a visit at Winterfell from this or that house, family, or merchant.

“They only stayed the night before riding out in the morrow, so naturally you may not recall,” said Maester Bennard. “It was a long time ago …” he spoke more quietly as he knew what his lordship would ask him next.

“What do you remember of the girl, maester?”

“I …” hesitated Maester Bennard. “I know you are of age with the lady,” said the maester but that is not what Lord Stark was asking. His grey eyes were as cold as stone as they commanded the maester to speak plainly. “I remember, I believe, as a child she was neither entirely plain nor very comely. Or particularly well-mannered for a young lady - a rebellious child. She favoured the company of her horse and dog to that of the court and needed to be forced into a dress as she preferred breeches and jerkins, often stealing them from her older brother Daeron from what I heard. It was said to be a nightmare for her lady mother,” said Maester Bennard and took a sip of warm honeyed wine. “He, Daeron, is the future Lord of Whytefort and was named after his grandsire. You may remember him better,” said Maester Bennard. He would not lie to his lordship of his recollections. However, no matter how homely, or brazen if she is to be judged after her lord father?s character, the maid might have grown up to be, the wedding was imperative in taking place.

“The brother,” Maester Bennard cleared his throat, “Was said to be the one to have inherited the beauty of his parents. He was three-and-ten when you met him, the same age as you were when your lord father died. “Lord Jonos, however, assures Lady Y/N is as comely a beauty as any northern, or for that matter, southern lady. He sings praises of her wit and promises she is an accomplished young woman,” added Maester Bennard although neither himself nor Lord Stark were inclined to trust the words of a man whose pride exceeded his sense of honour – or duty for that matter. However, to Cregan Stark they represented the same. His duty was his honour and his honour was his duty. No Stark had ever broken his word and he had given his to Lord Jonos Whytefort to marry his daughter in exchange for a few thousand men.

“We shall know soon enough,” said the Lord of Winterfell soberly as he set down his cup and retired to his private chambers. The raven sent by Whytefort’s maester read their lord and his daughter would arrive in half a moon, which meant they would arrive on the morrow when the wedding ceremony would also take place.

***

The summer snows were melted by the sun during the day whilst the nights would remain as cold and crisp as ice. It was afternoon already when Lord Jonos arrived with his surprisingly unnumerous host of noblemen and women to witness the marriage of his only daughter to the Warden of the North. The castle had been in preparation of the feast for days before the arrival of Lord Whytefort. The main hall was being decorated in ribbons and flowers in the colours of House Stark and House Whytefort, whose banner bore a carmine brown fox on a field of black with white trees, symbolising the birchwood of their lands.

The ceremony was to be held in the godswood inside the castle walls of Winterfell beneath the heart tree as was customary in the North, where the faith of the Old Gods remained. As Cregan’s own father was dead, it would be Maester Bennard who would lead the ceremony as the most senior of Cregan’s advisors and one Lord Stark personally considered a friend.

The host arrived late in the afternoon although they were expected in the morning. The Warden was irked but would not let it show. Lord Cregan stood tall and solemn as he waited for his guests, for his future bride, in the main courtyard of the castle. The sound of hooves long echoed the walls of Winterfell before a host of wedding-adorned horse riders crossed the innermost gates. Cregan Stark recognized Lord Jonos from his short visit to Winterfell quickly upon his arrival. He had mousy blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sea of Tarth. He was a reasonably tall man with some belly brought on by age and too many barrels of ale. Lord Jonos rode on a white palfrey with his son by his side on a mount of a coat that matched the Whytefort’s fox in colour. Daeron was a comely young man like the maester said, his eyes as green as summer trees with a head of rich dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He sat high in his horse yet not half as high as his lord father. The host of riders rounded in the vast courtyard, leading the way for an ornate carriage. To the onlookers, Lord Stark, the Warden of the North, was calm and dignified. But inside, Cregan felt a storm gathering. It was the displeasure of meeting a man so prideful that he would offer his daughter to the Lord of Winterfell without invitation; but mostly, a man who was too arrogant to bend the knee at the command of his most senior lord for a petty feud with House Glover over some land later won by the latter. Yet it was not only pride and arrogance that Lord Jonos Whytefort was famous for but also for containing an equal measure of tightfistedness as well as greed.

Half a dozen riders and a couple of wagons with supplies followed the carriage until it came to a stop and Lord Jonos dismounted along with his first-born and only son.

“Lord Stark,” said Lord Jonos Whytefort, bowing his head curtly. His son echoed his actions. Lord Stark was almost surprised at Whytefort’s courtesy. Yet if they had not been expressed properly, more would have been at stake for Lord Jonos rather than for the Lord of Winterfell.

“Lord Jonos,” said Cregan Stark and squeezed the man’s thick, gloved hand warily. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark. It was a surprisingly long journey.”

“Indeed,” said Cregan. “We had expected you this morning.”

Lord Jonos laughed, revealing that not only his belly but his teeth were affected by the too many barrels of ale. “Yes, indeed. The wheel of the carriage broke. There was replacing needed,” said Lord Jonos lightly although the spare wheel rested securely untouched in one of the wagons that followed the host.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark curtly although his hands itched to send Lord Jonos back to the mountains whence he came from. As he continued about their tedious journey from the security of their mountain hold, Cregan Stark’s gaze moved behind Lord Whytefort. The carriage door was held open, a woman round with curves and black hair secured in a net of pearls stepped from the carriage. For a moment, Cregan’s chest grew heavy with the burden of duty as he considered that may be his bride and Lord Jonos had tricked him by singing praises of his daughter's beauty. But the woman could not have been his bride as she must have been twice, nearly thrice Lord Cregan's age. The discomfortable thought disappeared when another figure emerged from the carriage and he realized the first woman must have been Lady Whytefort, the wife of Lord Jonos. She held her daughter’s hand and helped her climb from the carriage. Lady Y/N held up her rich black velvet skirts until her feet reached the floor. Her gown was trimmed with the fur of the carmine fox of her family’s banner and she wore a chain of white gold around her neck. The Lord of Winterfell came to realize that Lord Jonos must have been truthful for the first time in his life when he wrote of his daughter's comeliness.

Maester Bennard, who was among those to greet Winterfell’s guests, recognized the child he saw so many years ago in the young lady before him. Her eyes were still restless and deep as pools but they grew a warmth only changing into a woman grown can bring. There was no sight of men’s breeches or her brother’s jerkins. The gown young Lady Whytefort wore hugged her womanly body, the curves of her figure evident even with a heavy cloak hanging from her shoulders. The person he remembered was a child rebellious and wild, but the one standing before him was a woman grown and noble.

The cold, fresh air filled Y/N lungs, easing some of the sickness the ride in the stuffy carriage inflicted on her insides. Y/N looked up at the tall castle walls, the massive bricks of grey stone and granite towering over her. Her new gaol, she thought. She looked around until her eyes met those just as grey and cold as the castle walls. Y/N averted her gaze as her mother led her to where her lord father and her future husband were waiting. Her heart was beating hard against her ribcage as she suddenly felt as hot as if she had arrived in Dorne and not in Winterfell.

Lord Jonos went on about their journey still, oblivious of his wife or his daughter’s presence or the decency of making their acquaintances. As Lord Jonos finally reached for breath, Lady Whytefort spoke, “Lord Stark, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Y/N of Whytefort.”

Y/N bowed graciously but managed no more than a glance at her future husband’s eyes. He was taller than her father even and the heavy cloak he wore made him appear as if there were two men beneath it rather than one. Lord Cregan Stark was as formidable a figure as any she had met.

“Well met, Lady Whytefort,” said Lord Stark curtly as he kissed her gloved hand.

“My lady,” said Lord Stark and turned to Y/N. He took her hand, not ungently, and kissed the top of her knuckles. Y/N could almost feel the warmth of his large hand although the both of them wore thick leather gloves. There was a sword strapped on his back, almost as tall as he was. Ice it was called, Y/N remembered from a book she read on the Kings of the North many years ago. It was Valeryan steel and passed on from generation to generation just the same as Visenya Targaryen’s Dark Sister.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Lord Stark to his future wife.

"Thank you, my lord," Lady Y/N thanked him but her voice collected although weaker than her normal self. She had been fighting off suitors for years and successfully so. But there was no way she was getting out of this marriage. She would not dare as the prospect of it was too good for her family. Unlike her father, whose pride was built on wealth and possession, Y/N’s pride consisted of honour and love she held for her family.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” spoke Lady Whytefort assuredly. “Our apologies for arriving late. We … Had some trouble on the road,” she explained although her eyes twitched towards her husband for a moment. She was a beautiful woman once with raven black hair and honey brown eyes. The children of Lord and Lady Whytefort were a mixture of their parents each in their own way.

As Y/N fixed her cloak when the evening breeze blew through the courtyard and the courtesies between Lord Stark and her father continued. She took in the many faces which observed the arrival of her family: her arrival – the future Lady of Winterfell. Just the sound of it in her head was incomprehensible to her, what more the reality of her being there, in that moment. Y/N could never imagine herself wed and bearing children for her husband. She was much happier studying books the maesters gave her, happier taking drawing lessons, even doing needlepoint. She could not imagine relinquishing the freedom of riding her mare through Whytewoods, secretly wishing she had been born a boy rather than a girl. The freedoms enjoyed by her brother were always right in front of her eyes but never hers to savour. The life she wanted was denied to her on the account of her existence as a woman. There were times when she wished for a family of her own, a husband to share her life with. But whenever her father would arrange for a suitor, Y/N knew she would rather end up an oldmaid rather than marry and relinquish what little freedom was left to her. However, when her lord father gave her the news of her betrothal to the Lord of Winterfell, to the Warden of the North, she had no choice but to accept the decision for she understood what the match would represent for her family. She would no longer have to worry about her beloved mother in the old age, her brother losing his seat to greater, more powerful houses, or even worry about her father, whom she somehow loved deeply and despised at the same time, for there would be always the power of Winterfell standing behind them.

All the while Y/N attempted to distract herself with the architecture, with the people both common and noble observing her, she could not help but feel Lord Stark’s cold grey eyes burning into her like ice. She would not meet her future husband’s gaze for more than a moment though or she feared her eyes might let in tears. Lady Y/N was very good at letting people to believe she was calm and assured of herself. And the one thing Y/N vowed to herself was that she would not allow anyone to see how she truly felt inside at the prospect of this marriage; of leaving her life behind, her family and friends, her freedoms.

***

Lady Y/N, her mother, and their handmaids were showed to their chambers where Y/N was to prepare for the wedding ceremony. Although the colours of her house were black, white, and carmine, her wedding gown did not have any black in it. Her father claimed it was bad luck. Instead, Y/N wore a gown of cream white fabric as soft as butter. The handmaids helped her with the bell sleeves and the lacing, adjusting her stockings and helping her with her shoes, whilst her lady mother placed a necklace of white pearls and a single carmine ruby around her neck.

Y/N’s hands were cold with sweat at the thought of the night that was coming. Her fingers shook too gravely to clasp her own earrings. Saera, Lady Y/N's handmaiden, who was helping her dress one final time as Y/N would be required to take new handmaids from the morrow forward as Lady Stark of Winterfell, adjusted her earrings. At last, they clasped a heavy maiden’s cloak around her shoulders. This one did sport the black of House Whytefort but only at the hem. The collar was carmine fox fur and the chain a silver link fastened around the neck. Y/N’s mother wept at the sight of her daughter on her wedding day.

It was already dark when the party descended the castle and was shown to the godswood where the ceremony was to take place. Lady Y/N could feel the fire from the torches the guests carried but her body shivered from cold. Or fear.

In the godswood of Winterfell stood the largest heart tree Y/N had ever seen. Although there was some snow on the ground with small, almost invisible snowflakes falling, the tree stood proud with blood-red leaves crowning its branches. Y/N’s breath quivered as she looked up at the guests. There were not very many and yet still too many for her comfort. She saw two dark figures right beneath the heart tree, one tall and one much shorter, the maester Lady Y/N had seen upon her arrival. The face of the heart tree beckoned haughtily for her to approach. Lord Jonos clasped his daughter’s hand around his elbow, leading her to the weirwood tree.

“Stop shaking,” he gritted through his teeth, his intense blue gaze finding his daughter’s. There was ale on his breath as Lord Jonos refused to go sober at his daughter's wedding, particularly when it was at the expense of Winterfell rather than his own house.

Y/N could not say a word, her mouth to dry to speak although she had a cup of mulled wine to warm her up as she got ready. She tried to swallow but it was like trying to swallow a spoonful of sand. “And don’t even think of anything stupid,” said Lord Jonos and squeezed her hand so firmly in his that the bones in her fingers near cracked. “The future of our house depends on this.” His words weighed even heavier in Y/N's chest.

They stopped at the heart tree opposite of Lord Stark, whilst Maester Bennard stood at the head of the party. Cregan Stark wore the colours of his own house, standing tall in the sight of the Old Gods. There was not an emotion on his face that Y/N could read other than what she had learned was his usual, formidable self.

Lord Stark, however, could not help but notice the tremble in his bride's small, delicate hands and the tension in her body.

It was beginning to snow once again but thankfully the ceremony would be short unlike the southern weddings before the Seven.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” began Maester Bennard at once.

Lord Jonos spoke, “Y/N, of House Whytefort, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“I, Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Who gives her?” spoke Lord Stark, his voice strong and unmoving.

“Jonos, of House Whytefort, Lord of Whytefort,” said Y/N’s father as he let go of her hand.

“Lady Y/N, do you take this man?” asked Maester Bennard. For but a moment, Y/N considered what it would be like to run away. She would not come far. She also wondered of the fury her father would inflict on her for ruining such a perfect match. Her mother would be heartbroken and her brother livid.

“I take this man,” spoke Y/N at last, her voice weaker than she intended. She glanced at her husband’s grey eyes for but a moment before looking away. Tears threatened to water her eyes but she forced them back.

Lord Stark unclasped Y/N's maiden’s cloak as her body tensed and replaced it with his own, one with the sigil and the colours of House Stark. The fabric weighed heavy on her shoulders but it was warm, warmer than her own cloak had been. Neither did it smell like her. Its scent reminded her of pinewood and cloves.

Y/N pulled the cloak closer to her. It is done, she thought, and somehow her chest weighed less heavy than only minutes ago. She did not know why because this was the easiest part. It was the night that frightened her. And the morrow. And every day that would follow.

The wedding feast was held in the main hall. There was no scarcity of wild boar, of venison, nor of suckling pig. There was hot bread and tarts, lemon cakes and pastries occupying every corner of every table. Wine was served, Dornish red and Arbor white. There was even hippocras. And ale by the barrel. Her father was the first to be in his cups, having begun before the wedding ceremony, and entertained his noble and less noble friends at the end of the longtable to where he changed seats from his daughter's side. Her mother sat next to Lord Stark chatting happily away with one of the ladies. There was no one for Y/N to talk to but her husband, a man she hardly knew; a man she knew not at all. She thought the night might be easier if they spoke other than just courtesies.

Y/N took a cup of Dornish red from one of the servants and drank until she felt the warmth in her cheeks.

“I remember staying at Winterfell as a child,” spoke Y/N, finding the courage in her cup. “It was just for one night but I thought it looked much smaller then.” Cregan did not know what to say. He looked at his wife, taken back by the sudden break of silence. She had not even looked him in the eye more than half a dozen times since she arrived, much less spoke to him. At first, he thought it vanity yet when he saw her in front of the Old Gods, he understood her silence did not grow from pride or arrogance but something else, a mystery.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lady, but I cannot recall your time here at Winterfell. My maester, however … Given what he said of your being like as a child, I half expected you would arrive on horseback,” confessed Lord Stark, not displeased with the idea at all, yet hardly being able to imagine someone as quiet and reserved as Lady Y/N to arrive in anything less than an ornate carriage.

“Would that I could,” said Lady Y/N, finding her voice as she smiled a small smile at the thought of herself as a child. “But my father insisted I ride in the box.”

“The box?” inquired Lord Stark.

“It’s just as small, it’s wooden, and it’s as uncomfortable as anything. I’d be more comfortable riding on top of a cabbage cart,” said Lady Y/N earnestly, her voice quiet, but Cregan let out a warm, hearty laugh. Lady Y/N turned to him, drawn to the sound of his laughter, which even made her smile. She dared look at him properly for the first time since they met that afternoon. He looked like as a Stark as any: dark brown hair, a somewhat elongated face, and grey eyes, which suddenly seemed a lot warmer to her than the stone cold one's she saw that afternoon. She already knew he was tall but now that he had removed his heavy cloak, she saw the rest of his body too. His shoulders were wide and his chest strong beneath the metal sigil of the wolf clasped where his collarbones would meet. He must have shaven clean in the morning but Y/N could see there were hints of stubble protruding from his strong jaw. His hands were strong and muscular; strong enough to wield that inconceivably large sword belonging to his house, Ice. The thought suddenly frightened her. Her father never raised a hand to her but his raising a hand to her mother was hardly a rare occurrence.

The smile disappeared from Y/N’s lips as she looked at her hands resting at the edge of the table. She reached for her cup and drained what little was left in it. Lord Stark must have noticed the change in her mood.

“I understand Winterfell must seem daunting, my lady,” he spoke sincerely. “I got lost here countless of times myself as a child, and I was born here.” Lord Stark spoke with a warm northern accent. Y/N gazed around the room and nodded. Not because she agreed but because she could not make herself say anything else. She paused.

“It is not the castle that frightens me,” Y/N spoke out of the sudden, regretting it the moment the words flew out of her mouth. Wine be damned.

“What then, my lady?” asked Cregan without thinking. Lady Y/N smiled to herself as she glanced down at her hands before raising her gaze to him. She looked into his eyes but for a brief moment although it seemed to him to last a century at least. Her lips parted gently but no words passed them. Lady Y/N gave him a small, reassuring smile. She looked away and helped herself to a small lemon cake that she did not finish not even by the end of the night. But it was then in her smile that the Lord of Winterfell realized the mystery of his bride’s silence – fear, not of Winterfell itself, but of him. And she hid it so well. There was an air of assuredness and confidence about her, the way she moved and spoke, even if only with her eyes. But underneath it all, Y/N found herself feeling more vulnerable than ever.

As Cregan was about to speak to his wife, Lord Jonos bid her to dance as was customary of the father of the bride. If he hand not been in his cups, he might have been a half decent dancer. Lady Y/N, however, was as graceful a dancer as any. Her creamy white skirts seemed to become one with her body as she stepped and turned to the beat of the waltz. As the song came to an end, Lord Jonos coughed from fatigue as he stumbled back to his company, leaving his daughter alone in the middle of the hall. He considered his obligations at this wedding met and returned back to the feast. As Y/N was to return to the high table on her own, a warm hand caught hers. She looked up and found herself face to face with her husband, the great Lord of Winterfell. Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise but there was no time to hesitate as the music already began to play. She moved to the beat of the music, noticing how everyone was staring at them as they became the centre of attention.

“I didn’t think you dance, my lord,” said Y/N, hardly being able to look up into her husband’s eyes. The older she got, the less desire she had to look people in the eyes.

The Lord of Winterfell seemed much more a man suited to the battlefield rather than the cobblestones of a dancecourt. He was too tall and too broad in the shoulders to dance as elegantly as any singer could, nevertheless, he was sure of step and held a strong frame.

“I don’t,” said Lord Stark as their arms locked in a figure that demanded a turn. Y/N looked at him.

“Then why …” she wondered out loud before she could stop herself.

“Because you are the Lady of Winterfell,” said Lord Stark unemotionally as the dance slowly came to an end. “And your father is a wretched fool,” he spoke with distaste just before the music quietened. Lady Y/N stared at her lord husband as he kissed the top of her fingers and escorted her back to the high table where they sat together.

“Thank you,” she spoke gratefully, so used to her lord father forgetting his manners when he was in his cups, or sober for that matter, that the gallantry of Lord Stark seemed as strange to her as the sun rising at dusk. The tone of the Lord of Winterfell's voice, however, made her uneasy.

“There is nothing to thank, my lady,” said Lord Stark, his ice-cold voice melting some.

“It is to me, my lord.” Y/N had some more of that lemon cake for she could feel the Dornish red mingle with her blood far more intensely than she had intended. She had been travelling all day and had been on the road for near half a moon. The wine stuck to her as easily as mud to boots on a rainy day.

As the guests, Lord Jonos' group of primitive nobles in particular, suddenly began shouting “BEDDING! BEDDING! BEDDING!” in unison, Y/N flinched, her hand colliding against Lord Stark’s arm as her eyes widened. She had asked her father not to do this, not to encourage this ribald practice, and he agreed. He even gave her his word. In his cups however, Lord Jonos had no recollection of making his daughter such a promise.

Y/N’s stomach twisted into knots as she grew sick with anxiety when she saw the guest approach her with their greedy hands.

The Lord of Winterfell stood up, towering over most any man in the hall. His grey eyes turned as cold as stone as his brows furrowed into a formidable frown. The music stopped and guests settled down to hear what the Warden of the North had to say.

“I would not draw a sword at anyone on my wedding day, my lords,” spoke Lord Stark in a loud, solemn voice. The bawdy smiles of the wedding guests drained from their mouths. Y/N looked up at her husband, her own lips parting. Her heart was beating so wildly, she thought it might jump from her chest.

“Least of all at my father-in-law,” said Lord Stark with ice in his voice as he looked Lord Whytefort, who stood at the head of the ribald guests, straight in the eye. Lord Jonos clenched his jaw, slowly blinking his blood-shot eyes.

“As you wish,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s your wedding night, my lord.” Lord Jonos grasped his cup, having to lean against the high table to steady himself as he drank. Lord Stark glared at the singers who began to play once again immediately. The guests returned to their cups and cakes grumbling as Lord Cregan took Y/N’s hand as the feast continued without them.

Lady Y/N’s face was flushed with fever, her body tense like a bowstring. Lord Stark held her hand tightly as he led her through the hallways of Winterfell. His step was much longer and faster than hers for she struggled to keep up. As she skipped a step, Lord Stark realized how fast he was walking fuelled by fury. He stopped and took a moment to look at his wife. Lady Y/N’s chest was rising and falling quickly, the skin on her cheeks and neck flushed with heat. Her lips were parted and her eyes big and deep as pools.

“Forgive me, my lady,” said Lord Cregan and kissed her hand, holding it more gently as he calmed his anger. Her fingers disappeared in his large, calloused hand, engulfed by the warmth of his touch.

“Whatever for?” breathed Lady Y/N. I should be on my knees with gratitude, she thought to herself. Because of everything that had just happened – or might have happened. If the bedding had taken place, her clothes would be stripped from her body as the male guests would carry her to her wedding chambers, most likely groping at her body and sometimes even waiting outside the door to ensure the marriage was truly consummated.

“I …” began Lady Y/N, trying to find the words to express all the things she was feeling: the gratitude, the fear, the confusion … But before she could gather her thoughts into words, Lord Cregan cupped her Lady Y/N's face with his large hands, the thumb of his hand brushing across the corner of her lips. Goose pimples rose on her arms as he leaned down some, his grey eyes shifting between her lips and her eyes. Cregan leaned in and kissed his lady wife. The loose strands of his long hair grazed against Lady Y/N’s forehead as she responded instinctively to Lord Cregan’s touch. All the fear she felt beforehand melted from her as her hands gently leaned against Lord Stark’s broad torso. Y/N pulled away slowly but Lord Cregan leaned in once again and found her lips. The fingers of his right hand caught in her hair as they reached further, supporting her neck and jaw. The skin of her entire body tingled with fever as Lord Cregan broke the kiss hesitantly, his hand finding hers once again.

“Come,” asked Lord Stark, his voice quiet and hoarse. He led her up the stairs, some wider then others, taking turns that Y/N could not memorize even if she tried. Her body was trembling with expectation, a mixture of fear of the unknown creeping in as well as Lord Stark pushed open a great oaken door that led to his private chambers. The fire crackled in the hearth as the snow grew stronger outside the windows of Winterfell. The chambers were near as vast as the main hall split in half with its own table laden with cheese, fruit, and wine, and flowers and candles for light. There was the chambers' own dressing area and a private privy that belonged to the apartments as well. There were painted chests, ottomans, and chairs and great, ornate tapestries with scenes of hunting, the godswood, and the red and white heart tree. Opposite of the hearth was the bed with a vast feathered mattress, soft pillows, and furs for warmth.

“Some wine?” asked Lord Stark distractedly as he turned to look at his wife. His eyes were a daze of grey clouds.

“No,” said Lady Y/N quietly and shook her head. A loud bang erupted from the courtyard beneath the tower with Lord Cregan’s private chambers. Y/N winced, her eyes wide as they darted towards the window of painted glass. Lord Cregan frowned when Lady Y/N squeezed his hand and her focus shifted.

“Nothing to fear, my lady” said Lord Stark in a quiet, reassuring voice. “They are only celebrating.”

Y/N nodded to herself, “Of course.”

Cregan gently tugged on Lady Y/N's hand, bringing her closer to him. Breath caught in the back of Y/N’s throat as he towered over her, his nose brushing against hers before he kissed her lips. Her hands rested against his chest as his locked around her waist. Lord Cregan pulled on the strings of her wedding dress, releasing the bow that held the topmost layer of the gown in place. The fabric loosened around Y/N’s chest before Cregan tugged on the open wings of the back of the dress and exposed her shoulders. He left soft yet hungry kisses along her neck as his hands found the hem of her skirt. Cregan pulled the bottom of Y/N’s gown past her hips and knelt. He kissed her stomach never minding the chemise as he blindly found the strings of Y/N’s corset and pulled it apart. The fragrance of her skin, of cloves and orange blossom, urged him on as he rose and began unbuckling his leather jerkin that bore the metal sigil of House Stark. Y/N helped Cregan with the strings of his tunic as best as she could as her fingers were still a trembling mess. Y/N was no longer afraid like she expected it. Her instincts prevailed and she was surprised at herself how much she wanted it. How much she wanted him, the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan pulled his tunic over his head, allowing for his strong, muscular body to be observed. Perhaps it was the wine or some new found courage but Y/N softly pushed Lord Stark towards the bed where he sat down. They were almost at a height now. Cregan’s hands slid from her upper back to her hips where they settled securely, pulling her to his lap without ever detaching his lips from hers. He reached for the hem of her silken chemise and pulled it over her head. In nothing but her stockings, Y/N helped Cregan undo his breeches as he kicked off his shoes absently, his lips tracing the line from her neck to her chest.

“Gods,” Cregan murmured against her hot skin, his voice as hoarse as broken glass. He left soft, hungry bites and kisses along her breasts as his hands gripped onto her hips securely. He laid Y/N on the bed and quickly pulled off his breeches before his lips found the one place he felt they belonged: between his wife’s soft, creamy thighs.

Y/N gasped, her fingers digging into the furs and linen. She closed her eyes and forgot to breathe as her toes curled in pleasure. When a soft whimper escaped her lips, Y/N’s cheeks flushed redder still but Cregan did not seem to mind. Rather his arms wrapped even tighter around his wife’s thighs as his kisses were fuelled with insatiable hunger. A mass of heat began forming in Y/N’s abdomen, the tension in her body growing higher and higher. She tried to contain her moans but could not help herself. The pressure dispersed from her body as she remembered to breathe and she breathe heavily. Y/N’s eyes closed involuntarily as one of her arms rested across her forehead. For a moment, she was both lost and found, at peace and in chaos.

“S-Stop …” Y/N managed a small stutter as Cregan thought to continue. “Please …” she begged. Cregan did as she asked, leaving one last kiss on the inside of her thigh as he rose. His face was flushed and his eyes as striking grey as a lightning sky. Y/N’s breathing slowly calmed and she opened her eyes, coming down from her high. Cregan was leaning on his elbow beside her, patiently watching her recover. He leaned in carefully and waited for her to tell him to stop but she did not. She responded instead with a kiss, a hungry kiss with which she vowed to repay the pleasure he had made her feel, a pleasure she had not expected.

Cregan pulled her body closer, wrapping Y/N’s thighs around his hips after he pulled off her silken stockings. A quiet gasp escaped her lips as he entered her, his eyes closing in pleasure as his eyebrows furrowed into a heavy frown. He moved slowly at first, evenly. Then his body began moving faster and more desperately. Cregan’s hands roamed Y/N’s body until he had to steady himself against the headboard, feeling himself nearing to his climax. A moan of pleasure caught in Cregan’s throat as he leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. Y/N’s hands rested on Cregan’s broad back, his head on her chest. She was breathing heavily as well as two fat tears escaped her eyes. A pool of emotion bubbled inside of her whilst she observed the carved wooden ceiling but not really seeing it, only once again beginning to feel the weight of her life and her duty. She was to make her husband happy. Is he happy, she wondered. Is he pleased? Do I please him?

Another loud bang boomed from the courtyard. Y/N gasped in spite of herself, her body wincing involuntarily. Cregan tensed with her in his arms. He glanced up before he rose once again, leaning against his arms. He looked into Y/N’s eyes but she still could not hold contact for longer than a moment.

“It’s alright,” he spoke once more. “You’re safe, my lady,” said Cregan quietly before pressing a soft kiss on Y/N’s lips, then another on her forehead. Y/N nodded before Cragan leaned on his side and pulled her closer. She rested her head in the nook between her husband’s shoulder and his chest. He pulled one of her legs across his thigh where he rested his hand beneath her hip, drawing soft circles into her skin. In spite of it all, Y/N could not relax. Her body was tense once more, her mind rushing with thoughts of apprehension and self-doubt, even shame. She was a woman wed; it was her duty to give her husband children. What made her feel shame was that she had enjoyed it so.

***

Y/N’s eyes opened when the morning broke, startled by the unknown surroundings. She did not move as she looked around, the memories of last night, only a few hours ago in truth, came back to her. For the hour or two that she managed to close her eyes, Y/N was consumed with a kind of sleep that made one wake up more exhausted than one went to bed. Thoughts and memories of the day past rushed and disfigured in her mind when she slept. Y/N’s chest rose heavily as she looked at Lord Stark lying beside her. He was sleeping on his front, his broad, bare back moving gently with his breathing as he was sound asleep. Y/N was suddenly aware of her nakedness, the recollections of last night made her cheeks flush with shame once more. The wine had made her bolder than she ever would have dared on her own.

Lady Y/N left the bed quietly and slipped on her chemise. Although there was hardly any fire left, only burning embers, the chambers had not grown cold. The walls of Winterfell were built in a way that allowed the hot spring water to rush within them and keep the castle warm.  

Y/N glanced over her shoulders, seeing her husband sound asleep. She carefully walked the heavy wooden floors to the dressing area yet none of her things have been brought up yet. There was only a basin and a pitcher. Y/N took one of the soft cloths folded on the washstand and poured some water over the fabric. She washed herself not realizing her thighs were not only painted with her husband’s seed but also her blood. Rosy red stains appeared on the soft white cloth. Y/N could not recall feeling any pain, not any that would disturb her. But there was still blood.

“My lady?” asked Lord Stark. Y/N gasped as she jumped around, clutching the cloth in her hand as the other went over her heart. Cregan’s voice was gentle and quiet but it startled her nevertheless in the hour of the nightingale.

Y/N curtsied instinctively. Her face grew hot at the sight of her husband’s bare chest although he was wearing smallclothes.

“Are you alright?” asked Lord Stark, his eyebrows locked together into a frown.

Lady Y/N nodded. “It’s just … Sleep evades me, my lord,” she spoke, avoiding her husband’s storm grey eyes. Y/N felt exposed in only her chemise although Lord Stark had seen her nakedness and more but hours ago.

“Cregan,” corrected Lord Stark as he took the cloth from her hand. He brushed away a small remain of blood from her calf before standing up. Y/N nodded although she could not make herself say his name out loud. It felt odd to even consider calling the Warden of the North by his first name.

“Are you feeling well?” asked Lord Stark once again, his voice more solemn than before. “Are you … hurt in any way?”

Y/N realized what he was asking. “I’m alright, my—”Lord lingered on Y/N’s tongue as she stopped herself in time. Lord Stark’s stone hard eyes lingered on his wife a moment longer, studying her features. She could not have lied to him even if she wanted to under his formidable gaze.

Cregan nodded to himself and asked her back to bed. It would be hours before anyone other than the smallfolk would consider breaking their fast after the night of festivities. There was no need for the Lord of Winterfell to jump to his duties at the crack of dawn as he normally would, not on this day. Yet it was obvious that neither him nor his wife would find any more sleep that morrow.

It became clear to Y/N that moments of desire and the rest of life were two separate ordeals. One’s courage when powered by lust dwindled in the face of achieving the intimacy of a comfortable silence. Y/N did not know what to say or how to navigate the quietness that settled between herself and her lord husband. She was lying on her side, facing away from him when he spoke.

“Your belongings will be brought up in the morning,” said Lord Stark absent-mindedly. “I was told your new handmaids and ladies-in-waiting were also chosen for you in terms of the seniority of rank …”

Y/N turned on her back, her eyes searching the ceiling. “Alright,” she whispered almost soundlessly. She came to realize once more how drastically her life would change, how it already changed. The people she knew, the persons who had formed part of her every day would suddenly be replaced by strangers she had never met before. Her private rooms were no longer hers but ones she shared with her husband. Y/N shut her eyes tightly and paced her breathing. Tears forced into her eyes but she pushed them away.

“You … You are going hunting today?” asked Y/N to stir her thoughts in another direction. Her lord father boastedabout going on a hunt in the Wolfswood with the Lord of Winterfell in the honour of his daughter’s wedding.

“Am I?” asked Lord Stark. The tone of his voice sounded displeased but Lady Y/N could not be sure. She looked at him.

“I only thought … I heard …” she tried to explain but could not find the words that would not expose her father. The stone in Cregan’s eyes softened some when he saw the fear returning to his wife’s beautiful features although she tried to mask it.

“If Lord Jonos wishes a hunt in the Wolfswood, I will not deny him,” said Cregan absently. He was in no mind to entertain his father-in-law any more than duty commanded of him. The Lord of Winterfell had no taste for arrogance, particularly not one that mingled in one as selfish as he was covetous.

“Ser Duncan Greycliff can take him. He is the master huntsman,” spoke Lord Stark somberly.

“You do not have a taste for hunting?” asked Lady Y/N in an attempt to get to know her husband although she could almost hear him thinking “I do not have a taste for your father.”

“I do,” said Lord Stark instead. “But I prefer swordplay and horse riding.”

“So do I,” said Y/N more to herself than to her husband. “Horse riding, I mean.” She had tried herself at swordplay once as a girl. The sword was hardly a dagger compared to Ice yet it weighed so heavy in her hands that she cut her leg the first swing she took. The blade did not cut through the fabric of her brother’s breeches that she wore but it still parted her flesh on the side of her knee. Her father never learned of it as Y/N’s lady mother made her swear she would not speak of it or else it would not bode well for either of them. The maester bandaged her injured leg and she would never touch a sword again.

“Horse riding then,” decided Lord Stark. He had a scarcity of engagements to attend to that day, still being his wedding day in a way. “We should set off after breaking our fast. The snowing may grow stronger again later in the day. You have a horse with you I take it, my lady?” asked Lord Stark. A true rider never parts from their preferred mount.

“I wanted to bring my mare, Blackspur,” said Y/N as she nodded. “But my father … He said my husband has wealth enough to buy me a horse if I want one,” confessed Y/N. A cluster of anxiety gathered in her throat at the thought of leaving her mare behind. She had her since she was a child. And even if Blackspur had already been past her days as a filly then, she was one of the fastest horses in her father’s stables.

Y/N shook her head and smiled to herself. “Little does he know I asked my cousin to ride her here,” said Y/N, turning her gaze to her husband. “He never even noticed,” her smile grew wider. “So I would only ask for a place in the stables for her.”

Slowly Y/N looked away. Asking anything of her husband, a man she had known for a day, brought her discomfort and shame. She was raised never to ask for anything.

“I will have them build an entire stable for her if that is your wish, my lady,” said Lord Cregan. Y/N could not help but laugh as butterflies awoke in her stomach although there was no doubt in her husband’s voice that he would truly do so. He smiled nevertheless at the sound of her small but bright laughter.

“A stall will do, my lord,” said Y/N as the smile lingered on her lips. Cregan pulled her closer by the waist, Y/N’s back arching against his touch. Their faces were but inches apart as Lord Stark leaned in slowly, his gaze focused on his wife’s soft lips. She was the opposite of everything he had expected from a daughter of a man like Jonos Whytefort.

The heat of Lord Stark's body made Y/N’s arms cover in goose pimples. There was not a hint of Dornish red left in her veins yet Y/N leaned in herself, her hand resting on her husband’s cheek as her lips met his. A soft, almost soundless whimper escaped her mouth as Cregan pulled her closer, his strong grip secured on her body. As his hand reached beneath Y/N’s chemise, there was a knock on the door.

“For Gods’ sake,” growled Cregan, his voice rumbling from his chest. He glared at the door. “Not now!” he called and returned his attention to his wife. The smell of her skin drove him mad with desire, the feel of her soft curves, her gentle touch on his body. He had not imagined it would be so. Cregan Stark was used to perform his duty in all matters and he believed this marriage would be no exception. Little did he expect duty to taste so sweet.

There was another, more persistent knock on the door. “I said NOT NOW!” the Lord of Winterfell rose his voice to a formidable boom. Y/N’s body grew tense in Cregan’s arms, his eyes darting back to her. But before he could speak, another, more familiar voice came from outside his chambers.

“Forgive me, my lord. The matter is of great importance,” sounded Maester Bennard’s voice.

“Gods be damned,” muttered Lord Stark in frustration and fell back into bed. His eyes shut tight for a moment as he gathered his calm. Cregan sat up and pulled on his breeches and tunic in an attempt to conceal the evidence of passion. He opened the door where Maester Bennard awaited. Y/N pulled the linens closer to her body although the bed was hidden from the door’s view. The maester spoke quietly and she could not hear what was said. But there was one word she unmistakably caught – wildlings.

The ladies-in-waiting presented themselves after Lord Stark rushed to Rodrick’s Tower to speak with his lords and advisors. Lady Y/N’s belongings were brought to her chambers along with the wedding gifts of the nobles who attended the marriage celebration. Lady Y/N was helped into a gown of sage green embroidered with string-of-silver. She was asked of her preferences and of her well-being while the servants changed the bed linens and cleared the table with food. One of the ladies-in-waiting, Helaena or Harriett Dustin or Umber, fastened a necklace of white gold and deep green emeralds, which Y/N received from her mother on her sixteenth name day, around her neck. Y/N traced the jewellery with the tips of her fingers, her chest growing tight with pain. She would have to say her fare wells to her mother and to her brother after her lord father returns from the hunt. She will have no one left from her old life, save for her mare Blackspur.

“The breaking of fast will take place in the main hall today, m’lady,” informed one of the servants. She curtsied as best as she could before Y/N’s ladies-in-waiting escorted their Lady of Winterfell to the main hall. The women were kind enough yet unfortunately they were all perfect strangers to Y/N.

The way around the enormous castle that was Winterfell presented itself much clearer in daylight than it did in the hour of the wolf although they remained quite confusing still.

The guests rose as Lady Y/N entered the main hall, her eyes growing wide as she glanced behind her. They rose for her. She was but a young lady of an insignificant house no longer than a day ago. Sometimes people did not even bother to curtsy to Y/N when she was not in the company of her lord father and now an entire hall of noblemen and women stood at her presence.

Y/N sat down at the high table next to a grand, ornate seat reserved for the Lord of Winterfell. Wolves were carved into the handles of the seat, the sigil of House Stark showing off proudly from the top of the back rest. Y/N’s own seat was carved in the same fashion only slightly smaller in size. She sat, allowing for everyone else to do the same. Her cheeks flushed pink as Y/N became acutely aware of everyone staring at her. She knew what they were thinking behind their bawdy grins and hidden whispers, and it cost her her appetite.

One of the serving girls poured her some warm honeyed wine which Y/N gladly accepted. She glanced at the empty seat beside her once again. The seating was different than at the feast. Many of the guests were missing, doubtlessly still asleep. Y/N noticed her lady mother, however, speaking to who seemed to be Lady Hornwood. When Lady Whytefort’s eyes met her daughter’s, she gave a warm, encouraging smile, which reassured Y/N some.

“Is the food not to my lady’s liking?” asked Y/N’s lady-in-waiting, Daela Manderly, the most senior in rank and the one who earned her seat beside the Lady of Winterfell at the high table. She was a girl of seven-and-ten, not much younger than Y/N herself. Lady Daela was tall with long red hair of House Tully after her lady mother.

“I do not have much of an appetite,” confessed Y/N but forced herself to have something at least.

“Are you well, my lady?” asked Lady Daela with great concern. She even went as far as to take Lady Y/N’s hand. Y/N was not accustomed to people touching her, not even Saera who she had practically grown up with. The only person Y/N welcomed touch from was her lady mother. Nevertheless, it was not so much Lady Daela holding her hand that brought Y/N discomfort. Rather, that she was asking on the account of the passing night being Y/N’s wedding night.

“I’m alright,” assured Y/N as she helped herself to a slice of white wheat bread and some butter. She reached for the jar which smelled of sweet blackcurrant and raspberries, spreading some of its contents across her buttered bread.

“Is breakfast usually held elsewhere?” asked Y/N, earning a puzzled look from Lady Daela. “The servant said that we will break fast in the main hall today.”

“Oh,” said Lady Daela. “There is a smaller hall. It is warmer there but Lord Stark often breaks his fast in his solar with Maester Bennard when Winterfell is not host to noble guests. The ladies and myself usually eat in our chambers,” the lady-in-waiting explained.

Suddenly, the people of the main hall rose as did Y/N herself even before she could even see the Lord of Winterfell enter the hall. The last time she saw him that morning he was in his wedding breeches, his white tunic hanging loosely from his shoulders. He had a change of garments since and a clean shave, his long dark hair combed neatly.

Lord Cregan took his seat at the high table, letting the bountiful breakfast to continue.

“Good morrow,” said Y/N gently, unable to explain the reassurance she felt at her husband’s presence. Suddenly, she felt like no one was looking at her at all anymore.

Lord Cregan’s gaze found hers, his stormy eyes raging with thoughts. A dark, solemn expression rested on his already formidable features that Y/N had not noticed when he sat down beside her.

“Good morrow,” spoke Lord Stark nevertheless while he helped himself to eggs, cooked ham as well as bacon and half a dozen slices of rye bread.

Y/N felt as if she somehow misspoke yet she could not have; she only greeted her husband. For a moment, Y/N contemplated it might be Lord Cregan prefers quiet in the mornings since he often eats alone. Yet as Lady Daela claimed he sometimes shared his meal with Maester Bennard so that could not have been the answer. Something must have happened when he was called away that morning.

“Is everything alright, my lord?” asked Y/N carefully as if she were threading on ice. Her voice was soft and discrete as she leaned in ever so slightly. Although they had spent the night together, Y/N did not know Cregan Stark in the least.

Lord Stark stopped his eating, his brows forming into a small frown as he looked at his wife. Y/N thought terribly for a moment, expecting he might throw a plate at her as she had often seen her own father do. Instead, Lord Stark's gaze flickered between Y/N’s big eyes that waited patiently for his reply. She looked away when he did not say anything, focusing on the food in front of her instead before she glanced around the room. Her father would have announced it is none of her business if it had been him she were asking. That or worse.

“Everything is alright, my lady,” said Cregan out of the sudden, interrupting Lady Y/N chain of horrible thoughts. “We will talk of it later,” he added as their eyes met once again to which Y/N could only manage a nod.

After their broke their fast, Y/N changed into her riding gear. She had her father’s castle tailor make her gowns that could be parted and worn with riding breeches underneath and that were able to fit a proper saddle. Y/N picked out a garment of dark blue, brown leather gloves and a fur cloak. The cold winter breeze and the nightly snow made it less than ideal for a nice, long ride yet Y/N could not wait to get out of the castle. She had arrived to the stables before her husband where Blackspur was already waiting for her.

“Hey,” soothed Y/N gently as she glided her gloved palm across the mare’s neck. Her coat was as black as pitch save for the white boots on the three of her four legs. The horse responded to her mistress’ presence, nudging her great big head in her direction.

“Shh …” Y/N leaned her face against Blackspur’s back and caressed her quivering body. For a moment, she could feel the weight of the world storm down on her. For a moment, Y/N’s eyes filled with tears and disappeared in her mare’s coat just as soon as they appeared.

Footsteps approached from the other end of the stall. Y/N wiped away what traces of tears had remained on her face as she patted Blackspur and took a deep breath. The presence that appeared at the stall’s entrance was Lord Stark himself. He did not say anything for a moment. Cregan’s eyes moved across his wife’s attire, never having seen anything like it. Another man appeared behind him, one of the stableboys, offering to saddle Lady Y/N’s horse.

“That’s alright. I will to do it myself,” said Y/N, stroking Blackspur’s neck. The stableboy did not know what to do at such a request from a lady, his small blue eyes flickering between the Lord of Winterfell and his lady wife. Y/N realized they had been staring and she herself froze as her lips parted.

“If I may, my lord,” she spoke much less assuredly, lowering her eyes from her husband and to her beautiful horse whom she caressed still.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark. “Benjin, fetch a saddle for Lady Stark.” Y/N froze at the sound of her new title coming out of her husband’s mouth. She felt like a pretender when she thought it herself. The words coming out of the mouth of the Lord of Winterfell however, carved them into stone.

Lord Stark joined Y/N in the stall, running a hand along Blackspur’s neck himself. The horse shifted at the presence and touch of a stranger.

“Don’t stand too close to her face. She might bite at you,” said Y/N’s arm instinctively stretched past her husband’s body as if to protect him. “She is wary of people she does not know.”

Cregan glanced at his wife’s hand and took it but also stepped back with her as Y/N warned. Her face grew warm when she realized she had tried to ‘protect’ the Lord of Winterfell, who stood even a few inches taller than Blackspur.

“She is a lot like my wife it would seem,” said Lord Stark and closed the space between them. Breath caught in the back of Y/N’s throat as her husband’s lips brushed against hers, seeping into a deep, hungry kiss, when the sound of the stableboy’s returning footsteps filled the silence.

“Gods be damned,” cursed Lord Stark as he pulled away from his wife’s soft lips. Lady Y/N could not help but smile. She took Blackspur from her stall where she could saddle and prepare her for the ride.

Once she was in her saddle, Y/N felt like herself again. The sense of freedom returned to her even if but for a moment. The northern wind swept through her long hair as she gave her restless mare a turn around the courtyard by the Hunter's Gate.

Lord Stark rode a deep brown courser with mane as black as night, hence the name Nightkeeper. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell rode out together, taking no escort as they roamed the snow peppered grounds surrounding the mighty castle. They passed the winter town on their way through the main castle gates. Its houses were mostly empty still but as the winter approached, more and more people would return to stay once again beneath the walls of Winterfell.

The horses picked up their pace when they reached the open fields. Lady Y/N could not hide the smile growing on her lips when fresh air filled her lungs and her breathing became faster.

“Forgive my prying, my lord, but—”

“Cregan,” said Lord Stark. Y/N looked at him. “You need not call me ‘my lord’ when we are alone,” he said once again.

“I fear it may take me some time to get used to that,” confessed Lady Y/N, offering a small smile. The Lord of Winterfell smiled in turn as they steered their mounts up a field path west.

“About this morning,” said Y/N more carefully, “The important matter that needed your attention …”

Lord Stark nodded, his features growing somber. “A growing party of wildlings gathers just north of the Last Hearth,” he explained. “There was a letter in the night from Lord Umber urging we send men north.”

Y/N listened patiently, nodding to herself.

“I will have to ride out soon,” said Lord Stark. “With your father’s host of warriors joining us, we stand a good chance at pushing the wildlings beyond the Wall for good. Or at least for a good many years.”

Y/N’s heart grew heavy. Once her family and her handmaidens leave Winterfell, she will have no one for company but her husband. And Blackspur. Lord Cregan did not count much yet since Y/N was unsure as yet how much she could confide in him as a friend rather than her lord and husband.

“When do you expect to leave?” asked Y/N, even her words growing heavy as she considered being left completely alone at Winterfell.

“In half a moon’s turn,” said Lord Stark gravely. “Sooner if we can gather the men.”

Y/N nodded.

“It will be enough for you to get used to your duties as the Lady of Winterfell. You will rule in my stead when I leave for the north, of course,” said Lord Stark. His voice was laced with thick northern accent.

Y/N’s chest gave a squeeze as she suddenly realized the weight of her responsibilities. Her own lady mother often deputized for Lord Jonos when he was away yet governing over Whytefort could not be compared to ruling Winterfell, much less the North. For the first time since Y/N learned of the marriage alliance between herself and Lord Stark, she could truly feel the weight of duty of her new home rather then her childhood one.

Y/N looked at her husband. He had been the Lord of Winterfell since he came of age at six-and-ten and lost his parents three years prior to succeeding his father’s seat as the Warden of the North. She could not imagine the heavy weight that rested on Lord Cregan’s shoulders nor how he managed to carry it so well; how he made it seem so effortless and natural.

Cregan caught Y/N staring. She looked away quickly and made Blackspur pick up her pace as she gently nudged her belly. Lord Stark did the same and matched her speed, both of the horses shifting from a trot to an easy gallop. Y/N raced her mare up the nearby hill, having Blackspur come to a halt where the view was best. Y/N took in the scenery as she paced her breathing. The fields were neither green nor covered in snow, towered by the mighty grey castle that was Winterfell. From this distance, the castle could fit in the palm of Y/N’s hand. There was forest too as far as the eye could see; dark pines standing strong whilst the summer trees were slowly but surely dropping leaves.

“It is all yours,” said Lord Cregan not without pride when he saw Lady Y/N staring.

Y/N licked her cold-dry lips. I don’t want it, she wished to say. It was too large, too vast, and too many people depended on it; depended on her. Yet for better or for worse she was the Lady of Winterfell. The duty was hers to bear.

“Mayhaps we should go back,” suggested Y/N quietly. “The winds are growing colder.”

“Winter is coming,” agreed Lord Stark as he turned his courser around.

They spent the majority of the ride back in silence yet Y/N could feel her husband’s eyes burn into her for the near entirety of the way. She could not make herself look back at him nor ask about his thoughts. Y/N had spent her entire life as an insignificant lady of an insignificant house leading an insignificant life. She knew her place among the noble lords and ladies – it meant she was to be invisible, quiet, and respectful; never looking them in the eye for too long, never speaking out of turn.

“My lord,” called Maester Bennard as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned from their ride. The old maester was waiting for them in the courtyard by the Hunter's Gate, holding a scroll of parchment. “A quick word. Another raven arrived following the one of the morrow.”

Lord Stark dismounted as one of the stablemen took his horse. He stepped away with Maester Bannard whilst Lady Y/N dismounted as well. She had only been able to unsaddle her mare when a party of riders and their dogs entered the courtyard. The lords had gone hunting as per Lord Jonos’ request although the time of day was less than ideal. Nevertheless, Y/N spotted that a wild boar had been the result of their labour in Wolfswood.

“What is that beast doing here?” shouted Lord Jonos when his bright blue eyes saw his daughter’s mare; the one that he had gifted her on her ninth name day. His voice caught the attention of the entire inner courtyard, including Daeron Whytefort, who took part in the hunt. Lady Y/N jumped around, her heart in her throat.

“I told you that nag is to stay at Whytefort!” Lord Jonos slid off his mount and stormed towards his daughter, his whip still in his hand. “You will pay for this trick!”

Lady Y/N’s heart dropped as her eyes grew wide, her back hitting against Blackspur’s side. She held her breath, unable to take her gaze off her lord father, when a man of as stout a figure as any stepped in Lord Jonos’ way. Ser Harwyn, the master-at-arms of Winterfell and a bull of a man, grabbed hold of Lord Whytefort’s whip arm.

“Threatening the Lady of Winterfell is treason and cause for death, my lord. Lord Stark will have your head for that,” warned Ser Harwyn, his grip on Y/N’s father as firm as his words as Lord Jonos tried to set free of the master-at-arms’ hold. Lady Y/N knew Lord Jonos would go for his dagger and he did.

“Don’t!” the Lady of Winterfell cried at her father as her brother could not do anything but watch.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Lord Stark.

“Nothing, my lord,” said Lady Y/N quickly though her voice was weak. The sight of Ice strapped on her lord husband’s back and Ser Harwyn's words made her stomach twist into knots.

Lord Stark turned to his master-at-arms for answers as he saw his wife’s eyes were laced with fright.

“Lord Whytefort threatened Lady Stark. I said it is treason and you will have his head for it, my lord,” Ser Harwyn glared at Lord Jonos. The master-at-arms had trained Lord Cregan at swordplay since the now Lord of Winterfell was in his swaddling clothes. His loyalty to House Stark was unwavering.

“Is this the truth of it?” Lord Stark turned to his lady wife. Y/N’s eyes were big with fear, her lips parted with surprise. She had not thought he would ask her of what had happened. Yet Lord Stark already knew Ser Harwyn’s words had the truth of it. He only wanted to see if his wife would lie to him, even if it was to protect her foolish father. Hot tears welled in Lady Y/N’s eyes.

“It is the truth, my lord,” she spoke quietly as tears stung her cold, wind-lashed cheeks. Cregan’s brows hung in a dark frown, his frame as stoic and formidable as ever. Yet something in the parting of his lips, the colour of his stone grey eyes softened as he studied his lady wife.

“She is my daughter and I forbade it!” Lord Jonos defended his actions. “I forbade that she should bring that beast to this castle,” he insisted.

The Lord of Winterfell turned to him, his cold, hard eyes finding the whip in Lord Jonos’ hand.

“She may have been your daughter yesterday, and you could do with her as you would have seen it fit then, my lord,” spoke Lord Stark, his voice growing darker by the word as he approached Lord Jonos until he towered over him with ease. “But she is my wife now – mine,” Cregan assured to his father-in-law who was as taken aback by his lord’s words as was Lady Y/N.

“I will have you leave the grounds of this castle immediately for I am no longer inclined to extend you the courtesy that no harm shall befall you as my guest,” said Lord Stark with ice in his voice. “But remember that it was you, Lord Whytefort, who forfeited that right as my guest when you threatened my wife, the Lady of Winterfell.”

Lord Stark’s cold gaze rested unblinkingly on Lord Jonos.

“Leave. From this day on you are only welcome at Winterfell at the invitation and pleasure of its lord,” Lord Stark said his final words.

Gentle snowflakes began to fall once again as the Lord of Winterfell showed Lord Jonos his back, commanding his lady wife to follow him inside the castle. Lady Y/N tried desperately for her eyes to meet that of her father but he would not look at her. Lord Jonos yanked his arm free from Ser Harwyn’s hold and spat on the floor before he commanded his men to prepare to leave at once.

Y/N hurried after Lord Stark, hardly matching his pace of long, furious strides. Once in the privacy of their castle walls, of their private chambers, Lord Stark spoke.

“If he so much as speaks another word out of turn, I will have his head,” promised Lord Stark, his voice calm and steady yet ice cold as he faced his wife, the daughter of the most insolent man he had ever had the displeasure to meet. If it had been anyone else, Lord Cregan would have had his head on a spike by then. Or better yet, have him sent to the Wall where he could externalize his impertinent arrogance to winds and snow if they would have him.

“It is my fault, forgive me, my lord,” said Lady Y/N desperately and bowed. “If I had not brought Blackspur with me, this never would have happened.” Y/N shook her head as she looked away when tears welled in her eyes. She could not believe that she had been so foolish. She should have known her father would find out and it would lead to no good.

“I do not say this to blame you, wife,” said Lord Cregan incredulous.

“But I am to blame,” said Lady Y/N. “I should have obeyed his orders.”

“If he had as much as laid a finger on you—” Lord Cregan stopped himself before he could finish his thought. He was holding Y/N by her arms, not ungently, trying to make her understand without him saying anything out loud. Lord Cregan was not a man of words, nor a poet who could sing his lines. The only thing about Lord Stark that sang was his greatsword when he swung it.

Lord Stark let go of her arms, his palms tingling with the warmth of his wife’s body. He gathered his thoughts, pushing his emotions aside.

“I have duties to attend to, my lady,” said Lord Cregan in his usual solemn manner. “And you must needs time to settle in as well. I will see you at nuncheon.”

The Lord of Winterfell left for his solar. Y/N curtsied when Lord Stark was already at the door, his back turned to her.

Y/N sat in one of the chairs by the fire overwhelmed by emotion. She contemplated everything that had happened. Her father announcing the betrothal, the journey, and the wedding ceremony. Last night and this morning, the invigorating ride and the terrible quarrel afterwards. Y/N did not know whether to laugh or cry or to scream. Everything was new and she was so very tired. Not only her mind but her body as she had only a few hours of restless sleep.

There was a knock on the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but your mother, the Lady Whytefort, asks to speak to you,” said a knight of the personal guard of Lord Stark, the one assigned to the new Lady of Winterfell.

“I will see her,” said Lady Y/N almost desperately as she jumped to her feet.

“Very well, my lady,” the knight bowed.

Lady Whytefort was shown into the room, the heavy wooden door closed behind her. She wore skirts of umber red with golden-silver embroidery on the bodice. A necklace of pearls and matching earrings decorated her pale skin.

“Mama,” cried Y/N as she wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s body. The thought of her leaving made Y/N’s heart part with white-hot pain. As a child, Y/N and Lady Whytefort were not particularly close. Yet as Y/N grew older so did her mother and their relationship not only mended but flourished. They were each other’s best friend, protector, and confidant.

“Oh, sweetling, it’s alright,” spoke Lady Whytefort but neither she could disguise the cracks in her voice. Her cheeks were wet with tears with her daughter’s arms locked around her body so tightly. Lady Whytefort caressed Y/N’s hair, unsure whether it was to comfort her or herself.

“I do not wish for your to leave,” whispered Lady Y/N for if she attempted to speak with her voice, it would surely break.

“Oh, I do not want to leave either, my sweet,” said Lady Whytefort as she pulled away, wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “But I have to. This is your home now and I have to return to mine.”

Y/N nodded in understanding although more hot tears streamed down her face.

“I will visit as soon as I can, I give you my word,” vowed Lady Whytefort.

Y/N’s chest broke with a painful sob. She began shaking her head, “Y-You cannot.” Her crying grew heavier.

“Why not, my sweet?” asked Lady Whytefort as she wiped away the tears off Y/N’s face. “You mean the quarrel between your father and Lord Stark?”

Y/N’s sobs quietened as her gaze rested on her mother’s. “W-When did … How ... How did y-you know?”

“Your brother told me when I came down to meet him after he and your father returned from their hunt,” explained Lady Whytefort unconcernedly. “Besides, I fear half the castle is talking about it,” she said, less pleased that there would be gossip in such a noble castle.

“I don’t understand,” Y/N shook her head. “How can you speak so lightly?” Her cheeks grew wet with tears once more. She shook her head, “I … I don’t know what to do.”

“You do not have to do anything, my sweet,” comforted Lady Whytefort. “I already spoke to Lord Stark—”

“What?” blurted Lady Y/N. “When?”

“Just now,” said Lady Whytefort. “I went to ask for pardon on the behest of your father but Lord Stark would not hear of it. Mayhaps if Jonos came to him himself and swallowed that foolish pride of his …” said Lady Whytefort tiredly. She had been mending her husband’s messes for years, decades even ever since they were wed.

“What am I supposed to do? And it is my fault—” cried Lady Y/N in desperation but her mother cut her off.

“Whilst the Lord of Whytefort is not welcome at Winterfell unless upon the invitation and pleasure of its lord, the same does not extend to the Lady of Whytefort,” said Lady Whytefort with a small, growing smile. “She is welcome to the hospitality of Winterfell at the Lady Stark’s wish.”

“W-What?” breathed Lady Y/N. Her heart was beating hard enough to escape her chest. “Lord Stark … Lord Stark said that to you, mother?”

“He did,” promised Lady Whytefort. “You will beg me to leave for I will be here so often.”

Y/N could not help but laugh through her tears that her mother brushed away for one last time.

"And the quarrel was never your fault, my sweet," swore Lady Whytefort. "It gladens me that you have Blackspur here with you. At least you will have something of your own ..."

“I will be leaving with your father, however,” explained Lady Whytefort. “So we best say our goodbyes now.” Y/N nodded as she locked her mother into a tight embrace. She would miss the smell of her perfume, the touch of her hands. But mostly, she will miss her voice and her company.

Y/N said her final goodbyes to her family after nuncheon, her beloved lady mother and her brother. Lord Jonos would not look at his daughter, waiting impatiently on his milk-white palfrey. As her family and the host of guests disappeared behind the castle walls, Y/N felt alone in the world. A darkness settled in her body, a sadness for Whytefort, her private chambers, the people she knew, the halls she had walked thousands of times before, a sadness for her home. Yet Winterfell was her home now.

Y/N spend the rest of the day with her ladies-in-waiting, slowly but surely remembering all of their names. Daela Manderly, Ellyn Mormont, Jocelyn Karstark, and Harryett Dustin. Y/N found Lady Ellyn the most agreeable of the lot. She was a few years Lady Stark’s senior with long hair neither brown not gold and eyes the colour of rain.

The ladies showed her the castle from the Great Hall to Benjen's Hall where the meals were usually held, the broken tower and the ladies’ quarters where they spend some time at small talk and a warm cup of mulled wine. Lady Daela was a woman of petite stature who could not handle more than a cup or two before the grape had stuck to her blood. She told a rumour about one of the ladies of the court but Y/N had no taste for it. She neither knew who the lady was nor did she have the energy to keep up with the conversation.

“If my ladies will excuse me,” said Lady Y/N and got up. The women mirrored. “I will retire to my chambers for it has been a long day,” she apologized. “Lady Mormont, if you would be as kind as to escort me.”

“Of course, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn as they left the ladies at their wine. Lady Daela seemed conflicted between her wish to be called upon the new Lady of Winterfell to accompany her to her chambers and between her thirst for more honeyed wine and leisurely whispers.

As they climbed the staircase of Rodrick’s Tower, Y/N’s thoughts drifted off to her husband. They had not spoken at all at nuncheon other than the courtesies demanded of them. Yet come supper, they will be alone and after her lord father’s outburst that morning, Lady Y/N was unsure of how she felt – of how her husband felt. Lord Stark had allowed Lady Whytefort to visit any time she wishes, yet what if he resented that she would come and ask for her husband’s forgiveness; that she would want to change his mind and question his orders. His silence to Y/N weighed terribly on her mind.

Y/N sighed heavily as they reached her private chambers.

“Is everything alright, my lady?” asked Lady Mormont.

“I hope so,” said Lady Y/N more to herself than to her lady-in-waiting. She was yet unsure how much she could trust Lady Mormont. In reality, Y/N was less than hopeful. Her mother was right when she said she had been cleaning Lord Jonos’ messes since they were wed. His difficult character and more oft than not unjustified pridefulness made life difficult not only for him but the rest of the Whyteforts. 

“May I suggest a bath, my lady?” offered Lady Ellyn, waking Y/N from her thoughts. “It might help relax you.” Y/N had not even thought about it, yet the idea of it seemed sweeter than heaven in that moment.

“That would be more than welcome, thank you,” she agreed.

“I will have the servants ready it for you, my lady,” Lady Ellyn smiled before she disappeared down the narrow corridor.

Lady Y/N entered her private chambers, making it straight to the bed. She laid down on the comfortable feathered mattress, her fingers running through the soft furs. Despite a headache forming, Y/N wondered if tonight would be the same as last night. The memories of it made her skin tingle with warmth as she battled against the feelings of guilt and shame.

The servants prepared a bath for Lady Stark to which she added some peppermint oil to help relieve her headache and relax her muscles. After the servant girls helped her strip to her undergarments, Lady Y/N asked them to leave. Although many ladies enjoyed having others wash them, Y/N cherished the silence and the solitude whilst soaking in warm water.

Y/N stripped and stepped into the bath. The water was unusually hot as it often already grew cold whilst the servants brought it up to the rooms. Y/N sunk into the fragranced water, allowing for the heat to embrace her. She had had a bath on the day of her wedding, yesterday, yet it seemed to her as if she had not had one in months. If the prospects of supper had not loomed over her, Y/N would be sure to fall asleep that very moment.

As the water grew cold, Lady Y/N washed with soap of orange and had a change of dress. She wanted to look her best. In her own way, it was a way of apologizing for starting the quarrel with her father, which lead to a falling out between the Lord of Winterfell and Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N chose a dress of dark carmine red with golden embroidery on the sleeves. She paired it with a delicate belt made of mountain blossoms of matching gold. Although the gown had long bell sleeves, it exposed the shoulders and had the bosom in the shape of a heart. It was one of Y/N’s best and favourite gowns. She wore pearl earrings in the shape of tears but allowed her hair to fall naturally.

The skirts of Lady Y/N’s gown rustled as she walked down the main staircase of Winterfell. She had her ladies-in-waiting accompanying her, all four of them walking closely behind her. When Y/N reached the bottom of the staircase, she came face to face with her husband. He must have been outside for there were snowflakes slowly melting away in his hair and his coat. Lady Y/N curtsied.

“Husband,” she spoke in a way of greeting. Her voice was stronger than she had expected although on the inside she was trembling.

Lord Stark’s mouth parted ever so slightly as he took in his lady wife’s attire. The scent of peppermint and orange blossom on her skin made his arms prickle with goose bumps.

Y/N had almost accepted that Lord Stark would not wish to speak to her when he finally uttered a curtsy.

“My lady,” said Lord Stark. He paused as if there were something on his mind yet he did not say anything.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat down at their high table at Benjen’s Hall where wild salmon was being served in a crust of herbs. There was warm, fresh bread, wine and ale. Yet although Lady Y/N’s plate was full, she could not find a proper appetite, not with her thoughts raging as wild as they had.  

“What is it, my lady?” asked Lord Stark, not unkindly. His face, however, held a grim frown that Y/N could not quite read. He seemed tired but not angry. “You have barely touched your food.”

“Nothing,” said Lady Y/N, wondering whether to even raise the subject at all. “I only … I only wished to thank you,” Lady Y/N managed at last. “I was able to speak with my mother, the Lady Whytefort, after she had spoken to you.”

“There is nothing to thank,” said Lord Stark, his frown softening some. “Lady Whytefort had given me no offence, neither you as far as I am aware. She is welcome at Winterfell if you wish her company.”

“I do,” said Y/N earnestly. “And I thank you for it,” she added quickly, her hand instinctively wrapping around Lord Stark’s forearm to profess how grateful she was. She soon realized what she had done and in front of other people of the court that shared their meal although no one remotely noticed in the midst of the music and the laughter.

“Forgive me,” said Lady Y/N quickly as she took back her hand. Little did she know that the Lord of Winterfell wanted nothing more but the small feast with the final guests who had yet not left to finish so that he may be alone with his wife. His mind had been drifting off to her all day. Even as Maester Bennard read him letters of more complains of the wildlings, of disputes over petty lands and water rights, Lord Cregan struggled to keep his thoughts on the matters at hand. His mind kept returning to Lady Y/N and her soft hair, the smell of her skin, the touch of her body in his arms. He remembered her smile when they went riding, the flush in her cheeks. Cregan never minded his duties as the Lord of Winterfell, he even enjoyed them sometimes. Yet that day every one of his lordly duties that impeded him from returning to his private chambers proved more tedious then ever and seemed to last an eternity.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” said Lord Stark whose forearm tingled with warmth. He focused on his meal to keep himself from throwing Lady Y/N over his shoulder and taking her to their private chambers. For a moment Lord Stark considered his wife had chosen the red gown to torture him for the falling out with Lord Jonos. Yet after Lady Y/N thanked him for giving her lady mother the hospitality of Winterfell, the Lord of Winterfell considered the gown either a way of thanking him or a plain but no less torturous coincidence. Carmine was indeed one of the colours of House Whytefort yet even so the red gown hugging Lady Y/N’s curves made Lord Stark’s body prickle with heat.

Lady Y/N returned to her meal, finally being able to think clearly. She could still notice her husband’s gaze on her yet he looked even more grim and formidable than ever.

Lady Y/N was already done eating when Lord Stark finished his meal. He washed it down with a cup of ale before he got up, done with displaying courtesy to his guests. Lady Y/N rose as well as did her ladies-in-waiting and the rest of the court. Before they could even do so properly, Lord Stark had already taken Y/N’s hand, nearly dragging her from Benjen’s Hall.

The moment the doors to their private chambers closed behind them, Cregan’s lips found Y/N’s. Y/N gasped but responded immediately. Her husband’s touch made all of her thoughts quieten down, all but one. Cregan’s fingers caught in Y/N’s hair as he guided her lips against his. His kisses were deep and hungry for more. Y/N could feel his hardness against her body, wishing desperately for him to take off his garments.

“S-Stop,” Y/N managed to say in between kisses. Lord Stark would not hear her at first. Yet once he realized what she had said and felt the push of her delicate arms against his chest, an alarm sounded in his head.

“If you are hurt …” breathed Lord Stark, the only reason that would have him control his desire.

“I am not,” whispered Y/N quickly, finding the clasps of her husband’s jerkin as she undid them. Then she pulled apart the strings of his tunic which Cregan gladly removed, encouraged by his wife’s boldness. He near tore off her exquisite red gown, unable to find the time or the patience to deal with the intricate lacing. Y/N turned around for him to undo the corset supporting her figure. A moan escaped her lips as Cregan’s hands found her breasts. He stood behind her and kissed her neck as his arms held her close. His hips moved as if there were no garments separating their bodies when a deep, raspy moan broke from his chest as Cregan found the release he had been chasing since that morning.

Y/N’s hands were locked around her husband’s strong forearms as he still held her tightly. She, like Cregan, breathed heavily still, yet a part of her wished it had not been over so quickly.

Y/N thought to take off her corset properly and get ready for bed but as she tried to unbind herself of Cregan’s embrace, he would not move.

“I am not finished yet,” Lord Stark whispered against her ear before leaving her neck bruised with ravenous kisses. He spun her around, his lips finding hers once again when his arms went beneath her bum. Y/N yelped quietly as Cregan picked her up and carried her to their bed. Her back hit the soft, warm furs as Y/N pulled him closer, eager to feel the weight of his strong body on top of hers. Cregan pulled of his stained breeches, a groan of pleasure escaping his chest as he entered his wife. Y/N gasped. She was still sore from last night although it did not cause her pain, rather pleasure. Her silken white chemise with the hem of Myrish lace left little to the imagination. The delicate fabric was rolled up to her waist and although it still covered her chest, the shape of her breasts and the colour of her nipples remained seen. Cregan’s lips went to them as his hands wrapped around her wrists. He had pulled out, leaving his wife for more. He took off her chemise, her body all to himself. He could not even imagine sharing the sight of her nakedness with anyone else should the bedding ceremony have taken place.

Moans lingered on Y/N’s mouth when Cregan left sloppy kisses down her stomach, teasing her until he found what they had both been yearning for. His arms locked around her soft thighs as he pulled her closer with ease. Y/N’s legs quivered with pleasure at the skill of Cregan’s mouth. She could no longer contain any of her cries and moans of wishing and wanting for more.

“Gods,” whimpered Y/N, raising ever so slightly before her head hit the pillows and her eyes shut in divine pleasure. Shivers ran through her entire body, her thighs shuddering. Y/N’s breathing began to slow down when she opened her sleepy eyes. Cregan kissed her softly, the taste of her lingering on his lips but she did not mind at all.

“I will be quick, I promise,” said the Lord of Winterfell, his voice low and as warm as crackling embers. Y/N did not think to reply, only allowed herself to be taken further away.

Cregan had her sit on his lap, his arms wrapped around her small back as he held her close. She hardly needed to do anything as he moved his hips eagerly, this time much more slowly. Although drowsy from her own pleasure, Y/N’s fingers tangled in Cregan’s hair, her arms secured around her husband’s shoulders. She kissed him deeply, trying to convey her gratitude for the way he made her feel. She moved against his hips, responding to his body. Cregan’s moans became more and more frequent, his eyebrows furrowing into a heavy frown as he neared his pleasure. He held Y/N's body greedily when he groaned against the delicate skin of her neck as he reached his climax.

Cregan lied down with Y/N still tightly secured in his embrace. Their synchronised breathing slowly calmed down in the gentle silence that their private chambers provided. Fire burned in the hearth whilst it snowed outside the castle windows and Y/N scooted even closer to the warmth of her husband’s body. Her fingertips brushed against an unusual shape in Lord Cregan’s side.

Y/N opened her eyes despite herself and her dying need for sleep. She rose her head slightly. She had not noticed last night, but her husband’s torso was peppered with scars that could only be caused by swordplay or sometimes an arrow.

“You have a lot of scars,” whispered Y/N as she unintentionally voiced her thoughts. Lord Stark’s grey eyes opened slowly. He glanced down at himself.

“Just so,” he spoke easily although his voice was even deeper than normally. Cregan ran his long fingers through Y/N’s beautiful hair.

“Do they … Do any of them still hurt?” asked Y/N carefully.

“I sometimes have an ache in my shoulder," said Lord Stark absently whilst Y/N's entire focus shifted to her husband's arrow scar right beneath his collarbone.

"A wildling arrow," he explained as he saw the question forming in his wife's eyes. She nodded and looked away when his gaze found hers.

“I wish you could feel more at ease in my presence,” said Lord Stark earnestly. “There is apprehension and uncertainty in your every move when I am near. Why is it so different when we are alone?” asked Lord Stark, his eyebrows forming a frown as he stared intently at his lady wife. But Y/N did not have an answer.

“I wish I knew, my lord,” she whispered, her fingers drawing shapes in his side. "Cregan," Lady Y/N corrected herself. She looked up into her lord husband's eyes and held her gaze longer than she would. Her eyes lowered to his lips. Y/N's fingers grazed over Lord Stark's lips as she leaned in. Cregan took her hand and kissed her fingertips before their lips met for a kiss.

***

The days and weeks went by like a breeze. Every day Lady Stark would discover a new corner of the castle grounds and every day she would assist her husband in his duties, learning how to rule Winterfell. The maester instructed her in the affairs between the noble houses sworn to House Stark, yet more importantly, he told her of the ways of the lords who attended Lord Stark's councils. Y/N spoke to her husband on Maester Bennard's thoughts and found they most often concur on the characters and motives of House Stark's bannermen.

Nevertheless, the affairs of the council and the ruling were not the only things Y/N had learned in the days before the Lord of Winterfell would have to march north. Y/N learned of her husband's character. She knew that he was sometimes quick to anger but mostly a very patient man. She discovered that he was nothing like her father, who was arrogant and greedy and more oft than not an unkind man. When he trained with his men in the courtyard, Lord Stark was a strict but patient man, whose faith in his men was unrelenting. Y/N learned the little things too. She learned that he disliked lamb and parsley but would not ask the cooks to prepare something else if it was served before him. She learned that he preferred ale over wine and snow over heavy sunshine. And when they slept, Cregan would always have a part of their bodies touch - be it the hold of a hand, their legs entwined or their bodies embracing fully.

Lady Stark watched the Lord of Winterfell and his master-at-arms train the young boys in swordplay. They would not be leaving for the north with the grown men on the morrow but they are to stay and protect their families.

Y/N's chest was heavy with worry as she watched her lord husband evade one of the boys' training sword with ease. It was already growing dark outside and this would be their last night together after he would leave for what could be months. Lord Jonos' host of warriors would meet them west of the King's Road at the foot of White Knife, the lake where sprang the river of the same name.

There was a large feast for the warriors, the lords, and the commanders of tomorrow's host against the wildlings. But neither the Lord or the Lady of Winterfell stayed long. As they lied in their bed exhausted and their arms wrapped around each other, a horrible silence threatened to settle itself between them.

Cregan caressed Y/N's cheek, brushing away the hair sticking to her face. "Will you take a cup of wine?" he asked her. She shook her head against the pillow.

The bed shifted as Lord Stark got up and poured himself a cup of wine. His back was to Y/N and only then did she feel strong enough to tell him what had been burning inside of her for days.

“Cregan,” spoke Y/N. “You … You will return safely, will you not?” she spoke quietly. Lord Stark froze before he slowly set his cup on the table. He turned around and climbed back into bed, trapping Y/N beneath him as he leaned his arms on each side of her.

"Of course," Cregan assured whispering before he kissed Y/N on the lips. "It might be some time but I will return."

"You might be great with child by then," thought Cregan, a small grin hiding in the corner of his lips.

"Mayhaps," whispered Y/N. She had not thought she would ever wish for children, not truly. But it was different with Cregan. Something changed inside of her with him. The thought of bearing him a child, of having a child with his grey eyes and dark hair filled her heart with unexpected warmth.

Cregan kissed Y/N's forehead and pulled her closer, his strong arms wrapping around her gentle frame as they lied down to sleep. Y/N’s hands found their way to her husband’s back and rested there as she nestled against his bare chest. She let out a long-held breath, savouring the last night with her husband by her side in what could be months.

***

Despite the feast lasting late into the night, the host was ready in the hour of the nightingale. The pale yellow dawn broke the darkness as the Lady of Winterfell watched her husband mount his courser. Her heart was in her throat as she neared him, saying her last goodbyes.

"I will pray that you come back safely, husband," said Lady Y/N. As much as she tried to control her emotions, Y/N's eyes welled with tears. Should something happen to him in battle, this was the last time they would see each other.

Y/N handed Cregan a silken handkerchief with an eight-pointed mountain blossom embroidered in one of the corners. Cregan's brows frowned on his storm grey eyes. His heart had never been felt this heavy leaving Winterfell. He was always battle-hungry and unremitting in defending the name of his house on the battlefield.

The Lord of Winterfell looked around at his men who were already riding out. He cursed them all as he leaned down in his saddle and took his wife's chin in his hand. He kissed her ardently and spoke the words 'I love you' before she watched him ride out into the northern winds.

PART 2

[yawnderu]

Simon ''Ghost'' Riley — Masterlist 💀🖤

cr: @ave661

Simon Riley Moodboard | Smut Masterlist | Bimbo!Reader Masterlist | Dad!Ghost Masterlist

This Masterlist only has the material I've created in 2024. To explore older works, you can check my Main Masterlist, or use the tags #Simon Riley x Fem!Reader or #Ghost mw2 on my profile to access all my works!

Do not translate, post, or put my content into AI tools.

Ongoing Series Lorelei

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

K-9

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

or

Simon Riley is in love with an uninterested, tired medic.

Angel

Synopsis: Afraid of giving you the same destiny all his loved ones met, an emotionally unavailable Simon does his best to pretend being in love with you for one night, later deciding to introduce you to the one person who can give you the love you want; John Price.

Smut

Silly love-making

Simon's obsession with pornstar!reader

Sex on camera

No man could act this good

Using his naked body for art purposes

Love-making

FWB!Simon cucking your hookup

Tattoo Artist!Simon

Prettiest girl in Edinburgh

Hybrid cat!Reader tag teamed by Simon and Johnny

Soul-crushing devotion and medical emergencies

AI!Reader gets a physical body

Neet!Reader jerks him off

Hybrid wolf!Simon x Catgirl!Reader

Sleep-walking, but fucking instead

Simon becomes vocal when you give him blowjobs

Rimming him

Monster fucker

Dick headcanons

Catgirl in heat

Drabbles

Gym bros Johnny and Simon

Creature!Reader

Tag team 🌶️

Simon Riley is a stray, roughed up cat

Seduction goes against the rules

Nymphomaniac!Reader

Immortal!Reader

The phrase ''the wife'' is always in Simon's mouth

Choking🌶️

Cock warming🌶️

Lipstick marks on his cock

Neet!Reader sniffing his armpits

Milf!Reader drives Simon insane🌶️

Military high ranked!Reader

What turns him off

I have no faith, but I believe in you

You and your daughter love his tattooed arm

Simon is a furnace

Creature!Reader cuddles

Asking for sex after he had a bad day

Cumming too early🌶️

Wearing a white wife beater

Girl dad

Raccoon

Simon makes weird faces under the mask

Juiciest ass in the Task Force

Bulking

Dating a MILF

Naked cuddles

Relationship similar to Batman and Catwoman

Work Song

Cumming on your glasses🌶️

Touch starvation

Fluff & Hurt/Comfort

Expensive presents

Displays of trust

The most broken man turns to religion when you're hurt

A man without big pecs is like an angel without wings

Simon Riley was made for soul-crushing devotion

Broken man in love

Cuddles after a bad day

Simon is a giant black cat

Ai!Assistant Reader

Ai!Assistant Reader bothering Simon

Second chance at being an uncle to your niece

''I'll be the weapon when he needs protection''

Moody catgirl

Red panda hybrid!Reader

Hiccups during sex🌶️

First relationship

Angst

Emotionally unavailable

Immortal!Reader doesn't come back to life

Angel - Part I | Part II

[milksnake-tea]

✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : Sunday spreads his wings for the first time in years.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 3.8k

✩ TAGLIST : @vynicity , @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea ( send me an ask off anon if you want to be added !! remember to specify that it is for this series )

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : sorry for the later update yall, i had to study for a math placement test and write scholarship essays 😭 more emotionally packed chapter this time because apparently i can't go on too long without sunday suffering. its not that bad tho. have fun, and thank you to @vxnuslogy for betareading this chapter for me !!

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Unnaturally-colored lights illuminate your face in an eerie glow. All that can be heard in your dark office are the small clicks of your digital keyboard as you type and the soft tunes of your computer.

Holding out your hand, you extract some of the stolen medicine from your inventory and throw them into your synthesizer with an effortless wave. Your fingers tap against the table in small, repetitive motions as you idly watch the drugs separating into their basic chemical compositions.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve returned from Euphrosyne.

Shortly after Sunday’s first robbery (with heavy quotation marks), he’d dragged you into a cosmetics store in order to ransack it of its skincare products. Now, you weren’t completely clueless, but some of the things he picked out you didn’t even know existed - and you stole drugs on the basis.

You wince at the memory. Your wallet is still recovering from that escapade - with so many people in a smaller store, it was inconvenient to just drug them all, so you ended up having to pay the old-fashioned way, much to your chagrin.

You raise your hand to type a few commands into the holographic keyboard that appears beside you. The synthesizer glows, rearranging and recombining the chemicals until a completely new drug is born.

Sunday’s probably in his room right now, putting away the gifts you’d bought him and no doubt eager to return Blade’s borrowed clothes. In a few minutes, he’ll come walking through your doorway for the examination of his wings.

His wings… The image of them at the clothing store resurfaces in your mind with a furrowing of your brow.

While you have a good feel for his personality, you can’t understand why he’d keep his wings like that. If you were a Halovian and had wings like that, you’d fly whenever possible. Wings like those are meant to be used.

After all, aren’t birds born to fly?

A high-pitched hum from the synthesizer snaps you from your thoughts. The new drugs float patiently in the synthesizer’s hold, awaiting your final input.

Ah, right. You almost forgot.

You walk over to your desk and down to open up a drawer next to it. Inside is your stash of sugar and various packets of artificial flavoring - ranging from typical fruity flavors to root beer or even coffee.

It isn’t like the Stellaron Hunters are made up of notoriously picky eaters (except for Silver Wolf, but she’s different), but you still like to add a little bit of flavoring as a final touch, just to make the otherwise bitter medicines bearable.

Returning to the synthesizer, you unzip a bag of sugar and scoop out a cup or two and dump it in, along with a few drops of random flavoring you grabbed. With another quick typing, you assign each medicinal candy a flavor and an appropriate amount of sugar, and then it’s done.

And then, as if on cue, the familiar sound of heavy boots comes from behind you.  

You squint as you look up from your synthesizer, the light from the hallway blinding you momentarily.

“Must you always do your work in darkness?” Blade mutters as he steps into the infirmary. 

His youthful face shows no signs of weariness, but you can tell from his slumped body language how many hours of sleep he’d gotten - which is to say, zero.

You shrug, taking the finished candies from the synthesizer. “It helps me concentrate.”

A ragged sigh emits from your senior. “If you wish to blind yourself so soon, my sword is a faster option.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you chuckle. “Besides, a little eye problem isn't anything I can't bounce back from.”

Blade’s gaze is piercing as he stares at you, the slightest narrowing of his eyes revealing his disapproval. “Your constitution does not warrant recklessness.”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “Don't act like you're worried about me.”

He scoffs. Turning his head, the conversation ends there, leaving empty space behind. The silence isn’t unbearable; with Blade, things have always been this way, but there's an unmistakable tension in the air that you don't care enough to dispel.

You drop half of the candies into a jar before sliding said jar towards Blade.

“That should be enough for a month or so,” you say, leaning your elbows against the counter. “But don’t overdose, okay? Only use them when the mara becomes too much.”

Blade takes the jar without so much as a second glance. “I am aware.”

The shadow he casts as he leaves feels taller and more imposing than it should be. It catches the tip of your shoe, and you subtly take a step back.

The second Blade’s silhouette leaves your sight, a heavy sigh sags your body. Massaging your temple idly, you stare blankly into the light of your synthesizer.

“Great Mercy…” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “You just had to make it awkward, didn’t you? And we were doing so well too.”

You lift your head. Your vision feels hazy, and you don’t truly see your hands in front of you. The synthesizer’s glow blurs with the light in the doorway and the skin of your palms. For a moment, you are no longer in your office, but somewhere far, far away - a place you left several Amber Eras ago.

Inhaling sharply, you shake your head, dragging a hand over your face. Physically, it’s impossible for you to feel tired, but your mind is absolutely exhausted.

“That’s enough,” you quietly scold yourself. You roll back your shoulders and straighten from the desk, wiping your mind of any troubling thoughts. Blade never holds any grudges, and so neither should you.

Yeah… You shouldn’t.

You rest a hand over your heart. It thuds under your touch, still as frenzied and frightened as it was all those eras ago. Briefly, you consider ripping it out and growing a new one altogether.

“Mx. [Name]?”

A new silhouette joins the hallway’s light. You turn to see Sunday standing in the doorway, his expression candid - although slightly apprehensive. You wonder how long he’d been there - and hope that he didn’t see your exchange with Blade.

“You know, you don’t have to call me that,” you say, allowing your hand to drop to your side. Sunday blinks.

“Ah… I see.” He rests a hand over his heart in apology. “Forgive me, it’s a habit I developed in my line of work.”

Always with the apologizing, you think in amusement. “Nothing I need to forgive you for. All I’m saying is that you can just call me by my name, or whatever nickname you decide to force upon me.”

“A nickname,” he repeats. “Like the ones you call Ms. Kafka, and the others?”

“Don’t forget yourself, princess,” you joke, drinking in the way Sunday’s upper wings twitch at the name.

He sighs with a smile. “I was doing my best to.”

You hum out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not going to let you. Come on in, let’s take a look at those wings, shall we?”

Immediately the lighthearted mood is vanquished. The air thickens, becoming almost suffocating. Sunday’s smile falters, the glow in his eyes dulls, and he crosses his arms in a vain attempt to provide himself a semblance of comfort.

Fear flashes over his eyes, and then a steady, unwavering determination.

“Right.” He breathes in, the breath shaking in his chest as he prepares himself. “The wings.”

—

It hurts.

Sunday knows he should’ve expected this - he hadn’t fully extended his wings in who knows how long, but still, the pain that strikes through his body is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Even the fall of the Charmony Festival hadn’t hurt this bad.

His body screams at him to stop, but the stretch is as painful as it is necessary.

“Breathe, princess.”

Your hand is an anchor at the small of his back, your palm flat against him as you aid him in extending his wings. 

In the back of his mind, he wants to shove you away, for his larger pair of wings are surely a horrid sight - an image of grotesque, mangled limbs flashes in his mind. But the pain overrides his need to appear presentable.

Sunday’s breath rattles - it’s a deadweight in his chest, pressing down on his lungs and heart and comes out as a wheeze.

“Princess, listen to me-”

Your voice drowns in the sea of his thoughts.

His eyes squeeze shut. In a seizure of ill-willed panic, he forces his wings to open faster, biting back a scream as the tearing sensation returns in full force. His fingers dig into his palms in an attempt to ground himself, but adding pain to pain does little to console.

His mind becomes a storm-wrecked ocean, waves crashing and beating at him every time he tries to surface. Horrid thoughts howl above him with the harsh winds, screaming at him to open them faster, to get this over with, to not disappoint you.

Water fills his lungs and he chokes, hands scrambling for any sort of anchor but finding nothing in their grasp. 

He’ll drown - he is drowning, slammed deeper into the waves again and again until-

Something grabs his wrist and pulls him out.

“Sunday.”

A strangled gasp shudders him. His eyes fly open.

The storm is gone. Replacing its howls is the distant hum of your synthesizer, and the dark waves are washed away by a gentle shadow. He sits no longer in groundless water, but instead on one of the two beds in the infirmary.

Your hand runs over his spine in a soothing motion while the other squeezes his shoulder firmly. Subconsciously, Sunday leans into your palms to stabilize himself.

He allows himself a few moments to breathe, gulping down vital mouthfuls of air. Like statues, his wings rigidly stay in place, in the middle of ripping themselves open. After a few minutes of silence, he finally composes himself enough to speak.

“I-”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off. Shame burns Sunday regardless. “Just listen.”

It takes Sunday a moment, one part because of his still-buzzing mind, one part another predicament entirely.

Your fingers linger around where the base of his wings are, in the window of the thin, long-sleeved shirt he’s thrown on for the examination. All of his senses are zeroed in on that small sliver of skin, tingling at the mere prospect of another’s touch - although he can’t tell if it wants or fears it.

“Sunday?”

With a start, he realizes you’re awaiting his answer. Heat rushing to his cheeks, he nods tentatively, signaling for you to continue.

“Your wings aren’t used to being pried open like that,” you say calmly. Instinctively he tries to find any hint that you’re annoyed, or irritated, or any of the sort. But he finds nothing, only a strangely secure serenity. “You have to take it slow; otherwise you’ll hurt them even more.”

Relief floods him when your palm lies flat against him once more. 

Wait, relief? Why was he…

“Focus on my voice,” you interrupt his thoughts before he can get too embarrassed. “I’ll guide you through it. Now, may I?”

Sunday’s lips part to ask just what you mean by that, only for his voice to lodge in his throat as you ghost a hand over the base of his wing.

Granted, his second pair of wings isn’t as sensitive as the ones that lie behind his head - thank Ena for that - but they still are more sensitive than he’d like to admit. Allowing you, who he’s known for a little more than a day, to touch them… even if this is a medical necessity, he still finds himself a bit wary.

“May I ask what you’re planning to do, first?” he asks quietly, turning slightly so that he can glimpse at your face.

“Remember what I did back on Euphrosyne, with the clerk?” you reassuringly squeeze his shoulder one last time before hovering both of your hands over the base of his wings.

Sunday remembers the scene at the clinic. “Your lollipop, you mean?”

You chuckle. “That too. But no, I meant what happened after the lollipop - when the clerk hit their head.”

“Ah.” Sunday’s wings rustle. “That healing ability of yours. You intend to use it on my wings?”

“Bingo. You hurt them a bit in that frenzy just now, so I need to repair that. It’ll also make the stretch much easier.”

That makes sense, Sunday thinks. But there’s one thing he’s slightly worried about.

“Is touching my wings necessary for this procedure?”

You hum. “Not really, although it’d be more efficient if I did. If I handle your wings directly, I can further aid you in extending them and more accurately heal them when needed. Would you rather I didn’t?”

If it were any other person - save for perhaps Robin and his adoptive father, Sunday would’ve said yes right away. A Halovian’s wings were one of the most intimate parts of them, especially the ones that extend from their nape. Only close friends, family, and romantic partners were allowed to touch them.

But the more he thinks, the more he realizes that he doesn’t feel as inclined to those traditions with you. There’s something about you that puts him at ease, much to his chagrin.

For some bewildering reason, he trusts you.

It’s just a medicinal procedure, he tells himself.

“No, I don’t mind,” Sunday finally says, turning his back. “Do what you must, doctor.”

He hears an amused hum from behind. “Alright, princess. Follow my lead.”

Sunday lets his eyes flutter close. He feels your hands lay gentle on his wings, the touch sending tingles of static up and down. It’s almost ticklish, but it isn’t unpleasant.

Warmth blooms at the curve of his wings, ebbing away the pain and leaving him with an almost refreshed feeling, as if stepping out of a dark forest into a sunlit meadow. He realizes that it’s your ability at work. Slowly, his shoulders droop, and his muscles relax.

Then he feels your hands slide up his wings, applying pressure every so often like a massage, correcting the kinks in his bones and healing whenever needed.

His breath hitches at the feeling. A pleased hum begins to vibrate in his chest like static as he loses himself to the dream-like feeling.

Vaguely, he hears you instruct him to open and close his wings, and he listens, easing them open at a gradual pace. The hum in his chest increases in magnitude, his back arching slightly as his wings extend to their full length.

He sighs in satisfaction once the stretch is complete and the tips of his feathers brush against the ceiling in a veil of midnight blue.

“Someone looks happy,” you say. “Feels better, doesn’t it?”

Your voice comes from a higher place than before, making Sunday look up. You smile down at him, hand resting gently on the bend of his left wing.

His left wing…

His serene expression falters. Carefully, he folds that wing in front of him and takes the dark plumage in his hands. Running his fingers amongst the feathers, he stops with narrowed eyes at the feeling of a sudden edge in the sea of softness.

Just as before, his left wing’s flight feathers are still cut short, snipped so that he may never take to the skies.

This time, he had been the one to cut them - Gopher Wood needn’t be bothered with such trivial matters, especially after Sunday had become an adult. But he remembers his first cutting well - the sheen of the scissors, the iron grip on his wings, the fear he’d felt, all in the past but not truly left behind.

“They’ll grow back.”

Sunday glances up.

“I know.”

He doesn’t sound convinced, not even to himself. But what he wants to convince himself of, he doesn’t know.

Sunday lets go of his wing and lets it hang comfortably at his side. You slide off the bed behind him and pull up your office chair. Sitting on it with your chest against the back, you roll back in front of him.

“Try flapping them,” you say. “Slowly, just open and close until you get used to the feeling.”

Sunday obliges. The wings are larger and heavier than he expects, and it’s a bit of a struggle, but he manages. Winds spurs from every flap of his wings, rustling your hair each time.

“No pain?” you prompt, raising a hand to summon a screen and type some things onto it. Sunday shakes his head.

“No.” He flaps one more time just to make sure, but he feels nothing, only his wings’ new weight.

“Good.” You type a bit more before closing the window. “I wouldn’t try flying just yet - especially with those clipped feathers, but we can start out with a few exercises every day to strengthen them. Kind of like physical therapy.”

Something warm blooms in Sunday’s chest. His heart rate quickens, and for the first time in years, he feels excited, giddy, relieved. It’s almost overwhelming, all of it. 

He flicks his wing again, and again, and again. A gleeful laugh bubbles up in his chest. 

His feathers tickle against his cheek, as if his wings are trying to comfort him. He smiles at the thought, despite how silly it is.

But then he remembers where he is. Heat reddens his face as he meets your amused gaze, his upper wings instinctively covering his face as he coughs bashfully.

“Sorry, I’m afraid I got a little carried away.”

“Aw, don’t get embarrassed on me now,” you giggle, not helping his predicament at all. “It was cute, watching you get all giddy.”

He half-heartedly shoots you a glare, to which you only smile calmly in reply.

“Are we finished here?” he huffs, eager to change the subject. You hum.

“Yeah, basically. I don’t have anything to give you, unless you want some of those sleeping candies I mentioned earlier.”

Sunday blinks. For a moment, he contemplates the offer despite you probably having only mentioned it in passing.

The nightmare from last night still hangs fresh in his mind, and his inability to fall asleep still bears its consequences - the reminder brings back the dull ache at the back of his head which he’d tried to ignore. Sleeping still scares him - if naturally induced rest brings upon visions such as those, he’d rather not sleep at all. But he is still mortal, human, and as such, he cannot evade his body’s needs forever.

Yet at the same time, he doesn’t want you to think there’s anything wrong with him to warrant such medications. 

Then again, you’ve already seen his wings.

“Those medications of yours,” he says softly, “do they get rid of dreams?”

You prop your elbows up on the back of your chair. “They do. Are you suffering from nightmares?”

He’s unable to stop the smallest flinch that confirms your speculations. You stand up, pushing the chair back to your desk.

“I get it,” you offer as consolation, although it doesn’t assure him as much as it piques his curiosity. “When I first came here, I had a rough time sleeping too. I only slept when I couldn’t stand anymore, and even Kafka was concerned - or well, as concerned as a woman like her could be.”

The synthesizer opens, revealing pre-made candies floating in its hold. Sunday recognizes them as the same ones Blade had walked out holding.

“When I found out Blade had the same problem - okay, well, not the same problem,” you correct yourself, “I started making these. After seeing them work so well on Blade, I figured I should take some too.”

Sunday tilts his head. “Blade has nightmares?”

“You can see it like that,” you say, bagging a couple candies with a wave of your hand. Thankfully, your hand doesn’t come in contact with the candies; otherwise, Sunday would leave them untouched in the corner of his room for all eternity. “But his ailment is far worse and more complicated than just that.”

Sunday briefly remembers the stories he’d read of the Xianzhou, including that of the curse its locals bear.

His gaze drops to his hands. “I see.” 

Sympathy tugs at his heartstrings. For a second, he is the Bronze Melodia again, listening to the plight of the weak with a careful ear. Now, Blade is by no means what he’d call weak, but knowing he suffers from such a cruel fate…

He looks over at you, brows furrowed slightly. Your back is turned, meaning he can’t see your expression.

Even the strongest have their vulnerabilities - this he knows well.

Then what does that make of you, who suffered like he did?

“You have nightmares too, then?” he asks gently.

“Had,” you’re quick to correct. “After a few Amber Eras, I got over them. I don’t take these anymore.”

There’s a clear edge in your tone that is chilling despite your otherwise easygoing voice. The message is clear - don’t push it.

Sunday tenses, his feathers bristling instinctively.

Right. He’s forgotten who you were - what you were. You may be kind to him now, but the two of you aren’t close, nor are you someone who needs his comfort. He is no longer the Bronze Melodia, and you are not his kin.

You’re a Stellaron Hunter - a criminal and a murderer.

You don’t need nor want his pity.

Your footsteps snap him out of his momentary moment of fear. You don’t look mad, or, well, anything, for that matter - just the same as usual. He could almost convince himself that nothing had happened at all.

The small mesh bag of candies is soft as you plop it in his palm.

“Don’t get too used to them, okay?” you sit down on the bed next to him, the mattress creaking as you do. He shifts his wing away so that it doesn’t drape over you like a blanket. “You can overdose on these, and it’s not fun.”

Did you know from experience? Sunday wonders, but decides against asking. He doesn’t want to push his chances.

“I’ll try,” he assures, folding his wings behind him.

“Looks like you’re already getting used to them,” you comment, leaning back onto your hands to look at his wings one last time. Sunday hums as you hold a hand out and run it along his plumage. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do Halovians purr?”

Sunday’s mind malfunctions as he tries to process your words. “Excuse me?”

You drop your hand to look at him innocently. “Back when I was helping your wings out, you were making this purring sound, like a cat. I don’t know if you noticed but I wanted to ask-”

His wing smacks you over the head in embarrassment.

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reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found | 141 & Reader

Summary: When you’re introduced to your new foster parents, a bear hybrid, harpy, werewolf and wraith, four big scary men, you’re not sure about how things are going to turn out. Your first day with them turns out more okay than you expected.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: lotta anxiety, reader is very quiet (sorta non-verbal?), descriptions of sharp teeth, scars, sharp claws, flashbacks (trauma), boundaries being put down (gently), BIG FAT SPIDER

A/N: so this happened…hope you enjoy this word vomit i spewed onto my google doc, and plsss keep the lovely requests coming, I love them<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

The front door shut, and the social worker left, leaving you alone with all these tall, strong men who now just stared at you. You stood near the door, backpack over your shoulder, tense as if ready to bolt at the slightest thing.

The men seemed to notice this, the bear hybrid and the harpy exchanging glances, before the former slowly approached you, taking note of how you kept your feet angled to the door, a sure sign you were ready to run. He didn’t blame you. The past children they had fostered had been the same at first, timid, shy, spooking easily. You just seemed to have a worse case of it.

He stopped about a foot in front of you, slowly getting on one of his knees to be almost at eye level with you. The air felt suffocatingly thick. You returned his level gaze with a wary, untrusting one, like a wild animal’s.

“I’m John,”

He spoke. His voice felt like a Sunday night bonfire, the whiskers of a cat, and warm ashes still flickering red. It was a bit comforting, and you wondered why until you saw the way his chest was shaking just a little bit.

He was purring.

You hadn’t even known bear hybrids could purr, but as soon as you realized that, you were back on edge. He knew that even if you were fully human, your body would still relax in response to most forms of purring. He was essentially using your body’s natural responses against you.

“And you are?”

He then asked, bright blue eyes watching you. Observing. All of them were, you could feel it. Especially the maybe-wraith, you could practically feel his eyes digging holes into you.

“Y/N.”

You replied. Your voice shook despite your best efforts to keep it level and calm despite the storm of emotions you were experiencing.

You watched as the werewolf almost lunged forward, stopped only by the wraith, who placed one hand on his shoulder, shaking his head, and the wolf let out a low sound that looked like a whine, ears flattening, but the wraith didn’t budge. Strange.

John nodded, getting back up off of his one knee, gesturing to each other members of the pack one by one, the harpy was first.

“This here is Kyle,”

Kyle gave a gentle smile, eyes full of what seemed like empathy for how uncomfortable he must know you are. They probably knew every single thing you were feeling, considering a hybrid’s insanely good sense of smell. His feathery wings puffed up, then resettled in a matter of seconds.

“Here’s Johnny, but we call ‘im Soap.”

The werewolf. You didn’t know why he was nicknamed ‘Soap’, and you didn’t want to know, either. He gave a sheepish smile, pearly whites gleaming.

“And we’ve got Simon, our Ghost.”

The wraith. He gave a small nod, which looking back, was more like a jerk of his head. His eyes were a dark chocolate brown.

You quickly decided that Kyle was your favorite, for now. John was a close second, and Johnny and Simon were on an equal level.

“Kyle, take ‘er to the room while me and the lads have a chat.”

John said, gesturing you over to Kyle, who waved you over, leading you out of the main living room area, and down a hallway to the right. You dragged your feet, curious to hear what John was having a ‘chat’ with the other boys about.

“…need to quit chompin’ at the bit, Soap, making the girl nervous.”

“Cannae help it, she’s so small—“

“You’d better help it, ‘fore I do for you, Johnny.”

The conversation continued, Kyle glancing back, noticing you lingering back, raising a brow with a little knowing smirk.

“C’mon, nosy. We spent a good few hours putting this room together for you.”

Cheeks heating slightly at being called out, you picked up the pace, beat-up sneakers padding against the wooden floor as you followed the large harpy, observing his feathers, most of them being long, a shade of honey brown fading into a warm blonde, shining under the light, shifting into different shades when you changed the angle you were looking at them from. The shorter feathers looked fluffier like they were just growing in.

You saw a pin feather on his right wing, sandwiched between other feathers.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached for it, fingers gently enclosing on the crackly, thin casing around the feather, pulling, only for his wings to twitch as he whirled, startling both of you, as you held what had been of the pin feather in your hand.

Both of you stood still for a moment before he must’ve realized what happened, letting out a huff of laughter with an amused sigh. His hand reached out, giving you a little pat on the head.

“Thanks, kid. Just ask next time, yeah? My wings are sensitive.”

He said, and you nodded, shock wearing off right as a voice came from down the hallway.

“Everything alright?”

Sounded like John.

“Yup, just having a grooming session.”

Kyle called back, chuckling to himself as he led the way to a doorway, opening the door to reveal a decent-sized room with a bed, a dresser, and a little desk across from the bed. The walls were a light purple. The floor was wood, with a small circular fuzzy carpet in the room.

It looked comfortable.

Kyle stepped out of the way, gesturing for you to enter your room, and you hesitantly stepped in, eyes scanning every square inch. There was a window to the right of your bed, locked, probably.

After it passed whatever mental test you’d conjured up, you walked over to the bed, nose wrinkling in mild distaste at how the bed was set. The blankets were tucked tightly into the mattress, so you yanked them out, before taking the pillow, putting it on the floor, and kicking the absolute life out of it for a few minutes until it was placed back onto the bed.

You then proceeded to plop into the mess of blankets and sheets, pulling the blanket up over you. It was soft and fluffy but not fuzzy.

“She’s nesting-!”

You heard a voice squeak from the entryway, only to see Johnny grinning like a maniac, pushing Kyle out of the way to see into the room. John was behind him, giving an unimpressed flat stare to the excited Scottish man, and Simon was looming behind Kyle, tall enough to see over his wings.

“Humans don’t nest, Soap.”

Kyle said flatly, and Johnny threw him a glare.

“Well, she’s doing whatever the human equivalent to nesting is.”

He retorted, and Simon gave him a look that said he thought he was brain-dead.

“Making the bed?”

He said, and Johnny huffed, getting into it with Simon while you watched from your bed, listening to them argue, until you got sick of it and pulled the blanket over your head, hiding under it.

“How ain’t that nesting—?”

“I make my bed every mornin’. Don’t mean I’m nesting.”

“Can it, both of you.”

They both shut up after the verbal admonishment, John sighing, and a moment later a man approached the bed slowly, making sure you could hear the wood creaking beneath his feet. He didn’t want to surprise you. You made your mental bets between which one it was.

Johnny’s head popped up from under the blanket a few moments later.

“John says I’m not being very hospitable,”

He said, as if he was whining to you, giving a loud, dramatic sigh that you heard John, who seemed to be walking down the hallway now, grumble at. It almost made you laugh, and he must’ve seen the smile pulling at your lips because he grinned big and wide. Only his head remained under the blanket, the rest of his body kneeling beside the bed.

“How about we play a game, hm? Help ya learn the house a lil while Price and Gaz make dinner.”

You paused, before nodding. The house didn’t have too complicated of a layout, you thought. You’d seen what looked like a second floor, maybe there was a basement.

A hand slid under the blanket, calloused and rough, and you promptly ignored it, simply sliding the blanket off. You weren’t there yet, not with any of them. It would take a good while before you started willingly touching.

“How about…tag?”

You shook your head almost immediately at that one, and once he really thought about it, it made sense. No child would want to be chased around by a big hybrid in a place they don’t know.

“Hide n’ seek?”

You didn’t say anything at first, until nodding.

“You wanna hide or seek first?”

“Hide.”

Hiding was essentially the only part you were good at. You didn’t have the nose to sniff out hiders, but you did have plenty of practice hiding, for various reasons. Being a human wasn’t the easiest. You were prey, essentially, easy to be picked off when alone or vulnerable.

Johnny’s big hand tugged the blankets off, getting up off of his knees, gesturing to the doorway where Simon loomed, sharp eyes watching the werewolf, a slight narrowing of them when they both exchanged gazes, silently communicating.

Johnny turned to face the wall once you both got out into the hallway, the door clicking quietly shut while Simon watched.

“I’m gonna start counting, I’ll give ye a good…20, how’s that?”

He asked with a grin, and you nodded. You didn’t know this house other than the hallway, your room, and the main living room in the front, but you were determined to find a good hiding spot. It might’ve been years since you last played hide and seek with someone his age, but you were competitive.

“20, 19….”

You bolted.

Down the hallway, taking a right, seeing a staircase. You decided to go up.

“18, 17…”

A mini-hallway up the stairs. You took your hoodie off as quickly as possible, opening a door and randomly throwing it inside. The scent would probably throw him off.

“16, 15…”

You slid down the stairs, running down the same hallway, taking another turn, moving past the kitchen where John was stirring a pot and Kyle was cutting vegetables. They raised a brow but didn’t comment as you pulled one shoe off, tossing it around a corner.

“14, 13, 12…”

He was speeding up, the cheat.

You took the other shoe off, finding another door to open, this time being a closet, before throwing it in and shutting the door behind you.

“11, 10, 9…”

With three different things to throw the freakishly good nose most werewolves had off, you figured it was time to find a hiding spot. He was in the single digits now.

“8, 7, 6….”

You rounded a corner, finding a door with a different style handle than the others. It was golden and round, older, while the others were silver and slim. You opened it and were met with darkness and a staircase.

You hesitantly descended, the light switch not working.

“5, 4…”

You needed to find a spot. Now.

The scent of laundry detergents hit your nose when you finally reached the bottom, daylight from a small basement window providing the bare minimum of light to let you see. To the right of the stairs, there was a thin little room that was a laundry room.

All the scents would surely mask yours well, too.

“3, 2, 1…”

You heard his muffled voice grow more excited when he was finally close to being able to start his hunt.

You found a shelf next to the wall with a little crawl space underneath the different cleaners it was holding. Flattening your body to the floor, you squirmed under, struggling to breathe for the first few moments until you adjusted.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

He called out, and you heard the creaking of the floorboards under his feet as he stomped around the house, John calling something out you couldn’t hear from down here.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you suddenly noticed a giant spider and her web only a foot from you. Your skin was suddenly crawling, your imagination running wild, and you heard doors opening and closing upstairs.

The first one.

The second.

The third, he must be getting close.

He’d gone through all your distractions. You heard his heavy panting from here, heard the footsteps coming down the rickety old stairs.

He didn’t even try to flick on the switch.

He wouldn’t have to, not with his built-in night vision. The huffing grew louder as you heard his mutt-like sniffing, deep and full. Your skin began to crawl for a different reason, limbs tensing unconsciously.

He was a predator. He had teeth that could shred you within seconds, claws that could rip you open. And then you weren’t under the shelf anymore.

The scent of wet hay and animals surrounded you as the itchy sawdust rubbed at your skin, leaving it red and irritated.

You heard him before your eyes adjusted enough to see him. The furry form, at least three times bigger than your small body, claws dragging against the walls of the wood, teeth gleaming in the full moonlight.

He wasn’t just finding you, he was enjoying this.

Enjoying being able to sniff out your terror, the scent of it soaking through your clothes without you even knowing.

He paused.

The hay crunched beneath his feet as he shifted, taking a deep whiff of the air, a sound coming out of him resembling a crow’s raspy caw, except it sounded like an imitation of laughter coming from his maw.

The hay crunched again. Closer.

You held your breath, silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

A tail swept by, as if he’d somehow not seen you, but then—

“Rah!”

The familiar Scottish lilt to his voice felt all too comforting compared to what you’d just remembered moments earlier. You think you screamed. Your mouth had opened, you just hadn’t heard the noise coming out.

You tried to make sense of it.

Key word, tried.

He must’ve seen how you sniffled, body shaking slightly and breathing unsteady. He noticed. His hand swiped the large spider, which had been crawling ever close while you hadn’t even noticed, away, his other hand going to lift the shelf for you to get out.

“Jus’ a spider, nothin’ to worry about.”

He mumbled with a small chuckle, watching as you scrambled out from under the old shelf, walking over to the stairs without even needing him to lead you around. It seemed you were eager to get out of the dark.

He didn’t blame you.

The stairs creaked behind you as he headed up, swiping some dust that clung to your hair and clothes still. When you opened the basement door after fumbling for the handle for a moment, you were greeted with your shoes and jacket right near the entrance.

“Clever trick ye pulled, never had such a wee little bairn pull ‘at on me.”

He said with a warm chuckle. At least you’d tricked him a little bit. Even if he’d still found you depressingly fast.

You stepped into your shoes, shifting around until your feet were in properly, picking your jacket up and carrying it with you as you stepped to the side, meaning to let Johnny through, only for your back to hit a warm body as you let out a noise of surprise, whipping your body around as you flinched and jumped nearly a foot back.

It was Simon, who didn’t react much, other than a subtle tilt of his head. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, looking as if he knew something was off.

Johnny raised a brow at the silent staring contest between you and the wraith, shutting the basement door behind him as Gaz’s voice called for them.

“Dinner!”

Simon gave you one last glance, before turning and walking to the table. Johnny flashed you a sympathetic grin.

“Don’ be scared of the brute, he’s really a sweetie underneath it all, just gotta get used to ye is all.”

He said, a bit quieter as if not wanting Simon to overhear. You watched him walk away, having a feeling he heard every word, and that he heard a lot more than he let on.

Johnny tried to place a hand on your back which you jerked away from, murmuring an apology as you followed him to the kitchen. The game of hide and seek helped you learn the layout of the house, but it would still take a while to fully memorize.

The smell of something delicious, namely potatoes and some form of meat and barbecue, reached your nose as Kyle pulled a chair out for you, setting his hat on the seat to your right to claim it, Johnny sitting across from you. Simon’s seat was on one end of the table, and you assumed Price’s seat was on the other end.

It was some form of pot roast, you quickly learned, bowls being passed around the table with napkins and silverware. A glass full of water was put near your plate. The rest of them settled for tea except Johnny. Kyle put a spoonful of sugar and a small container of cream in his tea, mixing it neatly in. Simon drank the tea black. John put half a container of cream in, mixing it in and taking a long drink.

Johnny settled for a can of orange soda the others called ‘pop’.

John put his hands together, bowing his head and closing his eyes in a gesture of prayer. Simon didn’t. Johnny poorly mimicked John, clearly more interested in his food. Kyle mumbled something under his breath on his own, digging into his food right after.

You’d been in houses with religion before. It wasn’t as surprising as it had been at first, with the different concepts of prayer and gods and everything that came with it. You just didn’t know exactly what to do.

You looked around the table, John praying, Kyle eating quickly but nearly, and Johnny quickly mumbling under his breath. Simon was the only one eating slowly, taking his time. Probably because of the scar that ran over his lips, leaving a bit of his canine exposed.

He didn’t get the chance to eat fast.

You accidentally locked eyes with him, unsure of what to do. It felt rude to stare, but you couldn’t just back down from the silent challenge in his brown eyes, seeming to dare you to keep looking, assuming you wouldn’t.

He’d watched your eyes dart around, a look he’d seen too many times before. You didn’t know what to do.

He paused, still not breaking eye contact as he slowly blinked, scarred fingers closing around his glass as he raised it to meet halfway between you two. It took you a few seconds to realize what he was doing, brows furrowed in confusion before releasing with realization as you picked your glass up, lifting it to clink against his.

The sound brought both Johns out of their prayers, John chuckling as he raised his glass, Johnny and Kyle soon to follow.

“To our new little bugger.”

Simon muttered, brown eyes glittering with mirth as he glanced down at you, lips twitching almost up.

And as the rest of them filled the space with chatter and words, you thought that maybe, even if it wasn’t always easy or comfortable at first, you could be happy here.

Maybe.

Next —>

Tags:

@thriving-n-jiving

@simonrileysown

@theartgremlin2 

@theartgremlin

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

Masterlist

Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn)

Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Pre Series Content and Extras:

Scattered Memories of the Starks

Shadows of their Hatred

The Lost Chapters of Jon Snow

A New Life's Darkened Lust

Interlude of Jealous Desires

The Trials of Resurrection

The Injured and the Perverse

NSFW Alphabet (contains spoilers for part 3 and 4)

Woes of a Modern Day Love (a modern!au)

Fresh Heals of Old Pain (a modern!au part 2)

The Aftermath of Envy (a modern!au part 3)

Stoking the Flames (a modern!au part 4)

Then Came the Explosion (a modern!au part 5)

A Family Conflicted (a modern!au part 6)

Part 1:

Wolves of the Lone Stag

Mouth of the Lion's Den

An Intrigue Drenched in Blood

Standing Behind a Betrayal

A War of Tragic Beginning

Part 2:

King and Queen in the North

Shadow of a Fiery Stag

Reunion of New Enemies

Pleasure of Conflicted Desire

The Sanctity of Children

What Lies Beyond The Veil

Part 3:

The Cost of Our Sins

Dragged Through the Violence

Only the Cold

Fire for the King's Blood

Part 4:

Ashes of Various Grey

Plans of Pain and Horror

Afraid of a Ravens Flight

Trust in the Gentle Rasps

Visions in Eyes and Flames

A Bastard or The White Wolf

Part 5:

Home of Bloodsoaked Stone

Blazing Fire of Storming Ice

Ghostly Dreams of Old

Sailing Through the Glow

The Last Dragon

The Winter Rose

Part 6:

The Clash of Three Kings

Shrouded Truth in Sickness

Winged Shadow in the Sky

Light in the Darkest Storms

Peeking the Realms Woes

Blood, Roses and All Lies

Broken Love of the Dead

The Souls Tethered in Death

Wolves of the Past and Back

The Crows and The Sight

Part 7:

A Brewing of New Mystery

Great Wolves of White Mists

Darkness Heavy in a World

Past Becomes the Present

The Thing in the Night

Waving Tides of Turmoil

Greenish White Boodraven

Dark Blood of Blinding Light

And Wait for the Snows

Part 8:

Into the Haunted Forest

Fist of the First Men

Through the Frost Fangs

News From the South

Lies Within the Sunlight

Night of Two Distances

Screams of Cracking Ice

The Final Marching Trek

Fear Overtakes a Night

Wolves Teeth and Claws

Part 9:

Forcing Past Our Safety

One Whirlwind to the Next

Court of the North

Glimpse into the Rains

Scattered Pieces of Truth

Reunions and Realizations

Laws of Gods and Men

A Mockingbirds End

The Cold and the Rats

[soleilnewspaper]

Slipping through my fingers

a series masterlist

Being apart of the sacred 28 taught you many things in life, such as ballroom dancing, Latin, French, Spanish, Greek, fine dining, and etiquette. None of that would prepare you for falling in love with Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. While your relationship blossoms, you run the risk of losing your closest friend, Regulus Black.

Warnings: There are warnings at the beginning of every part, but just in general; angst, cliffhanger, inner demons, self loathing, friendship rifts, bruises and blood (full moon).

Characters:

Poly wolfstar x female reader Platonic Regulus Black x female reader Mother hen/matchmaker James Potter Friends Pandora, Barty and Evan

Reader:

Y/N, she/her pronouns, mentioned to be apart of the sacred 28, Slytherin, no physical features mentioned besides occasional descriptions of clothing.

Main series length: 15.7k

1: Chocolate and wet dog fur – in which you smell Remus’ and Sirius’s scents while learning about Amortentia with Professor Slughorn.

2: Ever since Potions class… - in which Sirius and Remus come to terms with their feelings for you with James Potter’s help.

 3: Just maybe – in which Remus, Sirius and you agree to a polyamorous relationship, but it causes a rift in your long-term friendship with Regulus.

 4: Broken promises – in which a flashback reveals the depths of your and Regulus connection causing you to talk it over. After an excruciating weekend at home, you return to Hogwarts to find Remus in the hospital wing.

5. Home - in which Remus reveals his secret to you, causing both Sirius and you to reassure him of your love for him.

Blurbs, one shots, and spinoff to come soon!!

Taglist:

@maraudersforlife2005 @xlxnq @1-800-wh0re4reid @liviessun @ae3ther @de-duchess @wolf-phoenix-lover @i-am-grells-pretty-boy @thewitchesofart

Let me know if you’d like to be added!

AN: This was not meant to turn into a series but I can’t help myself. My brain is not braining right now, so if you have requests I will welcome them with open arms 😭

[minminyoonjii]

Otter Chaos

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

Wholesome|Hurt/Comfort|Breakdown|Forced Regression|Bottling Up Emotions|Caring! Kim Seungmin|Skzoo! Otter|Empath! Stray Kids|Act Of Service! Lee Minho & Lee Felix|Anxious! Little Reader|Princess! Dweakki & Quokka & Otter|Skzoo Heavy Fluff

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.7K

You stared at the new line of skzoo plushies the managers laid in front, "This is going to be the highlight of the 4th fanmeeting, the only problem is the theme," the manager said, looking through the suggestions. "How about fantasy?" Changbin suggested, picking one from the list. Hyunjin hummed in agreement, "Yeah, then we can have different accessories," he said, favouring the idea. "It's not a bad idea and since it's on the list I'm sure hyung has some samples for it," Chan pointed out, leaning back.

The manager nodded, "Here are the base samples. The head of merchandise production said they will use your ideas for the pieces," he said, passing out the paper. Changbin giggled, nudging your side, "Maknae-ah look, your little otter could wear a dress," he said, holding up your skzoo. "Maybe my child and yours can wear dresses," Jisung said, moving Han Quokka to you. Changbin whined, "Dweakki would look prettier in a dress than Quokka," he said, tapping the table.

Jisung gasped, "How could you say that to my child?" he exclaimed, hugging Quokka close. Chan rubbed his temple, "The three of you can wear dresses, there's no need to fuss," he said, sketching a knight outfit for his Wolf Chan. Hyunjin smirked at his creation, "Jiniret will be a king," he said, making the details for his red coat and crown. Felix furrowed his eyebrows, "Should Bokarri be a mage?" he questioned, trying to draw a witch hat. Jeongin nodded, "Foxiny is going to be a priest," he said, sketching a cleric outfit.

Seungmin scrolled through his phone looking for ideas, "A bard, huh? That's not too bad," he mumbled, following the reference. The manager cleared his throat, "It's going to be on a 10-centimetre doll, please limit the accessories to three," he said, collecting the paper from the members who were done. You looked at your sketch, "This should be enough," you whispered, handing the paper. Changbin smirked, proud of his baby pink dress, "Dweakki will be the star of the ball," he said, crossing his arms.

"But does he have wings?" Jisung asked, showing his lilac purple outfit. "Wow," Felix said, patting Jisung's shoulder. "What about you, Agi?" Hyunjin asked, raising an eyebrow. You gulped, "Um, just a blue ball gown and a flower crown," you said, showing your reference. Seungmin smiled, "That looks stunning, I'm sure your little otter will love it," he reassured, ruffling your hair as he walked out. You huffed, patting your hair back down. 

Chan chuckled, "This room will be ours for the next hour so you guys can do whatever you want," he said, scrolling through his social media. You walk over to the chair next to his and peeks over his shoulder, "That's dope," you whispered, watching the edits Stays' made. "Right, I don't even know how they made me look kinda attractive," Chan giggled, rubbing the back of his nape. You smiled, "Stays are our number one promoter," you said, clicking a hashtag with your name.

"Not too bad yourself," Chan whistled, scrolling through a few videos when one caught his eye. 'Is Straykid's Youngest a Regressor?' it titled, making your heart sink. It didn't have a lot of views but the comments were abundance. Chan subconsciously clicked it, reading them. Some were denying the possibility and some were linking past videos of your behaviour. You didn't realise you loosened your grip on your phone until it hit the floor with a thud. 

Chan jolted out of his trance, swiping out of the app, "Baby," he tried to reassure. You faux a smile, pretending nothing happened, "Guess Stays got a lot of thoughts, hm?" you said, clicking into the app again and finding another member's hashtag. "Channie look this was from Hyune's AOTM video," you added, showing Chan. He nodded, surprised at how quickly you changed the subject, "Yeah, he did well on it," he said, raising an eyebrow. 

You nodded, "I remember staying up with him before the shooting," you said, admiring the different styles of edits the fandom has made. Seungmin raised a muffin in front of your face, "Bite," he said, smiling when you did. "Minnie, look at this one," you said, showing Seungmin an edit of himself. Chan eyed your figure, leaning back into his chair. "What's on your mind?" Minho asked, staring at him. Chan sighed, "We stumbled into a TikTok and I'm pretty sure she's going to cry the moment she's alone," he said, knowing your quirks.

Minho nodded, noticing how you gulp back your emotions, "I could cook dinner. She never says no to my meals," he suggested, leaning his face against his palm. Chan nodded, "Sounds great. I have an idea that could work too," he mumbled, whispering into the manager's ear. The manager nodded, "This line is meant for you to bring back to the dorm," he said, putting the skzoo in a paper bag. Chan smiled, "Thanks, hyung," he said, holding the bag close.

Felix laid his cheek on the table, "Can we go home now?" he mumbled, scrolling through his bubble. Chan checked the time, "Yup, Minho and I will go get some stuff at the grocery so we'll take the other car. Just text us what you need," he said, packing his things. Felix stretched, "Finally," he whined, making a beeline towards you. "Come on, sunbeam. The day is still bright," Felix added, wearing his beanie and mask. 

"You wanna head by the river? We could walk to the dorm," you suggested, pulling down your cap. Seungmin nodded, "Let me join too," he said, following you. "The sky's clear today," Felix said, looking up. Seungmin hummed, pulling out his camera to take some pictures, "Maknae-ah, pose," he instructed, taking shots of you. Felix giggled, using his phone to take different angles, "You could post this," he said, showing you.

"Yeah," you said, walking along the trail. Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows, and he frowned having a tinge of uneasiness, "Is she feeling alright?" he whispered, nudging Felix's side. "I don't really know," Felix sighed, watching you from behind. You took off your shoes, and made a beeline to your room, "I'm going to wash up," you said, not caring who heard. Jeongin gave you a side glance, "Huh?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Felix eyed the stairs, "I'll just prepare some hot chocolate for her," he said, not wanting to intrude. Jeongin frowned, "Why? What happened?" he asked, confused about what happened after the meeting. Felix shrugged, "We're not sure. We just noticed the signs," he said, knowing Jeongin understood. "Another episode-ish?" Jeongin asked, helping Minho with the bags. Felix nodded, "I don't know what triggered it though," he sighed, setting the drink ingredients aside.

Minho pursed his lips, "She saw a TikTok about netizens questioning if she's a regressor. We all know she is, it's been obvious since our elimination show," he sighed, preparing dinner. Felix's jaw dropped, "Oh, so that's what happened," he frowned, shuffling to wrap his arms around Jeongin's waist. "Should we talk to her?" Jeongin asked, leaning his head back on Felix's shoulder. Felix hummed, "I think Minnie already did," he said, noticing Seungmin's absence.

"Agi?" Seungmin whispered, knocking on your door. You furiously wiped your cheeks, "Yeah?" you responded, hoping your voice didn't crack as much. Seungmin huffed, turning the doorknob, "I'm coming in," he said, pushing the door open. You looked down, the mental weight you've been carrying around since the meeting came crashing down once you got to the comfort of your bed. Seungmin frowned, holding your skzoo, "Look at me, hm?" he said, waving the plush.

You held back a smile, remembering it was time to let go. Seungmin chuckled, and kneeled in front of you, "Don't you want to play with me, princess?" he asked, his voice soft. Your eyes flickered a familiar gaze, one he hadn't seen in a while, "Princesses like you should play with plushies and have cuddles, hm? Not have big kid thoughts," he said, leaning his tone towards a baby voice. You gulped, biting down on your tongue so as not to succumb to the relief.

Seungmin squinted his eyes, "Guess the princess is busy, Otter. That's too bad, isn't it?" he asked looking at the Otter. "That's right," he said, pitching his voice as if the Otter replied. A shuddered sigh escaped your lips, "No," you whispered, wanting to take the Otter back. Seungmin smirked, "You can't take it, Agi. Your Otter wants to be with me," he teased, hoping you'd slip. You furrowed your eyebrows, "That's not fair," you said, trying to get it back.

"It so it," Seungmin chuckled, raising the Otter up high. Your lips wobbled, and tears poured from your eyes. It didn't take long before you started wailing from the sheer exhaustion your body was going through. Chan swung open your door, making you and Seungmin flinched, "Why is she sobbing?" he asked, pulling you into his arms. Seungmin gulped, handing him your Otter plush. Your sobs died down, Otter clutched close to your chest.

Chan sighed, "Min could you get the paper bag outside the door?" he said, rubbing your back. Seungmin nodded, immediately grabbing it. "Look what I got," Chan whispered, holding out the new line skzoo plushies. Your glossy eyes sparkled, "Ottew," you whispered, taking it towards you. Seungmin dumped out the rest of the skzoo, "You brought them home?" he asked, holding his PuppyM. Chan nodded, "She looked like she wanted them so I did what I should," he said, watching you examine the rest,

Seungmin frowned, "I shouldn't have teased her too much. I just wanted her to slip," he said, patting your head. "It's alright Seung. She looks much more relaxed doesn't she?" Chan said, leaning back against your headrest. Seungmin nodded, "Definitely," he whispered, lightly pinching your cheek. Chan stretched, "Do you want to carry her down?" he asked, knowing that you'd probably not want to leave your bed.

"Yeah," Seungmin said, placing two skzoos in his shirt pockets and lifting you. Chan chuckled, seeing how you easily got distracted by the plushies. "Dinner is ready," Minho yelled, plating up his dishes with a cup of hot chocolate to the side. Seungmin hummed, setting you down on your chair. Felix giggled, "Hi, baby. Open wide," he said, feeding you a bite. You preened at the gesture, body wiggling with each mouthful. 

The members cooed, snapping pictures of your adorableness. Jeongin smiled, "I'm glad she's feeling better," he whispered, not wanting to break you out of your trance. Minho and Chan nodded, "Us too," they said in sync, placing more meat on Jeongin's plate. 

[bits-and-babs]

can u do a konig with kink in primal play ? we need him being a big wolf !

𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐊𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍 – 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : a big bad wolf chases you down in the woods, desperate for a taste of you.

pairing: könig x redridinghood!reader

warnings : 18+ mdni. pre-agreed scenario, meaning consensual non-consent. hunter x prey, roleplay, degradation, oral (f receiving), p in v sex.

könig masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Each thundering footstep of your shoes snaps twigs beneath the weight of your body, the splintering bark sounding off like canon fire as you sprint down the forest path. Distressed heaves of your chest ignored your desperate attempts to quieten your heavy breathing, palm clamped over your mouth doing little to smother the shuddering exhales.

Your wicker basket lays discarded on the path behind you, freshly picked berries oozing blood-red juice onto the pebbled trail. The petrifying viridescent eyes you'd noticed in the tree-line burn into your back as you flee. The cottage is just up ahead– you could reach it.

He's behind you. It's silent amongst the Austrian treeline, birds halting their song as he stealthily moves through the blanket of bushes and tree canopy. 

Stumbling over the nettles that prickled the skin of your ankles, you desperately attempt to conceal yourself from the incoming threat. You hurl your back against a tree trunk, hearing the pathetic whimper that slipped past your lips when the splintering bark sank into your shoulders. Sharp pain stings at your flesh as you crouch low to the ground. 

Muzzling your lips with both palms, you all but suffocate yourself while trying to conceal the small, fearful noises you made. Each beat of a crow's wing and falling leaf caused a jolt of fear to fragment through your nervous system, eyes scanning the treeline uneasily. 

"You must have a good hiding spot, Rotkäppchen," a lilting accent cut through the quiet forest, causing you to squeeze your eyes tight in terror. Every muscle in your body pulls taut, and your skin goose-pimples as though he'd doused you in ice-cold water. 

Blindly grasping at the fabric that dangled from your shoulders, you wrap the crimson material of your cape around your body in a final, wretched attempt to hide from the predatory gaze of his bottle-green eyes. 

"I will find you. When I do..." his playful tone dissipates in a moment's silence, hesitating before delivering his threat. "I'll swallow you whole."

Your knuckles blanch with how tightly you grasped the hem of your little red cape, muscles straining under the immense pressure you applied to the soft, malleable fabric. 

"They say that fear makes you taste sweeter," the lurking danger continues his twisted lecture as you breathe carefully through your terror. In for five, out for five— "All the pumping blood in your veins- makes you taste like honey, so I hear." 

The twisted comments flip your stomach, bile threatening to launch up your oesophagus. 

"Never have I craved something as badly as you," the pitchiness in his voice makes your hair stand on end, undeniably earnest in his admission. "And I feel that I have—…."

A soft, tracing touch circles your ankles like ivy before quickly locking around the bone in a vice-like grip. Dread chills the lining of your stomach, and blood pools beneath your skin. You stand no chance. 

"Got you."

You let out a shriek, kicking your feet out at your attacker as you try to escape his impossibly tight grasp. Dark, gleeful chuckles raise goosebumps across your skin and prickle the hair at the base of your neck as König drags you towards him. The bottomless black pits of his pupils swallow his verdant irises as they sweep the length of your body beneath the hood he wore.

"Meine Rotkäppchen," König coos, his mammoth palm resting over your lips to stifle the sobs of fear wracking your chest. The wolfish grin that spreads across his lips when he hears your trembling breaths causes your pulse to surge, adrenaline kicking your basic bodily functions into overdrive. "Hush, sweet thing. Just a taste, that's all I ask." 

Manipulating your body at will, König forces you into place by pushing his knee into your hip. It hurts, the crushing weight against the bone causing further bruising to your soft flesh as the brute leers down at you.

Squeezing your eyes shut quickly, you try to suck oxygen into your burning lungs. You can feel König paw at your bare thighs, bunching your skirt as he greedily grasped the supple flesh in his palms. 

"You smell divine," he whispers, refusing to acknowledge your feeble, pathetic attempts to shake his hold, "Mhmm..."

One of König's hands grasps at the hem of his hood, lifting the fabric ever so slightly. He leans down, slick tongue tracking your jugular to taste the sweat clinging to your flesh. A soft groan rumbles in his chest, delighted by the appetiser. 

It's disgusting, mortifying, but warmth pools at the base of your spine as König's teeth nip at your flesh, sucking dark hickeys into your skin. It's as though he's claiming his 'kill', celebrating his successful hunt. 

"Hng-" A quiet noise slips from your open mouth, eyelids fluttering as König slips his hand between your thighs. Ashamedly, you do little to fight his touch as he traces his fingertips towards your core. 

A pause, bated and thick. König's eyes snap to your face pointedly, green irises reduced to a slither of jade circling the circumference of his inky pupils. 

"Rotkäppchen," he addresses you steadily, regaining his composure almost as quickly as he'd lost it. König's index finger presses between the soaked lips of your cunt, slowly tracing up the seam of your sex. "It's dangerous in the woods. You know this, yes?"

Quivering beneath his delicate touch, you whimper as you jerk your chin down in a nod. König's fingerprint steadily rises, pausing its ascent just before the arch of your swollen clit. 

"Then... You would understand the carelessness of abstaining from wearing panties," he muses, smugness dripping from his tone like drool from a beast's jowls. It equally disgusts and delights you. You can hear the slickness between your shaking thighs and feel the chill against the wetness smeared across your bare skin. 

Pulsing ardently, your clit betrays your fear as it begs for König's touch. Pressure builds in your abdomen, coiling tight as your attacker's touch skirts just beyond its reach. 

"Why would you take such a risk?" He asks rhetorically, watching the pinch of your brow and the drop of your jaw as you arc your hips upwards, chasing his touch. "Unless you wished to be ravished?"

It's sudden, without warning, but König's fingers sink deep into your weeping cunt. You gasp in surprise, your back aching from the damp soil when you dig your fingers into the earth. He groans, ravenous for a taste of you, as he buries his fingers deep inside your fluttering cunt. 

He gathers the wetness of your cunt onto his fingers, pushing the length of his digits down to the knuckle before withdrawing entirely. Sobbing, you shake your head pitifully as you watch that same hand disappear beneath the fabric of his hood. 

Those blackened eyes are easy to read, his thick, dark lashes fluttering when he places his soaked fingers against his tongue. Again, his self-control slips beyond his grasp momentarily, a devastated groan reverberating in König's chest as he relishes your taste. He barely allows himself a moment of satisfaction, already removing his knuckles from his mouth to devour more of you.

"Taste so sweet, Rotkäppchen," he marvels, enormous hands grasping at your shins and ignoring your protests as he pushes your knees against your chest, "And you're all mine."

Wailing as König's head dips between the pillowy flesh of your thighs, you find yourself unable to oppose the drag of his tongue as it traces over your swollen clit. It circles the flesh there delicately, savouring the sensation of it on his tongue. 

"Ko-ohhh-" you choke on his name, toes curling helplessly as every muscle in your body locks up at the delectable sensation. He switches the direction of his circles now, twisting back the opposite way. You must be soaking his face, the sparks of pleasure building in the pit of your stomach wetting your thighs with your slick. 

The branches and stones beneath you dig uncomfortably into your back, but you barely notice, thanks to König's velvety tongue sweeping through your drenched pussy lips. An earth-shuddering rumble vibrates through his chest, the sensation arching up your spine. 

Spreading your knees further apart, you present yourself to him, will him to use you however he likes. König doesn't need to grapple with your hips. You're rocking them up into his face to meet the sensation of your building orgasm. If your unhinged movements frustrate him, König doesn't complain; he simply enjoys the feeling of you smearing your pussy across the tip of his nose and his mouth. 

Something about the eroticism, the filthiness, of this makes your orgasm arc painfully up your spine. 

"Ko-König-" you heave frantically, fingers grasping at the dark fabric draped over his skull, "König, I'm g-gonna-"

König's hands push your hips down, forcing them still in the overgrowth beneath you. His lips seal around your abused clit, sucking at it gently while flicking his tongue against it over and over and over again. You can't stop it- can't brace against the sensation as it detonates through you without warning. 

Everything surges upwards, hot and slick. You arch against the burst of bliss, sobbing out König's name repeatedly. Each utterance sounds more broken than the last, breathier, whimpering and whining. 

He doesn't even give your waves of ecstasy a chance to ebb. You only just hear the sound of him spitting into his palm over the heaving of your chest, the subsequent slick glide of him smearing it over the length of his obscenely large cock causing your arousal to flare up again. 

"Kon-"

He eases his way into you without resistance, his thick, mushroomed head dragging against your walls just right. König breaks you open achingly slowly, and it's fucking exhilarating. You take every inch of him, squeezing the length and delighting in how König's cock jerks at your cunt gripping him. He bottoms out easily, his hips pushing against the curve of your ass and his pubic bone grinding into your clit. 

You see stars amongst the forest canopy. 

"Oh fuck– Oh– Please König, p-lease–" your whines are pathetic, pitchy and raw, but König's cock lurches again. The head bumps something utterly debilitating inside you, and your eyes roll back into your skull. 

"Hush," König urges you, his cock slipping out of you. God, you can hear the sickeningly wet sounds your cunt makes when it loses him– only for him to glide right back in. He sets a slow, firm rhythm that blinds you, white static prickling across your vision. 

You're not sure how much you were moving, but König's huge paw lays flat against the valley of your breasts, pinning you down with his body weight as he forces you to take the languid, greedy roll of his hips as they sink deeper and deeper into you. 

"König!" you sob mindlessly, tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill down the apples of your searing-hot cheeks. 

"Shhh," he urges you again, rocking into you a little harder at the sound of your desperate pleas, "I can't- Need you to stay quiet–"

Wailing, agonised, you claw at his forearms. They're still clothed with a camo jacket, preventing your nails from biting at his skin. "Please!" 

"Scheisse," König wheezes, "You– You need it faster? Is that what you want?" He doesn't give you an opportunity to answer, amping up the pace of his rocking hips before you can even form a response in your mind. You sob loudly, grasping at foliage that crunches beneath your solid grip. 

"Please don't stop!" You beg him, voice frantic as he bludgeons that spot inside of you that blasts splintering shards of euphoria. "Please don't st– pleasedon'tstoppleasepleaseplease–" 

König curses, bracing his knees into the forest floor before slamming his hips into you as hard as he can manage. His palm on your chest skirts to the right, grasping your breast and squeezing at it until it bulges between his fingers. You're lifting your hips to meet his now, jaw falling slack as he prods that spot inside you while grinding his pubic bone against your throbbing clit. It's merciless. 

"Fuck, I will ruin you," König's voice sounds disembodied to your ears, his pitch desperate as though the words are slipping out against his will. He pulls you forward onto him, rocking impossibly deeper into you until you're sinking your fingers into the earth to hold yourself in place against his savage thrusts. "You— You won't be able t-to walk when I'm do-done with you, Rotkäppchen—"

It's coming. Fuck, it's coming, and it's devastating. You whimper, almost trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure that threatens to crash over you. König grasps your wrists, pinning you to the floor and fucking you over the edge. 

It eviscerates you. You choke out a wordless cry as the white-hot sparks of your orgasm rip through your nervous system. Your thighs are trembling, your back arching, and you feel fat tears smear down your cheeks. 

"Mei— Meine Perle," you hear König groan, forgetting the dynamic he was playing as he chases bliss, "I… Scheisse— I love you, I f-fucking— love—"

He gasps, loud and sharp, as his hips stutter. It's sloppy, his pace thrown as he grinds as deep as he can into your wet heat. König stutters to a halt, leaning down to bury his face in your neck when he cums. His cock throbs, spurting warm ropes of cum inside of you. 

When the heaving of your chests finally settle, you can hear the birds twittering. You're both spent, catching your breath as you lay amongst the fallen, browning foliage and cling to one another. 

"Mhm-" König lifts his head slowly, the fabric of his mask brushing at the skin of your cheek, your chin. "I forgot to continue acting." 

His voice is shy, accent heavy as he presses apologetic kisses to your cheek. You can't help but giggle. 

"It's okay," you whisper, stroking your palm down the ginormous, rippling expanse of his back. You feel him inhale slowly, taking in your scent as he clutches you closer to him. 

"You do look good in red, Perle," he murmurs, pulling teasingly as the ridiculous cape he'd pinned to you hours before. You can hear the smile on his lips. 

"Thank you. I like it when you're mean," you admit, and you feel König's body shake with a chuckle. He lifts himself from you slowly, those viridescent irises returning to their typical expanse as he gazes at you lovingly. He's high on dopamine, but you'd never doubt his love and affection for you. 

Even when he grasped at you, attacked you, you knew you were safe. 

"There's a bed to climb into," he reminded you of the cottage he'd booked. Naturally, you'd scoffed at the ridiculousness of his insistence in order to make it as believable as possible. Now, though? You were just glad there wasn't a three-hour drive home. 

"What's in it for me?" you sigh. Other than the cosy mattress, instead of the rough leaves and sharp twigs you lay awkwardly on now? 

"I can find it in myself for seconds," König mused, his hands gently grasping your thighs again. 

"You big, bad wolf," you tease, and you swear you see the corners of König's eyes crinkle as he smiles beneath the hood. 

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[schoenpepper]

Intro: You choose to wear none of them.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot

A/N: I will be releasing the endings in random order. Or in the order that I wrote them in, I'm not too sure yet. Also, elven formalwear yum yum I hope you're all ready for my Vil simping.

Masterlist

"Uh, you're not wearing the things."

"What things—oh. You're not wearing the things."

You don't know why it seems so appalling for your first-year friends that you didn't wear any of the fancy little knick-knacks that your seniors had given you, but you assure them it'll be fine. "The chaos will be avoided because I didn't choose any of them!" You say proudly, hands on your hips. Jack and Epel seem to disapprove of your statement, while Ace and Deuce are looking over every inch of your outfit, their bright white wings almost smacking you in the face multiple times. "Okay kids, settle down; what's so interesting about what I'm wearing?"

"We just don't see you in formal wear very often." Deuce explains, leaning in closer to take a look at your hairstyle.

"Yeah, it looks okay, I guess." Ace says while twirling you around. "Maybe a little more than okay."

"You clean up nice." Jack comments, and you give him a smile. "So do you, Jack! You look great in that suit."

"Eh? What about me?"

You look at the flowy fabric that makes Epel look ethereally beautiful, the traditional elven formalwear bringing out the color of his eyes even more. Except if you call him pretty, he might tackle you to the ground. So you do what a good friend would do and give him two thumbs up. "Really handsome."

Your older friends seem quite disappointed when they see you waltzing around without their gifts, and you explain over and over again that you've decided not to pick a 'date' and just go with your best friends. They seem understanding enough, and you spend the rest of the graduation ball having fun with the two angels, one elf, and one wolf beastman, wreaking havoc and chaos all around. You have loads of fun, and the night ends rather peacefully, where they drag you to a 24/7 tavern while incognito and you all gorge yourselves on chili cheese fries and apple cider.

Try Again?

[misswynters]

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  misswynters HotD masterlist

here is the list of all my works !

last updated: august 2, 2024

note | it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

a/n: send request whenever also writing for the actors too

— works in progress —

Aegon Targaryen

Dragon Twin Series | MASTERLIST |

Lannister Love

Tom Glynn-Carney

Midnight Romance

Daeron Targaryen/Harry Gilby

A chance meeting in Oldtown | Daring Prince

Cregan Stark

Winter’s Embrace – Chapter one | Chapter two | Final Chapter

Holiday in Spain (18+) | Bear and the Wolf (18+) |

Heart of the Beast | High | Smoky Desire (18+) |

Father of the Realm | A Stark’s Fury | Rough Edge

The Northern Chronicles

Northern Chronicles | Lady Arryn & Lord Stark (18+) | The Young Wolf & Arrowheart | The Boy who claimed a Dragon | Whispers of Veil

Tom Taylor

Costars on set | Gym Confession

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond as your husband | as a father

Overprotective | Tamed Targaryen Heart | Prophecy |

Pleasure to the mind (18+) | Underneath the hatred (18+)

Wine (18+)

Modern au | Urban Ties |

Ewan Mitchell

Off Screen Story | Hidden between takes

Jacaerys Velaryon/ Harry Collett

Encounter with the Prince | Toxic Devotion

Holiday in Spain (18+) | Stormbound | By the fire light

Wings of Camaraderie | Under the Stars | Blues

Fragmented Memory | Pretty in Pink

Jacaerys as your Husband | as a father |

Imperial Flame Masterlist

Harry Collett

Pulse |

Gwayne Hightower/Freddie Fox

Princess and her Knight (18+) | Tempestuous Alliance |

Modern au | Rooftop Cravings |

— Other Characters

Davos/Benjicot Blackwood

Weirwood Whispers (18+) | Bastard Daughter

As the Tides Turn (18+)

Willem Blackwood

Stolen Moments (18+) | Part One | Part Two

Aeron Bracken

Surrender (18+) | As the Tides Turn (18+)

Addam Velaryon (of Hull)

Seaside | Wings of Camaraderie |

House of the Dragon

Modern!HotD | MASTERLIST

HotD boys as your…

Best Friend | Husband | Boyfriend | Lover Childhood friend |

HotD girls as your…

Best Friend | Husband | Boyfriend | Lover Childhood friend |

SHIPS

Rhaenyra x Gwayne

Rightful Heir

A Serpent’s Claim

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© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

[laenordeservedbetter]

Love Me in Spite

Words: 2k

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Knight!Reader

Synopsis: Daemon brings you to King's Landing to assassinate your former lover.

Warnings: Reader is team black but loves Alicent, sexism, one-sided opinion on Daemon's character, foul & degrading language, reader has the catspaw dagger (the one used to cut Rhaenyra; it's not with Aegon), NO ALICOLE, Criston is not around in this one but it does follow the events of S2E01, attempted murder, thoughts of one's own death, Reader is slightly a hypocrite when it comes to her faith (her and Alicent are a match made in heaven). [Let me know if I missed any.]

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

—

Alicent Hightower was going to die by your hands.

If the order had been given to you no more than a hundred and eighty moon turns ago, you would have repudiated it without vacillation. As a child, you favored death over the mere prospect of harming a hair on Alicent’s head. The thought of inflicting pain upon a good, kindhearted, and forbearing lady was not incorporated in the vows you swore to the late King Viserys, nor did it align with your moral compass, but alas, many years had passed since then. You are not the same girl as before, nor was Alicent.

She is overcome by spite, leaving no trace of the woman she once was. Her companionship with the Princess, now Queen Rhaenyra, has long since ended. A bitter rivalry stretched between them, dividing the realm along with it.

War was coming, and it would begin with the retribution for Lucerys Velaryon’s death.

“Having second thoughts, are you?” Daemon looked back on his shoulder to gaze upon you. He appeared like a poacher in his present clothing. Not a day went by where Daemon wasn’t scheming. Over the years you spent by his side, you learned that violence was his only language. The rogue prince possessed a secure remedy for every predicament he found himself in, which is referred to as murder. He was an erudite warrior, if not temperamental.

“No, my prince. I am only counting the seconds until I get off this beast.” Caraxes lets out a low whine at your joke. You laugh softly, petting his scales. “Forgive me, Caraxes. I was merely jesting.”

Daemon smiles at your bond with the dragon, but it fades swiftly. “I know how you feel about that whore of a queen, but I advise you to remember that she is the enemy. If you want to let the nostalgia of an immemorial companionship influence your actions, I might as well throw you off this beast now to save myself the trouble of bringing you to King’s Landing.”

His words brought you a feeling of displeasure. Although your relationship with Alicent has waned over the years, you wish not to refer to her in a demeaning light, whether by your mouth or another’s. “Love begets catastrophe.” You voice out instead, “I will not be so weak. Duty takes precedence over any kind of affection.”

Your rejoinder influenced Daemon to pry further. “How did that woman manage to capture your affections, anyway? Did she visit your chambers while you were mourning a loved one?”

“And how did you capture Queen Rhaenyra’s heart? By looking after her in her cradle?” You shouldn’t have replied to his provocation with one of your own, but you could not pass up the opportunity for gratifying outcomes.

Daemon seethes. “You forget yourself, knight. I could throw you off this dragon in an instant.”

“And have Queen Rhaenyra lose one of her best assets?” You raise a brow. “Didn’t think so.”

The prince grunts, not willing to concede.

The rest of the flight was done in silence. Daemon continued to feel aggrieved by your quip earlier and went out of his way to show it through his actions. Even Caraxes shied away from your touch whenever you tried to pet him, the act hurting more than you thought it would.

You arrive in the harbor during the hour of the wolf. Caraxes lands on the sandy shores of King’s Landing, the stench of the sea rapidly hitting your nostrils. You get off of the winged beast first, evaluating your surroundings.

It had been quite some time since you visited King’s Landing. A pang of melancholy washes over you as you watch your once lively city now filled with weapons against the rightful heir and her dragons. You think of the smallfolk, the ones Alicent loves so much, and you imagine their faces. In your mind, you see pyres being lit and bodies being thrown onto it. You imagine the city you love so much engulfed in flames by the dragons looming overhead.

The thought sends shivers down your spine.

War is not the outcome you desire, but it is an inevitability. You know it as well as you know Alicent’s breathing. When swords start clashing and dragons turn against one another, the city will fall apart. The greens may have spilt the first blood, but your hands would begin the war.

Daemon throws you a dark cloak, which you grasp with a soft grunt.

“What’s this for?” You question as you put on the clothing. The material felt pleasant on your skin, the cloak fitting you wonderfully, as if it was tailored exactly for you. Looking back and forth between the cloak and the rogue prince, you comprehend that that was his doing. A soft smile graced your features.

Daemon’s eyes flit from you to Caraxes once he realizes that you had been observing him. He pretends to fasten the straps on the dragon, answering, “For you to blend in.” while trying to remain impassive. Daemon grabs another cloak, trying it out on himself.

“Thank you, my prince.” You needn’t say anything more. Daemon wasn’t one for sentiments and truth be told, neither are you when it comes to him.

“There’s one more thing.”

Your interest piques at his statement. The rogue prince walks towards you, dagger in hand. Briefly, you consider the prospect of him ending your life with it. Though, why come all this way for one murder?

Perhaps it would be to threaten the greens, as if to say “No one is safe. Not even the dowager queen’s former paramour.” It would be an atrocious act, one that would send Alicent reeling. Cole would call you a traitor to the realm, advising Aegon to display your body on the streets to show what happens to traitors, despite the murder being orchestrated by someone else. Alicent would refuse, of course. She would not be able to look at your body. Otto would turn your death into an opportunity. Mayhaps he would call you an honorable warrior who was unrightfully executed, painting Rhaenyra a villain. You do not know which one of those scenarios is worse.

Daemon surprises you when he offers you the dagger. “You should use this to kill her.” That was not part of the list of all the outcomes you expected.

Taking the dagger in your hand, you analyze the carvings on the blade. You should have felt formidable upon touching the weapon. It belonged to Aegon the Conqueror, after all. However, at present, the only thing you understand is that the dagger would be utilized for assassinating Alicent. Strange how a small object could have the capability to end a human’s life.

You could not respond, hiding the dagger in your sleeve. The weight of the act you were about to commit began to settle on your shoulders. Hundreds of enemies you have slain, but were you truly prepared to have Alicent be part of that list?

“Do this for your queen.” Daemon’s order was whispered, but vehement.

“For the queen.” You repeat with a shake of your head. Although you were less than solicitous to harm Alicent, you were eager to prove yourself to Rhaenyra. She deserved to be on the iron throne. ‘Twas her birthright, proclaimed by the late King Viserys. You swore an oath to protect and serve the rightful ruler of the realm, and you vowed to uphold that until the end of your days.

This is for the greater good, you tell yourself. One step closer to Rhaenyra being put on the throne.

But why doesn’t it feel right?

—

You get into the castle with no challenge. For a fortress occupied by Targaryen royalty, the security was subpar. And where was the commander of the Kingsguard? Surely, he needed to safeguard the castle now more than ever. Criston’s ineptitude made you scoff. See, if you had been the commander of the night’s watch…

Never mind the thought. You would have despised working under Aegon. The “king”, he calls himself, acts like a boy. He takes and takes and takes, not caring to mull over the consequences. Aegon has a penchant for acting first, and excogitating second, much like Aemond. The two Targaryen princes are more similar than they would care to admit.

At last, you reach Alicent’s — previously Rhaenyra’s — chambers. There was no guard on duty to protect her. Criston, the almighty Lord Commander, was nowhere to be found. Your blood boiled. Where the fuck was he? You at least expected a fight when you came here. You clench your fists in vexation. No confrontation would ensue since the lord commander is off doing anything but his job.

In spite of your ire, you open the chamber doors delicately, refusing to make a sound. You silently close the entrance behind you before making your way to the cot.

You send a prayer of gratitude when you see Alicent sound asleep in her bed, thankful that the gods had granted you this mercy. You hadn’t seen Alicent with her guard down in sixteen years. The ardent flames casted a warm glow upon her face, making her appear pacific. She was clutching her furs as she slept, a habit of hers that remained constant. Stray strands of hair covered her left eye. You almost reach out to brush them away when you recall the real reason why you were here, retracting your hand as if you had been burned.

Daemon’s voice rang in your ears, urging you to take action.

Kill Alicent Hightower.

You retrieve the dagger from your sleeve, holding it against Alicent’s throat. The light from the fireplace shone on the weapon, highlighting the Valyrian text inscribed on it.

This was the right thing to do.

For Rhaenyra.

For the realm.

You push through with shaking hands, torn between your duty and your morality. Alicent had no one to shield her. You are a craven for attempting to assassinate a defenseless woman in her sleep. You try to tell yourself that this way would be better. Alicent would not have to suffer long. But as you gaze upon her features, you could only see the girl you once loved.

In lieu of reminding yourself of Daemon’s orders, reminiscences of days making promises to one another crossed your mind. From rehearsing future marriage vows to Rhaenyra’s proclamation as the heir to the throne — the three of you promising not to hurt one another, an oath predating your ascension to the Kingsguard.

“Fool.” You call yourself out on your asinine choice, moving the dagger away from Alicent’s neck. This was wrong. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t hurt Alicent. You had failed Rhaenyra. Pacing back and forth while running your hands through your hair, you struggle to determine your next course of action.

“That you are.” You face Alicent, your throat constricted by the sheer expression on her face. Alicent was not alarmed by the dagger you currently possess. She smiled at you the way she used to whenever you saved her from Rhaenyra in your games of pretend. “I was hoping to see you.”

The revelation caused you to drop your weapon entirely, moving it to your side, “Alicent.” Her name tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

Alicent stood so she was now face to face with you. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, “Did Rhaenyra send you?”

You look her in the eye and say, “No. Daemon did.”

Alicent nods, knowing that it was in Daemon’s nature to take matters into his own hands. The rogue prince served only himself.

The dowager queen takes a step closer while you remain standing against the wall. Your body shudders as she cups your cheek. And, as if on instinct, you lean into her touch, letting the tears fall. She doesn’t know how often you look for fragments of her in the people you encounter and feel your spirit recurrently shatter once you realize that you would never find it. You wish to lay your heart out in front of her as an offering, or to confess the contents of your prayers that have her as the keynote.

“I’m sorry.”, is all you say.

“What?” Alicent whispers.

You plunge the dagger into your abdomen just in time for Helaena to come barging into Alicent’s chambers, Jaehaera in her arms.

“They killed the boy.”

[fashionteahouse]

ultimate masterlist

started: 10/12/2024

updated: 10/22/2024

~ heyy beautiful people, I have decided to create this master list to make my page more easier to navigate and enjoy :) i take request so feel free to drop whatever you want because I write everyday! the wolfpack is my preference but I will write for any other twilight characters as well :> however, I wont write about jacob black x renesmee and quil x claire xoxo *(plagiarism of my writing is NOT allowed)*

Twilight Saga

moodboards

bella swan

leah clearwater

paul lahote

jared cameron

jacob black

seth clearwater

sam uley

emily young

embry call

charlie swan

wolf pack imagines

paul lahote

the other woman

moving on

detonate

cybertwee

under the influence

feel good all over

circumambient

4 wings

fine whine

you'll miss me when I'm not around

dinner

beautiful people with beautiful problems

love's in need of love today

provider

ride the dragon

24 hours

rewind

rewind part 2

7 years

but daddy i love him

reaper

animals

happiness is a butterfly

skyline to

keep driving

who? what!

best interest

even if it hurts

homemade dynamite

babydoll

immaterial

radical

what you waiting for?

forever

fourfiveseconds

little freak

embry call

miss camaraderie

kerosene

claws

kiss it better

hot wind blows

velvet 4 sale

butterfly effect

belly of the beat

genesis

self control

it is what it is

best to you

honeymoon

jacob black

chosen

ray of light

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

sam uley

dance the night away

sour candy

jared cameron

is it cold in the water?

seth clearwater

venus fly

bad habit

human behavior

supernova

next level

quil ateara

xxxo

play destroy

time will tell

infinite love without fulfillment

paul x reader x embry

swim good

wolfpack smut

paul lahote x reader

nitrous

jacob black x reader

difficult

wolf pack series

paul lahote x reader

out of your league part 1

out of your league part 2

out of your league part 3

out of your league part 4

out of your league part 5

out of your league part 6

out of your league part 7

out of your league part 8

out of your league part 9

out of your league part 10

out of your league part 11

embry call x reader

black cat part 1

black cat part 2

don't let me be misunderstood part 1

dont let me be misunderstood part 2

crystal ball part 1

jared cameron x reader

thought i knew you part 1

thought i knew you part 2

vampire imagines

garrett x reader

snowchild

jasper hale

last time i saw you

volturi imagines

alec x reader

space and time

twilight imagines

charlie swan x reader

bouncin

[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.2 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terassen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

See masterlist

A/n: Hey everyone! I am so happy that you guys liked the first chapter of this series which is why I have decided to continue it yayy!! Anywaysss, enjoy this second chapter <3

Y/n could not move, could not think or feel properly as her mind tried to come up with ways to escape whoever the male behind her is. The knife was placed in a way that, if she even dared to move her head an inch, it would slice right through her throat. She was wearing a simple white shirt with black pants and did not have any weapons, except a small knife hidden in her pants pocket, because in a perfect world, she was expecting to still be at home, preparing for bed, not fighting with Azriel and certainly not ending up wherever this place is.

As if he could hear her thoughts, the male slowly lowered the knife but still kept his hold on her as he turned y/n around. The second she turned around, y/n felt weak in the knees as she beheld the male in front of her.

Lucious, wavy and golden blond hair, beautiful sun kissed, golden brown skin and most importantly, those hypnotizing onyx eyes that look darker than a night devoid of stars. Whoever this male is, he was definetly a warrior or atleast a skilled fighter if his broad chest and shoulders that had multiple different kinds of weapons strapped to them were any indicator.

"You are coming with me."

This dragged y/n back into reality as she realized that she has been creepily staring at him. However, she did not have the time to feel embarassed as she noticed his slightly loose hold on her arms as an opening to her escape. With a quick move that the male did not see coming, y/n threw a punch to the strangers nose. This caused his hold on her to loosen completely and so, y/n gathered all her remaining strength and shot to the sky.

From above, she started searching for any clues as to where she might be. This site looks nothing like Velaris or even the Night Court. Open grassy fields, lakes, mountains...what is this place? not even the Spring court was this beautiful. Definetly not the other courts either. Maybe the mortal lands? But no, the male who threatened her was a fae. Definetly not Hybern either. Well, she has never been to Hybern, especially not after the war, but still, y/n did not imagine for that place to look this breathtaking.

Y/n's wings started slowing down as she realized how tired she was and that is when she spotted a small open area in the middle of a forest and decided to land there. The stranger is a good distance away so getting some rest and then exploring some more is the only good plan.

But before she could even sit down for a second, a giant white wolf leapt on her and pinned her to the ground, baring its teeth to her with a low growl. Y/n knew then and there that this was it, that she was about to be killed by this beast when suddenly, she got blinded by a bright light and the next thing she knew, the white beast was replaced by that stranger from before. He left her no time to ask questions or fight him back as his skillfull hands did a quick work of chaining her arms to his belt.

"You think that just because you have wings you can escape me? Get up." The stranger said, as he stood up from his position over her body.

Y/n bared her teeth at him before she replied, "Unchain me, I am not going anywhere with you."

The male, still looking down at her, only said, "Now."

"How did you find me? I thought my punch would have made you go home crying."

He gave her a cruel smirk as he said, "The next time you try to punch someone, try to aim properly."

"I was panicked! I did not care where I aimed as long as it got me far away from you!"

His face became cold and hardened again as he said, "Get up. This will be the last time I say it."

When y/n refused to oblige, she saw him turn around and start walking but before she could yell after him to unchain her, she was being dragged through the grassy ground by the chain. He was dragging her? He was dragging her!

"Hey! what are you doing?!"

He ignored her.

"Stop! your'e hurting me!"

He ignored her

"My wings! They will rip apart if you keep this up!"

He ignored her.

"You bastard! You are dragging me through the ground, stop!"

He kept on ignoring her.

With no options left, y/n sighed and shouted, "Fine! I will follow you, but please stop for a moment the back of my shirt is about to rip open! I will get up and follow you!"

At that, he stopped and turned around, still looking expectantly at her with cold, unflinching eyes that made her shiver.

To say y/n was furious, would be an understatement; however, looking at him made her realize something. She would rather die than admit it but y/n found it very impressive (and attractive) how he could walk so casually while dragging her weight with the chain linked to his body. Not wanting to gather all the dirt on the ground, y/n got up to her feet and started hesitantly following him.

As they kept walking, y/n decided to get some information out of her captor that could potentially be helpful when she escapes. So, changing her expression to the most indifferent and nonchalant one like she was trained to do, y/n asked the male, "What is this place?"

The male did not look back as he replied, "Don't act so foolishly by asking me such a meaningless question."

"I am not being foolish, I have no clue as to where am I and what this place is."

When she saw how the stranger scoffed but said nothing, y/n knew that she had to use a different strategy and so, she stayed silent because she knew she could not trust this male to tell him anything about where she comes from and it seemed he wouldn't tell her anything either. So her next best plan would be to wait and see where he takes her. But as if curiosity got the best of her, y/n asked, "What is your name?"

"That does not concern you."

"So I am to call you stranger then? As you wish stranger."

He sighed but then said, "Fenrys, call me Fenrys."

Fenrys. Such a unique name and yet, something about it felt so comforting that as y/n tested out his name on her tounge silently, she could not help but feel as if the name had something that made it feel special to her. And maybe it was that momentary comfort that made her slip up and reveal her name to him.

"My name is Y/n"

Fenrys did not turn around but she saw just a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment and that was enough.

When they reached the clearing of the forest, Fenrys turned around and told her, "Come closer to me."

"Why, I don-"

"Do not waste my time. You are a captive here so do as I say and come closer to me."

Y/n hesitantly came closer as Fenrys held out his hand. When she gave him a questioning look, he sighed and said, "Trust me, I won't kill you, atleast not until my queen commands me to."

Y/n took his hand, gave him a puzzling look and asked, "Your queen? Is she one of the mortal queens? There is no fae queen in Pryth-"

She did not get to finish her sentence as suddenly y/n felt this strong yet comforting power course around them. That is when she realized that Fenrys was winnowing them.

One second y/n was clinging to his arms as he winnowed them, and the next she was standing in the center of what looked like a large palace room. White, gold and hints of silver with green were everywhere, from the tall pillars to the designs on the ceiling. Everywhere she looked was a masterpiece, even the small but comfortable lounge chairs had green intricate designs on them. The large windows brought in the sunlight that made the room look very heavenly and peaceful. There was also a medium sized flag that carried the image of a white stag with a crown on its head hanging from the large window in the back. Y/n guessed it to be their house crest.

But, the fae in the room were what brought y/n back from her daydream. There were four of them. Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, was a a stunning female with pale skin, long voluminous brown hair that cascaded down her back and eyes of the most beautiful shade of green ever. Standing next to her, was a very tall, tan and muscled male with long blond hair and blue eyes. Then, right infront of y/n, in the center of the room, was a handsome, tan male with silver hair that was cut short to his scalp, emerald green eyes and broad shoulder's that made him look dominating. But what caught her attention the most, was the tattoo that started from his left temple and continued all the way through his throat where it disappeared under his clothes. Finally, next to him was a beautiful female with long blond locks and eyes that seem to be the brightest shade of blue. In fact, it seems like this female and the other male are twins or atleast related because they are the spitting image of one another.

The brown haired female spoke first, "Took you long enough."

Fenrys sighed and replied with, "She was not easy to catch."

The blond female gave a cool assesing stare at y/n and especially at her wings before asking, "What part of Erilea are you from?"

"What? I know of no such place."

"Do you consider us to be fools?"

This question came from the blonde haired male who was now stalking closer to her.

"Do I look like one? I do not know who you are, let alone where I am!"

Y/n suddenly felt as if all the air was drained out of her body which caused her to fall on her knees. She was suffocating, she could not think or say anything but choke and gasp for air. Just when she felt like dying, the air returned back to her body. Y/n, still in shock, did not care about her image as she kept kneeling on the ground and greedily inhaling air while still coughing.

That is when she felt a pair of arms hold her by her waist as she tried to get up again. The comforting scent of vanilla and sandalwood hit her nose and as she turned her head sideways...Fenrys was the one holding her and even though he was't looking at her, she could feel from his tight grip on her waist how unnerved he was.

"Let this be a warning for you if you lie again." That cold voice brought her back to reality as Fenrys let go of y/n, still staying behind her, and she turned around to see the silver haired male now standing before the blond female, protecting her.

The female pushed past him and came closer to y/n and asked her, although slightly less aggressively than before, "Who sent you here? Who do you work for?"

At that moment, y/n felt all sorts of emotions. Disbelief, confusion, frustration but most importantly, anger. Who do they think they are? Judging her like she came here on purpose. Trying to kill her with their...impressive powers. Since when does Prythian have fae who can take the air of of your body?

With a frustrated sigh, she says, "I do not know what this place is OR who you are. I know of no place named Eri-what was it? I come from the Night Court in Prythian so either you are the ones acting like fools or you simply have lost your minds because to think that I would come here of my own will? I mean, have you seen what I am wearing? This certainly does not look like something I would wear if I were to be sent off on a mission."

"You have wings. No one in Erilea has ever had wings before. At least not anyone we know."

Y/n was slightly startled when she heard the voice from behind her, sounding too close for her comfort. The green eyed female was no longer on her lounge chair but right behind y/n, as if preparing to attack her should y/n attempt something.

A gasp made y/n turn her head back around to see what was going on. The blond female was looking at her with wide eyes and then at the silver haired male beside her. They stared like that at one another, which made y/n believe that they were conversing mentally. The males eyes widened for a split second before he turned his head at her and asked, "Where did you say you were from?"

"Night Court in Prythian. Why?"

The blond female looked at her look alike, then at the green eyed female and lastly, at Fenrys who was behind y/n as well. Then, with a slightly shaky voice, she asked no one in particular, "The Wyrdgates. Could it be? Is it possible?"

The other blond one says, "No, you closed it. It can't be."

At that, the room grew silent as some sort of an unnerving tension fell over everyone. Confused and annoyed, y/n asked, "What is that? Where am I? I don't understand. Explain. Now."

The brown hair female came around to face y/n as she said, "We don't know what Prythian is. There is no place named the Night Court in here."

Seeing y/n's shocked yet confused face, it was Fenrys who spoke up, "Do you remember how you ended up here?"

Y/n started recounting what happened more to herself than to anyone else, "I had an argument with Azriel, then the voice led me to the House of Wind and then...the book of Breathings. Oh Mother above." Realization dawned upon her as she realized that she had just ended up in a completely different world.

"Well, we will pretend like we understood what you just said." The blond male said which earned him a glare from his look a like.

The blue eyed female sighed as she looked at everyone and then said to y/n, "We...we need to have a talk. There is a lot that you need to be told and a lot that you need to tell us."

"I-I am not telling you anything. You can torture me all you like but you won't get any information out of me."

"You need to. We need to know if what we believe is happening is true." The silver haired male speaks as he slowly motions for everyone else to spread around and sort of cage her in the room.

But y/n wasn't hearing anyone as her mind went completely silent and all she heard were murmurs as she felt like she was underwater. She started pacing around as her eyes were wide with disbelief, "T-th-that stupid book....Oh Cauldron boil me...I-I...home..need to g-"

"Keep your eyes on her." Silver hair says.

Y/n did not see how around her, everyone was just as shocked by her. How they were watching her every move, ready to attack her if she dares to try something. She did not care because she felt like she was hyperventilating, loosing her mind.

"Aedion call a heale-"

The only thing she saw was Fenrys's concerned face reaching out to hold her as she descended into darkness.

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

Taglist: @ladespedidas @mis-lil-red @going-through-shit @kaitttttttt @blackgirlmagicforever

[chuuyrr]

𝐢. 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 ‧₊ .ᐟ

series masterlist | next chapter

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ 𓆩 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 ‧₊ 𓆪 fallen angel! dazai osamu , f! angel! reader . . .

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ i can fix him (no really i can)

𝐂𝐖(𝐬) ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ angels! au, religious themes: inspired by éloa (1824), a poem about a f! angel falling for a "stranger", which is also inspired by the hades and persephone myth. submission to @kentopedia's event !

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ sfw. in which he sought to reclaim his lost light, and like a moth to a flame, he found it in you, an angel of light

in the tapestry of stories you've heard high and low, dazai osamu's name profoundly echoed in the heavens, tarnished by fame. you've heard it time and time again, like a broken record from the moment you were given life from the tears of the god above.

he was whispered to be akin to the devil himself, once counted among the highest-ranking angels who succumbed to the depths of disgrace.

so profound was his descent from grace that even the mere mention of his name invoked a shiver of fear. branded as fallen, unworthy, and a symbol of shame, his very existence became a testament to the consequences of betrayal in heaven.

and you were such a curious little creature of the cursed tale, almost like an innocent lamb to a wolf, as they say. however, even as an angel from above, you contemplated the prospect of getting condemned and branded unfit. the so-cursed fallen may have made mistakes, but you still stuck to this very principle.

is not everyone deserving of grace? a second chance at forgiveness? those questions plagued your heart and soul, feeling you with a sense of trepidation that you had struggled to shake, yet you somehow longed for it. how strange.

you delved to question the morality and rationale of it, therefore you were warned not to seek what is unlawful or even question the greatest order among the heavenly creatures you all are, or you would be labeled the same as the devil, dazai osamu, the fallen angel.

not only were you a curious thing, but you were also frequently admonished, such as not flying too low on the ground or you would no longer be able to stay above, but you dismissed it as a stupid scolding.

besides, how could you not? the earth was as lovely as the sky above. every corner was a breath of life, born of a miracle, just like you.

so, you descended from heaven, disregarding the warnings of your fellow angels and higher-ups, and found yourself floating across the line that connects the sky and land, your white feathery wings flapping and gliding along the breeze of the air.

unbeknownst to you, a pair of enigmatic eyes somewhere from the shadows was.. watching you—your every move.

you were like a delicate swan, far from the coast, giving its white wing to the passing waves of the ocean sky.

their gaze was solely affixed on the purity of your smile, the way your [color] eyes shone with light, and the way your danced in the skies with your wings akin to a dove's as if it was your ballroom, and those same eyes easily recognized you as one of the angels from heaven, and you were undoubtedly a pure soul.

and this light you had, your very purity, it was tempting those eyes, like a moth to a flame.

instead of avoiding temptation, he welcomed it with open arms, gazed wistfully at you from a distance. the urge was strong. just seeing you for the first time elicited a wide range of feelings in him. he wants your luminescence.

he wanted you, and he will get what he wants.

he purposely comes into your view, making sure to catch your attention, and it doesn't take long. no one could resist him anyways. not even a pure soul like you, even if you were not one of those mortal women that loves him so much so, they were the reason why they talk in their sleep.

your gaze catches sight of a young man, who is undoubtedly beautiful, and the feel is too celestial to be real. his eyes sparkle almost like dazzling diamonds in the night like stars, and his skin is so beautiful that he could be mistaken for an angel like you.. or perhaps he was?

"my, my," his voice was sweet as honey, and rich and deep as it is he spoke to you with a smile hoping to tug on your heartstrings, "where did you come from, beautiful archangel?"

"you came down from heaven and sent me lightning, but you are so beautiful in my eyes that i don't know why. you, too, have come from above, beautiful angel, to confront me? what an honor," he continues to sweet-talk you while admiring your figure, taking in your delicate features up close, from your eyelids and cheekbones to your torso, which was cradled by a white garment that suited your purity.

the first pale glimmer of twilight bled into the horizon, your wings arching gracefully behind you as the golden light of the setting sun bathed you and the man in a warm glow. the following words he uttered next sent a shiver down your spine as he approaches you closer.

"and who you might be?" you ask softly, a small quiet giggle escaping your lips that makes his smile grow wider as he shakes his head at the sides at your innocent question.

"i am the one we love and don’t know," he says, his voice wrapping around you like a silken thread, his eyes gleaming with a hidden fire, "on man, i have founded my empire of flame, in the desires of the heart, in the dreams of the soul, in the bonds of bodies, mysterious attractions, in the treasures of the blood, in the looks of the eyes."

you feel your wings twitch, your controlled elegance slipping for a minute. you clenched your hands into closed fists, attempting to steady yourself against the draw of his words as he moved closer, and closer, his presence entrancing you.

"i make wives speak in their dreams, learn happy lies. i give them nights which console days.. so you can say, i am the secret king of secret loves, dear angel," his gaze bore into yours, unyielding and magnetic, piercing your very soul as a light blush colored your cheeks, and you lowered your gaze, "i am no man with ill intentions, i am but a comforter.."

"i give to the earth the pleasure of the evenings and the goods of the mystery," his voice softened, almost tender as he saw the expression on your face.

the sun starts to set, and as darkness fell over the soil you walked on, you felt the shadows come alive around you, and when the final rays of sunlight vanished, your surroundings changed.

countless spirits appeared from the growing shadows of the trees. the night seemed to vibrate with an unusual energy, scented dew began to drop on the orange trees, lilac, and thyme, and he held his arms wide to encompass the entire scenery before you.

you stared in a daze as a nightingale rose towards the now-starry sky, its song heralding the young man's beloved hour. every creature and flower appeared to come alive in response to his presence. your breath caught as voices whispered among the trees, their words melting into the night's music, and it filled the air, with trees and bushes adding to the midnight chorus.

you couldn't help but tremble slightly at the change of surroundings, the aura now present in the air in his midst. your wings folding tightly behind your back as you look up at him.

he stepped closer once more over to your frame, his dark enigmatic yet sharp eyes never leaving your face as he speaks in a soothing whisper that caressed your very soul.

"do not fret me. i understand it completely, it is natural to be drawn to the unknown, to the mysteries that lie beyond the daylight's reach. you are not alone in this curiosity. many before you have felt this same pull, this same longing." he coos in a coaxing, gentle tone.

"you've always been a curious little thing, hmm? well, it's the same for me, dear," he chuckles softly, comforting you, as if he knows you, which he does. he is quite familiar with you.

"i, too, am curious. i, too, question what is unlawful or even ponder about the greatest order among the heavenly creatures like you. perhaps that way, we too, share a similar nature in that sense?" he says, causing you to shiver, the warmth and blush on your cheeks deepening as he reaches out to cup your face in his palm.

he leans in closer, his face hovering near yours, not quite touching but close enough for you to feel his warmth, his hot breath, trickling your skin, "angels like you, like us, have always been meant for purity, for light."

"wait, what are you saying?" you sputter out softly in disbelief. his name was oddly similiar, familiar, as he takes his other hand, now fully cupping your face so delicately in his palms, holding you as if he has the world in his own very hands.

"what i'm saying is that even the purest light casts a shadow," he gently squeezes your face, his eyes drawing down to your innocent yet curious, baffled gaze, and plump lips, "it is what the higher angels above us are so afraid of, hence they brand the curious unfit and unworthy of grace. they deny the parts of themselves that are curious, that yearn for something more, but it is not a sin to feel, [name]. in fact, it is what makes existence so beautifully complex."

"and that's why they labeled the fallen angel before as such?" you whisper softly, your gaze faltering.

"you are strong, [name], and oh so loving, i can see it clear as the day," he says softly, his voice like velvet, adding more fire to the flame of your inner conflict, "but even the strongest hearts can be softened. i do not seek to destroy you, or lead you astray, but to show you the beauty that lies in the shadows, the wonders that the night holds, the very same one that you have heard of dared to step upon of."

he presses his forehead against your own before he leans into your ear, whispering like the snake that tempted eve to take the forbidden fruit, "i offer a reprieve, a moment of solace. take my hand, dear, and step into the night and discover its secrets. i know you wish to seek out the same thing that condemned your fellow angel."

with quivering palms, you gently raised your gaze to meet his. your heart pounded in your chest, echoing the internal conflict you were fighting.

his dark eyes were gentle and welcoming, promising understanding and comfort, reminiscent of the fallen angel you've heard of over and over back in heaven.

"how do you know all of this? just, who are you?" you stammer out softly. your resolve was weakeneing, and for a brief moment, you were on the verge of giving in, letting go of your fears and entering the unknown, the same unknown into which the previous fallen angel had descended from grace to.

"i go by many names, but call me shuji.. at least for now," he chuckles, seeing the conflict in your eyes, reminding him of the power of his words, the allure of his presence, and he knew that, eventually, even the strongest of hearts, the purest of pure, could be coaxed into the embrace of the night.

you furrow your brows, and you can't help but feel such tension as your wings twitched. you wanted to resist. this seems all too much, all for someone you just met. it was never too late to draw yourself from the temptation that 'shuji' presents, but he was right. you have always been a curious little thing. you longed to know. you longed the offer.

"i don't know, i don't think.." you say softly, fidgeting your fingers as you look down at your feet. the night air hung heavy with the darkness of the starry sky pressing in with a strange tangible weight.

"aww, it's alright. you don't have to decide anything right now, sweetheart," he murmurs, his tone of voice a soothing balm to your conflicted emotions, "it's natural to feel hesitant to delve deep into the unknown.. i should know."

you look up at him, your eyes meeting his for a brief second before pulling away, the intensity of his gaze too much to take. he reaches a hand, not to touch, but to give, a sign of silent understanding of your turmoil.

"would you like some company instead?" he asks gently, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace, "you don't have to agree to anything beyond that. how about it?"

such a strange man, but persistent. your fingers halting their anxious dance at the prospect of companionship. however, a part of you remains apprehensive, aware of the perils of his charm and the tempting draw of his words.

seeing your hesitancy, 'shuji' softens his gaze even more, his face one of genuine concern. "it's just for now."

and he promises you with a smile that masks a hidden intention, "no commitments, no decisions. just two souls sharing a moment in the quiet of the night. we can talk, or sit in silence, whatever brings you peace, sweetheart."

a part of you yearns for the peace his presence appears to offer, the comfort of another's company in the middle of your turmoil. you lift your gaze to meet his again, looking for any hint of deception, any trace of the manipulative charm you fear.

but all you see is patience, an invitation without pressure, a promise of understanding with no strings attached. you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your uncertainty lift just a little.

"okay, but just for a short while.." you say quietly, barely audible.

thus, his smile widens at your acceptance, and for a brief moment, his little facade almost crumbles at the thought of effectively persuading you. just a little more, he thinks to himself. it was only a matter of time before he received what he desired from you.

after all, he was already drawn to you.

he extends his hand to you. you stare at his hand for a moment before placing your hand in his, sensing the warmth of his touch. you stroll in silence, the route lit by the faint glow of starlight and the distant sounds of night birds.

when you follow him, the land surrounding slowly vanishes that hums with a distinct eerie force. he pauses and returns your gaze with a comforting smile, "trust me," he adds quietly, his eyes showing a mix of eagerness and affection.

taking a deep breath, you nod and allow him to lead you, and before you know it, the world swirls around you, but when the swirling light fades, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of a peaceful, terrestrial scene.

the air is crisp and fresh, with a subtle aroma of budding flowers and earthy tones from a neighboring forest. the sky above is a deep, velvety blue, speckled with stars that appear close enough to touch, and a leisurely river flows through the landscape, its surface like a plethora of small diamonds in the moonlight.

he walks you to a grassy knoll that overlooks the river. the ground beneath your feet is soft and welcoming, making it the ideal place to relax and enjoy the scenery.

he sits down and motions for you to join him. as you lower yourself to the ground, a sense of calm comes over you.

"this place," he says, "is a hidden gem on earth. far from the heavens, yet it holds its own kind of magic.”

you gaze around, taking in the soft sway of the trees, the rhythmic murmur of the river, and the peaceful symphony of the night creatures. it's a spot that feels both unspoiled and ageless, a haven where the stresses of the world appear to fade away.

you close your eyes and let the sounds of nature wash over you. the subtle rustle of leaves, the sweet crooning of faraway night birds, and the flow of the river all combine to form a lovely lullaby, and you sense his presence beside you as a steady, comforting anchor.

after a while, you open your eyes to look at him. "this place is beautiful. every bit of this just reminds me of how lovely the earth may be, just as it is above."

he grins at your naive yet honest comments as you continue to speak, "i can't help but wonder, your majesty," you say now, giggling now as you are more relaxed, as you address him as such since he names himself the king of secret loves.

"wonder about what? what's going on inside that pretty little head of yours?" he muses you.

"you seem to know a lot of things. you even know about fallen angels.." you mutter quietly now, recalling his words earlier, his offer to you, "but i suppose it's only natural. you do call yourself a king of secret loves, and a king does know a lot, for a king carries both a crown and a burden after all."

you fiddle with the hem of the white dress hugging your body as you look at him, asking him the very same thing you question in regards to the gods and celestials above, "but do tell me, shuji. is not everyone deserving of grace? a second chance at forgiveness?"

'shuji's' gaze darkens for a brief moment as he contemplates your thoughts. he shifts slightly, turning to face you more directly, his stare incisive but compassionate. he bites his lip for a brief moment before he speaks his truth.

he says slowly, as if weighing his words carefully, "forgiveness, it is a complex thing. it's not just something that can be given or taken; it has to be earned, understood, and sometimes even fought for."

he pauses, gazing up at the starlit, night sky, as if he was looking for answers in the distant lights just like you, "i have seen those who have fallen, who have made mistakes, and who have sought redemption.. so if you ask me, my dear, the path to forgiveness is not always certain."

your eyes widen at his words, every word hitting a deep part of your heart. you lean in closer to him, your interest peaked as you can't help but question him," do you speak from experience? have you ever known someone who has walked that path?"

a shadow covers his face, momentarily yet noticeable. he returns his smile to you, albeit with a trace of melancholy, "hmm, perhaps you can say that? hah, we all have secrets and burdens to bear.."

"one thing is certain though," he says, reaching out to you once more, his fingers brushing against yours, "we are all searching for our own paths to grace. after all, we all long for grace. do we not?"

"that's true," you nod slowly at his words, finding solace in them.

however, his fingers tighten around yours, his voice tinged with longingness, "but sometimes, it is not all we long for. sometimes, we all long for something else.."

your eyes widen once more as you lock eyes with him, seeing an intensity of emotions in them, a depth you've never seen before in those brown eyes of his.

he pulls you closer to him, his touch firm yet gentle as if he was handling such a delicate flower, afraid to let it go or wither away. your body presses against his, and he feels warm.

"stay the night with me, pretty archangel," he whispers to you in such a way that sends a shiver down your spine, "just for tonight."

you feel your heart race, the closeness of his body against yours was making you acutely aware of every sensation. the warmth of his hand and breath mingling with the night air, and the longing in his eyes, a silent plea that tugs something within you.

"but, why?" you ask softly, blinking in confusion.

"because i long for you, dear," there it was again, the seduction in his voice, the honeyed tone he used on you before when he made you an offer, and this time it was filled with naked honesty.

you experience a plethora of emotions within you, including dread, exhilaration, and.. a strange yet evident attraction to him, but you hesitate nonetheless at this second, other offer he asks of you.

he reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear as he reassures you, luring you in secret, "come on, sweetheart. just for tonight. i won't keep you for too long.."

there was a deep yearning in his eyes that mirrors your own, and this time you were unable to turn away from the temptation this offer unlike earlier. slowly, you nod your head, allowing yourself to lean into the moment, into him.

"okay, just for tonight.." you mutter softly, finally giving in.

he pulls you in closer, almost wrapping his arm over you, almost too possessively, and the next thing you know, he's guiding you somewhere more private, away from the outside world.

he walks you to a much darker, almost secluded path. it was as if the scenery was shifting again into something else again. the stars above appear to dim, their light absorbed by the dense canopy of trees.

the air becomes cooler, and a sense of gloom permeates the night's peacefulness. eventually, you come across a concealed cabin, its shadowy silhouette just apparent in the darkness.

he opens the door for you, his movements deliberate and controlled, and ushers you inside, almost desperately.

the room is dimly illuminated, with the flickering fire creating long, dancing shadows on the walls. he leads you to a massive, imposing bed, with dark sheets and heavy blankets that nearly swallow you whole. you sit down, feeling the smooth, enveloping fabric under you, as 'shuji' stands nearby, his presence looming and intense.

you look around, the shadows appearing to close in around you. there's an inescapable intimacy here, a refuge from the world but also a trap from which there's no way out.

and he looks at you with triumphant eyes, as if he has finally found what he has been looking for.

he reaches out, his grip solid, and grabs your hand in his, "you have no idea just how glad i am to have you here."

his voice was possessive as he looks at you with the same longing from earlier, "having you right where i want you... it's what i long for."

you look at him with a mix of fear and excitement in your eyes. the moment has an electric intensity to it, as if it were a dream on the verge of becoming a nightmare.

the look in his intensifies as he leans into you, his warm breath up against your skin. without warning, he suddenly pulls you down onto the bed with him in one swift moment that you barely had time to react as your wings twitch and flap in surprise behind you.

he grips you tightly with the same possessiveness as you feel his body press against yours, and this time the look in his eyes was almost predatory. he stares down your delicate face, from your [color] eyes to your form, just as he had when he first lay eyes on you, this time relishing the moment even more because he was so close to you.

his fingers trace goosebumps on your arm as the air between you and him now cackles with an unspoken tension, with an unbearable anticipation, especially for him.

and so, with a sudden decisive movement, he tilts your chin up to him and he presses his lips against yours, and it was a fierce and possessive kiss that leaves you breathless, yet breathlessly wanting more.

the outside world fades away as he claims your lips, leaving you with the mere sensation of his lips and body pressing against yours. he tightens his grip around you as you let out a soft whine, but you do not let go or even struggle against him at all.

instead, you find your fingers entangling themselves in his messy locks of brown hair as he kisses you with such need, as if he's imprinting himself on you.

you feel the roughness of his breath and the urgency in his touch as his arms envelop you like promise and a warning, and it was overwhelming your senses.

after a brief moment, he pulls away from your lips, ragged gasps for air escaping his breath, but he doesn't let go. he's never letting you go. his hold on you was firm as ever and you can see the satisfaction in his eyes, taking dark pleasure in having you like this, at this very moment, completely and utterly his.

"stay with me, alright? let me have you, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips.

you slowly nod your head, unable to find your voice as you lose yourself in his intense gaze and the sensation of his kiss, and as he leans in to capture your lips in another kiss, you know that tonight, you're his.

and then, with a dark glint in his eyes, he suddenly says, "call me osamu."

the name sends a shock through you, causing you to pale. osamu. the same name as the fallen angel you had been warned about, dazai osamu. your heart pounds against your chest at the realization, hitting you like a bolt of lightning, and finally, you see it. the flicker in his eyes, behind the tender facade he had been holding.

"osamu?" your voice trembles at the utter of his name.

he smiles a knowing smile towards you, "yes, osamu. call me osamu."

the unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air. the man holding you was no ordinary being. he was no king. he was no mere mortal. this man, he used to be an angel of the highest grade. he's the fallen angel you heard of, the one who had been cast out of heaven, and now he was the one who craves to touch you.

osamu brushes his fingers against your cheek in a gentle touch, "i told you earlier, didn’t i? you shouldn't be afraid. i'm not even here to hurt you at all, my beautiful archangel."

your mind and heart became in conflict with one another, but your body responds to his presence, the same way this fallen angel was drawn to your embrace. and besides, didn’t you think so yourself? everybody is worthy of love and grace. even if it was dazai osamu..

so, this was alright. it should be.

"then, what do you want from me?" you ask softly.

"i just want to be with you." he whispers before kissing you again, and his name echoes in your mind, sweeping you with a dark allure.

"i long for you, [name]."

𝐀.𝐍. ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ it's been a long while since i've written anything, so consider this as my comeback stage after being beaten up by my major, so i'm glad to have finally published the first chapter of my latest series, wahoo <3 <3

𝐏.𝐒. ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ osamu disguising himself as shuji was on purpose. it's a reference to the real dazai osamu's name, shuji tsushima. i also took some lines from the inspo/reference of this fic from the poem of eloa, from the second song/stanza. the next part of his chapter is just gonna be some smut, so feel free to skip it. okay? okay !

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ @little-miss-chaoss @anonymousewrites @chaiifluuf @sosograndii @anqelically @blueberrisdove @cheriiyaya @avocate-assia-dazai @yushiba-tsukyoh @cupidszvlvr @snowsilver2000 @cvidy @dummytwo @kissesmellow21 @angelofdarkness2 @muichirolover23 @milky-aeons @pompompurin1028 @pe4rl-diver @dzaisamou @iloveemiatas @kentopedia @aureatchi @its-vante @haesify @fyorina @atlasnessie

[hugsandchaos]

Danny Phantom Related Masterlist

•Ghost blobs!

DP x Linked Universe

•Short headcanon list

•Memes, anyone?

•More memes

•He jumped?!

•Uhh not sure what to call this

•Okay, this is probably the last string of memes

•I lied, here’s a few more

•It’s just one meme

•Another idea

•Cooking

•Incorrect quote that I just tossed out there (we appreciate you trying to help, Hyrule)

•Late night thoughts

•Studying and Manatees

•No caffeine?! Criminal!

•Introducing Vlad

•Another Incorrect Quote

•”Danny, get out of the closet!”

•Lord Of The Dark Birds

•A couple more incorrect quotes

•Soup Time

•LBM!

•Picking locks

•Who’s Dash?

•Dash? What are you doing here?

•Singing equals spells??

•Comfort in the chaos

•Wing bois rant

•More Little Baby Man

•How are they not banned??

•Dungeons

•Meme anyone?

•Summoned!

•That time Danny picked up Time

•Danny is the youngest sibling

Oneshots

•”He’s in the walls...”

•Astrophilia

•April 3rd Special! :D

Story Chapters: Eudaemon (Now on Ao3 too! :D)

•The Beginning

•Proper Introductions

•Dawn Of The Second Day

•Magical Meal

•Day 3

•Where Do Stars Come From?

•Quick update

•Creepy Conclusions

Ao3 Link!

•Sneak Peek! (Updated October 30th)

•Orbit!

Beautiful art by @nerdypear4 here, here, here, here, and here too!

•Quick vote

DP x Marvel Universe

•Loki’s cape

•”Hey, Ron.” “Hey, Billy.”

DC x DP Prompts

•Accidentally Blessed

•Phantom Forest

•A Ghost Boy and His Wolf

•Tired Haunt

•Early Hero Gets The Adoptee

•Family Reunion

•Loki’s cape

•More Wulf!

•Watchtower Ghost

DC x DP Headcanons

•Reasons to not trust the Justice League

•”Really? This guy?”

Seeing Double

Young Justice x Danny Phantom

Summary: A ghost who looks a lot like Phantom comes to him in search of protection, and their newest member instantly agrees. He calls her his little sister, and sooner or later, Phantom also might end up with a new brother.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Friendship is Haunting

Mlp x Danny Phantom AU

•What if?

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

DP Unnamed AU

PenPals AU

Halfa Dash AU

•First post

•Quick talk about how Danny suffers in this AU

•How Dash became a Halfa

•Phantom’s soft spot

•LBM!

•Memes

DP x TF

•Ideas!

[euphoricfilter]

im in LOVE w your yandere ddlg fics… can i request one w namjoon? 🫣🫣 i feel like he fits the ddlg concept so well ugh

𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦:

pairing: yandere! namjoon x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au || established relationship au ||

summary: if namjoon’s life were a book, he thinks the day his eyes set on you, it had been the start of a fairytale. where he is the prince, and you, his princess.

word count: 5.5k

tags/ warnings: disgusting amounts of fluff, buff bf namjoon, reader is definitely an ipad baby, she’s also very very spoiled, and very very shy, ddlg themes, non-sexual dom joon, descriptions of murder, a few references to literature, smut in the forms of: unprotected sex (this is fiction, don’t be stupid), dom! namjoon, sub! reader, he’s girthy, size kink, cockwarming, belly bulge, dick riding, female masturbation, fingering, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, lots of praise, and she’s a bit of a pillow princess, aftercare

notes: i agree!! he fits this concept so well!! and thank you for reading my other works babes! and here i present my last post of 2022! if there are mistakes, no there aren’t you didn’t see anything

request rules can be found here || my masterlist

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You were Namjoon’s fairytale dream. A distressed princess locked in the wicked witch’s tower— that was this corrupt world that the two of you lived in.

Him, your knight in shining armour, sweeping you off your feet and dressing you in pretty dresses and jewels just like a true princess.

Truthfully Namjoon liked the classics better, words articulated like poetry and feelings forever carved into paper with ink. Little pieces of each author weaved into each book they’d ever written, secrets between pages and fantasies hidden behind flowery words. Hours upon hours of knowledge stacked up in Namjoon’s mind, useless little things that no one had ever cared to ask him about.

Perhaps romance novels were his guilty pleasure. That sickly feeling you get, reading about two people so in love that you have to sit back and realise that your own life is nothing more than a slow burn. Where truly, you’re the side character that is left and forgotten, watching the people around you— the main cast of the story, fall in love and find their god-awful happiness that you can only dream of.

You see, Namjoon had learnt how patience was a virtue. He’d waited year and years for that love story, for the perfect, pure, unadulterated adoration for another human, like in all those romance novels.

Countless flings and unexplainable anger from all the women who had shattered his heart over and over again had led him to you. Had steered him towards the right path. Perhaps like the yellow brick road, him being Dorothy and you, Emerald City. His final destination.

You’d always been awfully shy. Something Namjoon completely adored about you. Something he knew you were a little insecure about; among other things.

His remedy to your doubt, fucking you until all you knew was his and your names. Fucked so dumb you could only cry, clinging onto him like he weren’t the wolf and you weren’t little red, pure white dove chomped and chewed in his jaws like Carol Ann Duffey had described— you locked in his claws as he ripped away at tattered old clothing.

Past relationships had ended on bad terms for you, similar to himself, because it seemed no one had ever taken the time to read into you properly. Hadn’t taken the time to map out your story on paper and analyze you; the perfect specimen, the apple of his eye, a goddess among humans and his pretty little princess.

So soft and so pretty. Something a little sick, twisted, in his mind that he’d been able to lock you away in a cage like a bird, delicate little wings snapped in two where escape was impossible; thoughts of a life without him nothing more than a breathy whisper in the wind.

“Which one do you want today, sweetheart?” Namjoon’s arm laces around your shoulder, tugging you closer into his side. Your Mary Janes tapping gently against the tile floor.

You peer into the display case, fingers tightly clasped around the sleeve of his hoodie; an anchor for your fraying feelings, anxiety creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t rush you, simply raising an eyebrow at the worker behind the counter who gets angsty at your thoughtful pondering. Line of customers slowly building behind the two of you; and Namjoon can hear a few impatient mutters.

“Strawberry, please” you fall back into his side, weight solely dependent on Namjoon holding you up.

Your boyfriend turns his attention back towards the barista, fingers carding through your hair.

“One americano, a hot chocolate and one of the strawberry cakes, thank you” he turns his attention back to you; watching as you rock and forth on your heels.

“Why don’t you go and pick a table out for us, darling?”

You hum, fingers tugging at his sleeve mindlessly once more before you’re scampering towards a table by the window.

Namjoon feels his cock twitch in his pants as you bend over the table slightly, collecting the discarded straw wrappers that had been left on the table; and he watches your skirt raise a little up your thighs, supple skin taunting him.

He doesn’t bother with whatever the barista tells him, pushing his card across the counter as he watches you; legs bouncing anxiously as you grip the hem of your shirt, finally taking a seat.

He waves at you as he waits at the end of the counter, the scent of freshly brewed coffee thick in the air and Namjoon worries about the impeding headache you’re sure to have.

“Here you go, pretty” he places the tray in the middle of the table, tutting when you go to grab your mug of hot chocolate. You simply fall back into your chair, eyes trained on Namjoon’s hand as he places your drink before you.

“Thank you” you smile up at him as he pulls out the chair beside you.

“You’re welcome” he coos, dragging your chair closer to his own, his neck craning to kiss your temple.

Your smile is shy though your attention is quickly snatched by his fingers that dig around the pocket of his hoodie.

He pushes his phone to your side of the table, hand laying heavy on the back of your neck as you pick it up.

“I’m gonna get a new high score” you tell your boyfriend, turning to give him a determined smile as your tap tap tile game loads.

“Yeah?” he asks, eye smile so pretty you get lost looking at him for a moment. Only snapping out of your own little reverie when he blows on your hot chocolate. “Drink up” he reminds you.

You nod, delicate fingers picking your mug up by the handle, and you watch as Namjoon brings his own coffee to his lips for a taste.

“Good?”

You nod, “Good”

Namjoon’s thumb continues to brush over the back of your neck as you hunch over the table, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you load up one of the songs of your game.

Your mouth falls open when Namjoon’s fingers dig into the back of your hair, tugging your head back.

He watches as your lips close around the forkful of cake he feeds you, endeared smile on his face as a little bit of the cream clings to the corners of your lips. You don’t seem to take much notice as his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, eyes glued to the screen of his phone.

Your lips part after swallowing, tongue peeking out to lick at the pad of Namjoon’s thumb before he’s slipping it into your mouth.

“Yummy?” he asks, and you fall back into your chair— game suddenly long forgotten as Namjoon’s thumb lays heavy on your tongue.

You nod, fingers itching for the fork. Your boyfriend simply tuts, “Let me do that for you” his thumb slips out of your mouth, soon replaced with another large forkful of strawberries and cream.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Namjoon’s attention is quickly snatched from his laptop when he hears a gentle knock on the door of his home office.

You always seemed to count a few seconds before you opened the door, always mindful that he was often busy; even if he’d made it clear that he was never too busy for you.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he closes his laptop, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not in bed” you whisper, still lingering in the doorway. Frilly-socked feet shuffling anxiously against the carpet.

Namjoon thinks you look like a dream, eyes heavy with lingering sleep, thin strap of your silk nightdress slipping off your shoulder as you curl in on yourself. Always ever so shy, even after years together.

He’d taken his time pampering you that evening. An hour spent in the bath where’d he’d lathered your body in thick suds of soap, sweet smelling like roses that had sat in the summer sun all afternoon, skin warm like petals that had basked in the golden rays of light. Silent promises of a love that will last forever, until he takes his last breath, until the world ceases to exist and his love can longer be— traced under light fingertips that knew your body better than you ever would.

You squirmed as he’d rubbed lotion into every inch of skin your body had to offer— body his temple, your soul his goddess that he worshiped like you were his only purpose in life. Each breath he took, every step he’d continue to take, everything for you.

You’d laid spread across his lap as he’d worked any knots out of your back before dressing you up pretty for bed. Flimsy silk nightdress tickling your skin, brushing against bare thighs, where Namjoon’s hands had the freedom to roam your body until you’d been giggling at him to stop.

His favorite pastime, brushing your hair before bed; his hands those of Rumplestiltskin, each strand treated like intricately created golden thread, gentle as he tugs each knot until perfect.

He’d been there when you’d fallen asleep, bones jelly after he’d fingered you to an orgasm and mind nothing more than cotton candy softness as you’d tugged your precious little bunny to your chest. A gift he’d given you your first date together; and although you claimed you never had favorites , it was always his bunny that remained in your arms as you slept.

And truly he thought tonight he would finish up the last of the project he’d been given, the rest of the week yours; his time cupped in your hands to use however you pleased. The smile you were sure to give him each day after work, worth the pain of a single one nighter.

“I have some work to finish up, why don’t you go lay down, and I’ll be there in a little while” he tilts his head, gentle smile toying at the corners of his lips.

Your lips mould into a pout, “No” you shake your head, voice pulling out a little whiny “You have to come with me, Joonie. Right now”

“But I’m busy, darling” he coos, rolling his chair away from his desk. Legs falling open and he wonders how long it’ll take you to crawl into his lap.

He watches you thrown yourself to the floor, falling to your knees with a dull thump, and he worries they’ll bruise. You don’t seem to care, too pre-occupied with the start of your bubbling tantrum to care about any future injuries; you’ll be sure to milk all of your boyfriend’s sympathy when you he patches you up later. Crying until he’s kissing it all better, and maybe he’ll buy you a gift for being so brave.

He’d seen you scrolling through a few shops online earlier in the day before dinner, rosy-red blush painting your cheeks at a few items you’d hopefully saved.

You hiccup, stuffed bunny clung to your chest as you shake your head. “No, no” you sniffle, “You have to come now” your legs kick a little underneath you.

It was no secret that Namjoon liked to spoil you. Truthfully, he didn’t see the issue— what else was he supposed to do when housing a little princess? If you wanted something then who was he to say no?

Especially when you looked up at him through wet lashes, tears clinging to your cheeks like freshly fallen rain would the petal of a flower.

“Don’t cry” he frowns, heart clenching at the utter distraught on your face; cheeks glazed in saline tears and eyes watery, another miserable cry ready to slip past your lips. “Come here, my precious little baby”

The sob you let out is pitiful, bunny’s fluffy little paw held so tight in your hand as you push yourself to stand. Floppy ears soaking up your tears as you wipe your cheeks.

Namjoon’s hand’s curl under your thighs as you push yourself into his lap, a new wave of tears spilling down your cheeks.

“oh dolly” he croons, “You’ve been fussy all day, haven’t you? What’s wrong?”

Your arms wrap around his neck, face tucked tightly into his shoulder as you choke on another sob. Bunny tucked between your chests.

His thumb is gentle as it brushes over the top of your thighs.

“Tell me what happened” he rests his cheek against the top of your head, mean little smile pulling at his cheeks as your sobs fizzle to little hiccups.

“Work” you whisper, fingers threading into his hair, tugging rhythmically as you mouth at his neck.

“What happened at work?”

You whine, pushing your body flush against Namjoon’s. His hands wander, grabbing your ass as you rock forwards; bare pussy brushing over his pyjama pants.

“There’s a— there’s a new guy” your hips falter and Namjoon holds in a groan as your weight settles right over his cock.

Namjoon hums, “What about him?”

“He—“ a breathy moan drips off your tongue as his fingers dig into the meat of your ass.

“He what, darling? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong” he murmurs, fingers mean as he tugs your face away from his neck by the back of your hair.

Your mouth falls open, and Namjoon watches your eyes glaze over, though this time it’s not tears; and he wonders if you can see how ruined you look in the reflection of his glasses.

“Tell me” your thighs clenching at his tone.

You whimper, “He said a bad word, can’t say it”

Namjoon’s head tips backwards, “Go ahead and say it, baby. I won’t get mad”

“Promise?”

He smiles, endeared “Promise”

“He asked me on a date” your fingers grasp onto the neckline of his shirt, and your boyfriend hums, “I said no, because I have a boyfriend”

“And?”

He watches as your bottom lip quivers, breath hitching in your throat. “Said you didn’t need to know, could be a quick fuck in the back room”

Namjoon’s jaw ticks, “What’s his name?” his fingers skim over your jaw, your hips jutting forward. “Name, darling”

“Jimin” you breathe, “Told Nana, and she said she’d talk to him”

“Yeah?” Namjoon hums, “I’ll sort him out, okay?”

“Okay” you nod.

“Well done for telling me, darling” he smiles, an attempt to ease any lingering anxiety you had. The last thing he wanted was for you to hate work when you enjoyed it so much.

Your hips rut forwards, Namjoon pulling your nightdress up around your hips, watching as your bare cunt drags over his slowly hardening cock.

You lean forwards, lips brushing over Namjoon’s jaw as his hands guide your hips. You moan as the head of his cock brushes over your clit.

“Feel good, darling?” Namjoon’s breathing is heavy, one of his arms tucking under your thighs as he hoists you further up his chest, his free hand tugging his pants down.

Your hand travels between your bodies, tips of your fingers brushing over Namjoon’s slit, precum oozing out the tip as your hand runs down his length.

“Up you get” he helps you, head of his cock running through your slit as you roll your hips forwards.

You bite down on your bottom lip, watery whines bubbling up your throat with each nudge of your boyfriend’s cock running over your clit. Arousal seeps past your folds down Namjoon’s length.

You hold his cock against your cunt, Namjoon’s fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave bruises, but you didn’t seem to care all that much as your hips roll forward.

“Inside Joonie” you whine, tongue laving over the skin of his neck.

Namjoon takes a hold of the base of his cock, and you use his shoulders as leverage, chair wobbling under your joint weight as you line up his cockhead with your hole.

Your fingers run through your folds, wetness soaking your fingers as you circle your clit gently, Namjoon helping you as the tip of his cock brushes over your hole. And you let out an involuntary whine as the stimulation.

Your arms wrap around Namjoon’s neck, head of his cock splitting you open as you ease yourself down an inch before you’re pulling off slowly.

“Your pretty little pussy is so small” Namjoon groans. Flared cockhead pulling your pussy taught as you try and ease down lower.

You breath gets stuck in your throat, Namjoon’s fingers gently thumbing at your clit as you clench around his length. Slowly starting to stuff each agonizing inch into your cunt.

You whine as you reach the hilt, hips rutting forward messily. You moan at the lick of please that wracks through your body with each slow drag of Namjoon’s thick cock against your walls.

Namjoon pulls your face away from hiding by the back of your neck, tugging you until your lips mould into one, tongue pushed into your mouth, fresh minty toothpaste coating his tastebuds.

You start to bounce in his lap, childish impatience starting to take over as you chase after an orgasm. Always a little greedy when it came to your own pleasure, using Namjoon to get yourself off before you ever allow him to chase his own release.

“That’s it” he moans, unabashed in his arousal.

Namjoon uses his legs as an anchor, holding the two of you in place, ensuring the chair doesn’t tip over as the back of your thighs slap against the top of his own.

You moan as his thumb continues to brush over your clit, a ring of your arousal gathered at the base of his cock with each jittery raise of your hips.

“Doing so well for me” Namjoon groans, “Always such a good girl, yeah?”

“Mhmm” you nod, bunny tumbling to the floor. Long forgotten as you feel the precipice of your pleasure slowly boiling away in your stomach.

“Gonna cum for me?”

Your thighs shake at that, deep groan of pleasure shooting straight to your cunt as you continue to ride Namjoon like it were the last time.

“Go on, cum for me”

Namjoon’s hands find themselves perched under your ass, aiding you as your legs start to grow tired. Muscles in his arms bulging as he drags you up and down his length.

“So small, could use you as my own little fleshlight. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he groans, mirth swimming in his eyes.

Meanly, Namjoon pinches your clit and that’s all it takes for searing hot pleasure to wash over your body, thighs shaking at your release.

You hiccup another sob at the burning arousal as Namjoon continues to ram his cock back up inside you, thick rivulets of your slick coating his balls as he chases his own release.

“Too much” you cry, hands wrapping around his wrists as his fingers dig into your hips.

“I’m close, hold on for me” Namjoon’s head tips back.

Namjoon can feel your pussy as it pulsates around his length; you let out something akin to a squeak as you feel his cock twitch.

Mouth falling open in a silent moan as his warm cum paints your insides white.

You raise up on shaky legs, tip of his cock left nestled between your walls before you’re falling back down on his length; cum pushed deep inside of you.

“Oh my baby” he coos, fingers gentle as they brush through your hair, “Sleepy?”

You nod, words fizzling out on your tongue as you yawn.

Your cunt continues to clench around his cock, even as you fall asleep on his chest.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The bell above the door is obnoxious in announcing Namjoon’s arrival.

‘Pages of Love’ the little bookshop you worked at.

He would have gotten you to quit the shitty little job by now if it didn’t hold such significance in your relationship. He’d first met you here, had dates here, and it made you so happy that Namjoon couldn’t bare to see the sad pout that would be sure to form if he ever suggested you left this place behind.

“Namjoon” the old woman behind the counter smiles, waving him over. “I’m sure you’re aware but it’s y/n’s day off”

“Actually, Nana, I’m here for something else” he smiles, expression saddened and the old woman frowns.

“Anything” she nods.

“It’s about Jimin. He doesn’t happen to be working today, does he?”

“He’s on break right now.” She tuts, “Is this about what he said to y/n. I’ve already warned him about it”

“She came home upset” he shakes his head and Nana sighs.

“Poor girl. She’s lucky to have you, Namjoon”

“Thank you” his smile is genuine, though it drops the moment he steps out the door.

And he waits, waits weeks before he decided what he wants to do with the lowly piece of shit that dared suggest you cheat on him.

Waited weeks as he wrote down every sick little fantasy he had about the ways he’d maul his body. Shredding limbs, gutting him alive. Maybe he’d decapitate him and then send his head to his mother, or chop his filthy dick off and make him watch as he fed it to whatever animal is willing to chew on nearly nothing.

Written fantasies weren’t enough. Namjoon’s fingers always itching, always eager to finally wrap around the boy’s lithe throat and make him beg for mercy until his face is red and pride oozing out of his body with his fear.

“I’m gonna be home late tonight, little one” Namjoon tucks your hair behind your ear, gentle smile rivaling your frown.

“Why?” you ask, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“I have a small job I need to take care of”

“Can I help?”

“Nope” he leans down, soft feathery kiss pressed to you cheek before he’s pulling back, standing at full height.

You look up at him, “You can’t go”

“And why not?” he challenges.

“Because” your defense weak and truly Namjoon wishes he could stay.

“I charged your ipad this morning” and your eyes light up.

“Be quick, okay?” you push yourself up on your tippy toes, hands cupping his cheeks as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Promise” he smiles, “Now be a good girl, and don’t cause any trouble”

“I won’t” you wave him off.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Namjoon isn’t exactly sure what he expects to see when he finally gets home, a quick detour to Seokjin’s house to wash off Jimin’s blood and a change of clothes taking longer than he’d anticipated when his friend had insisted on making them both tea.

He can’t help the groan that bubbles up his throat at the sight of you. Skirt flipped up with three fingers, knuckle deep inside your pretty little pussy as you play a colour by number game on your ipad.

“Fucking hell, darling” he kicks his shoes off, jacket long forgotten on the floor as he crouches down in front of you.

You pull your slick covered fingers out of your cunt, gently circling your clit as you blink down at him.

“Couldn’t wait until I got home?”

“I got bored” you whine, legs falling open wider and Namjoon takes that as his invitation to run his thumb through your slit.

His hands hold your thighs in place as he leans down to press a kiss over your clit, tongue slipping from between his lips to lick over the bundle of nerves.

You hips stutter as his tongue drags across your folds, another wave of arousal seeping out your cunt at the unexpected nudge of his tongue against you hole.

Your fingers tangle into your boyfriend’s hair as he sucks over your clit, fingers teasing your entrance before he’s pushing two fingers inside of you.

“How pretty” he coos, accompanied by a wet squelch. “The prettiest little pussy, it’s a wonder how you fit anything inside of you”

You squirm, finger stuffed into your mouth as you try and hold back an embarrassed moan.

“Not little” you whine, hips chasing Namjoon’s fingers each time he pulls out.

“Oh, but you are” your thighs twitch as his warm breath brushes over your sensitive clit, hours of mindless toying with your cunt bringing you to the brink of an orgasm.

Namjoon kisses over your mound, kisses over your clit, and then kisses over his fingers as they curl up inside of you.

He can’t help the smile that pulls at his cheeks at the guttural moan you let out when he finds that particular spot inside of you.

“Cum for me, darling” his voice breathless, as he starts to scissor his fingers.

All it takes is one mean little nip to your clit and you’re tipping over the edge; legs shaking as they clamp around your boyfriend’s head.

His tongue continues to flick over your clit, fingers nestled deep within your walls as he helps you ride out your high.

“Enough” you whimper, tugging his head away from between your legs.

You squirm at the glossy sheen that covers Namjoon’s chin when he finally pulls away from your pussy.

“Well done” his hands run up and down your trembling thighs, “Think you can take a little more?”

Your eyes flicker down to his cock, heavy in his pants and you nod; tongue wetting your lips.

“My good girl”

Namjoon pulls you to lay across the length of the couch, fingers tugging your blouse over your head as you shuck off your skirt.

You tug messily at the back of your bra, and Namjoon smiles, bending down to help you.

He groans, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he palms himself through his slacks.

“God, you’re so pretty”

Your squeak when he bites the plush skin, trail of kisses searing as he reaches your neck.

Your hands fumble with his pants, waistband pulled taught as your try and slip your fingers into his underwear.

“Always so impatient, aren’t you?” he coos, “here let me help you”

You pout at the loss of warmth, the loss of his large body completely covering your own; hands grabbing for neck when he sits up on his knees.

Your hips rock upwards, silently begging for any sort of stimulation as you watch Namjoon’s cock spring free, slapping against his stomach.

Your pussy gushes another wave of slick at the sight of your boyfriend with his hand wrapped around his cock, his hands always had been big; swallowing the girth of his cock when your fingers barely wrapped around it.

You can feel the phantom ache in your jaw, countless times he’d shoved his dick into your mouth, splitting it open like he would your cunt with absolutely no mercy.

“You’re staring” though there’s no embarrassment in his tone, eyebrow lifted cocky and lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Inside, please” you whine, legs falling open enough for him to slot in place.

“Of course, sweetheart”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, eyes squeezing shut as he runs the head through the slit; slicking up his length before he’s pushing at your entrance.

“You sure you can fit me?” you can hear the laugh in his voice, retort on the tip of your tongue only he chooses that moment to nudge the tip of his cock over your clit.

“Joonie” you complain, “please, need you”

And Namjoon watches, lets you, grab onto his length, watching as you rut your hips down until he’s popping inside of you.

Your walls constrict around him, and he’s absolutely fascinated by how such a small pussy is even able to stretch around him.

“Good girl” and he can’t help the moan that follows.

He’s barely thrusting, gentle roll of his hips feeding each inch of his cock into your wet cunt.

You moan like he was ramming into you, always so sensitive, always so responsive to his touch.

“Feel good?” he asks when he finally bottoms out, thighs connected and heartbeats in sync. It’s moments like these Namjoon revels being alive, being one with you. Truly the closest you’ll ever be to one another; and he thinks he finally feels complete when lodged between your sodden walls.

“So deep” you whisper, fingers skimming over your stomach.

Namjoon pulls your legs over his shoulders, bending forwards until you’re almost folded in half.

Your moan is breathless when he gently pulls out, only to snap his hips back into you.

Your hands grasp onto the pillows of the couch as Namjoon picks up his pace, your tits bouncing, and cunt squelching with every brutal thrust into you.

“Fucking hell, you are tiny” Namjoon groans, and you whimper as his hand presses down on your lower stomach.

You dare take a look, hiccup of a moan ripped from your throat as you see it. An outline of his cock right bellow your belly button, head nudging the taught skin with each thrust into you, only for it to disappear as he pulls out.

Your fingers splay over it, cunt convulsing around his length as your feel him move under your skin.

You feel it rising, pussy swollen and worn from your previous orgasm. Namjoon seems to know, he always knows when you’re slowly climbing to the peak of high.

His fingers find clit, tight little circles sending jolts of pure, blissful pleasure through your body, another wave of arousal seeping out your cunt to soak his cock.

“Gonna cum for me?” he moans between eat thrust, “Be a good girl and cum for me”

The cry you let out is near pornographic, knees knocking against the side of Namjoon’s head as he continues to flick at your clit. Pleasure numbing that when you finally reach your high, your mind blanks, a blanket of fluff consuming you as Namjoon continues to jackhammer into your used cunt.

“Doing so well for me. So close. I’m so close” he groans, fingers finally pulling off your clit as your thighs continue to shake.

When you come to, Namjoon’s thrusts are a sloppy, thrusts barely coordinated as he ruts into you.

And your breath hitches at the final twitch of his cock, he pushes as far into you as he can before he’s cumming.

Thick waves of cum filling you up. He groans as you clench around him, walls still spasming from your own release. And he gently rocks into you, an attempt to push his cum as deep into your soiled cunt as possible.

“You did so well, darling” he swallows thickly, back of his hand wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

You whine as he begins to pull out, mixture of both your releases dribbling out of your hole.

Your thighs twitch when Namjoon parts your lips, hole clenching around nothing as you push another wave of his cum out of your pussy. His fingers scoop it up, circling your entrance before he’s pushing them back between your walls.

“What do you think about a bath?” he hums, watching your eyes fall droopy.

You nod, hands blindly grabbing for your boyfriend to pick you up.

He smiles down at you, arms slipping beneath your body to pick you up as he wanders further into the house.

You wriggle around when he flips the light on, eyes stinging a little at the sudden burst of brightness.

“Alright missy” he sits you on the toilet, and you lean your head against his hip as pee, bones too floppy to even think of holding yourself up.

You remain sat on the toilet as he runs a bath, fussy when he picks you up again though it’s easily soothed with a gentle kiss to your lips.

He thinks you fall asleep as he washes your back, gentle as his soapy hands grope your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples and you squirm at that.

Namjoon is endeared when the two of you finally get out the bath, skin soft and sweet smelling, perfect for kisses. And he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat when you kick your pyjamas away, refusing to put them on yourself when his hands were fully capable.

“Oh my little princess” he kisses both your cheeks, “How about some cake for being such a good girl?”

You see, Namjoon had always been a little bit of a liar. Had told so many lies that truly he didn’t know the what was real and what was not anymore. And if he didn’t know then you never would either.

Every little lie he’d told you from the start, every white lie, every left out detail of his life suddenly seemed insignificant when you were tucked under his chin, sleeping so peacefully, a true sleeping beauty.

And maybe he didn’t really like the classics. Maybe his real love of novels were romances, because he’d always be the prince and you’d always be his princess. A perfect fairytale that would always have a happy ending.

Because if anyone dared scribble out the pages, change his plot, then he would simply erase their existence, and the readers of his life would never know the difference.

You belonged to him. You are his as much as he is yours.

Your life his only reason. Your happiness that little spark of good that still resides inside him. And as long as you come home every day with that same pretty little smile on your face, then Namjoon feels no guilt for the countless people that lay dead, long forgotten by the world as they rest six feet under for daring bring you sadness. Because he’d erased them, with no way to wiggle their way back into the story of his life.

Because what was a prince if he couldn’t take care of a villain that would disturb his perfect fairytale ending?