#a wolf with wings masterlist

[fullmoonficlet]

MASTERLIST 617 - WING

Check out the fanworks created for the latest prompt: WING. Don't forget to express your appreciation by leaving a comment!

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Submissions are listed in order by word count. Please check the content notes and pairing for more information about each submission.

Wing by @sivan325 (FICLET, Derek/Stiles, PG-13, 1043) Genie Stiles Stilinski, Resurrection, Guardian Angel Stiles Stilinski, Supernatural Elements, pre-Sterek

The Trade by @goddess47 (FICLET, Derek/Stiles, PG, 1100)

Broken Wing by @darkjediqueen (FIC, Derek/Stiles, PG-13, 2756)

[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

[fangdokja]

Royal Duties: looking pretty, sitting still, watching your guards destroy the kingdom.

♡ Yandere! Royal Guards who treat your apathy like a divine test of their loyalty. Your throne is less a seat of power and more a cage, though they refuse to acknowledge that. Every breath you take is their purpose, every sigh their condemnation.

♡ Yandere! Royal Guard who moves like a predatory beast, his grin sharp enough to carve flesh, chaos gleaming in his eyes. “My queen, chess grows so dull—why not use live pawns? Let me fetch some prisoners. Their screams will amuse you!” His gloved hands twitch, eager to pluck a sacrifice. But you only glance at the window, your disinterest sharper than any blade. His grin falters. “As you wish,” he murmurs, hybrid-wolf ears flicking with barely concealed frustration.

♡ Yandere! Royal Guard who radiates extreme devotion, his honeyed voice a weapon of manipulation. “Forgive his vulgarity, Sovereign,” he coos, kneeling before you. “I’ve composed a sonnet in your honor. Would you allow me the pleasure of reciting it?” When you turn your head, he presses a hand to his chest, anguish curling his blackened angelic wings. “Your silence wounds me,” he whispers, though his gaze hardens, calculating. “Perhaps you’ll smile if I bring the heads of dissenters instead.”

♡ Yandere! Royal Guard who is a wall of pure hardened muscle, his every movement precise, deliberate, terrifying. He stands silently behind you, an immovable shadow, until— “Fight me.” The words rumble like thunder, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “You’ll enjoy it.” He doesn’t flinch when you lazily decline. He simply nods once and steps outside, where the earth shudders with the force of him taking out his frustration on the training grounds. Blood pools beneath crushed dummies—your name scrawled across their shattered faces.

They vie for your attention with games that end in carnage and offerings of terror you never requested. Their obsession festers in your shadow, their twisted comedy a hymn to your indifference. And still, they swear to protect you, though it’s the world that needs protection from them.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[aurynsia]

Like Real People Do

Remus Lupin x Animagus!Reader

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summary: Fox Animagus!Reader falls in love with Remus after waking up next to him in the hospital wing...

Warnings: Mentions of injuries and scars, reader is fem presenting and referred to with she/her pronouns, mostly fluff with a sprinkle of angst, only one mention of the other Marauders

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Streams of light trickled down your face, soft skin slick with sweat that reflected the natural glow beaming from the window above. A beating pulse ran through your head, only worsening with every slight move you made to sit up in a bed that wasn’t your own.

You groaned at the feeling of hospital sheets weighing your body down, cascading down your form to pool around your hips as you straightened your back to stretch.

Your body ached with harsh evidence of the night before, and a pained cry bounced around the walls as you twisted and turned. A cry that was not your own.

Blinking once, twice, you turned your attention to the figure sat beside you, positioned to mirror you in a bed adorned with thin sheets that had crumpled under the weight of a restless sleep.

Remus Lupin stared wide-eyed at your torn body after stretching a muscle or two, gaze flickering from your face to the scars trailing down your back. You observed him with a similar curiosity, memorising every cut and tear blessing his soft skin.

“Seems we both got into some trouble, then…” you mused, voice laced with the remnants of sleep. The Gryffindor gazed at you with a shy blush dancing on each cheek, smiling bashfully despite his aching pains.

His gaze fell below yours once again, eyes growing wider before looking away towards his own torso. You followed his previous stare with a puzzled expression before grabbing at the sheets around you to cover your exposed bra, blushing in a deep embarrassment that Remus could only describe as endearing.

“I suppose you also…transform?” He said cautiously, careful to not expose himself as an Animagus if he misjudged you. “Yeah I- transform,” you responded with his own word choice, “Though sometimes I can’t control it, last night wasn’t meant to happen…” you trailed off.

He gave you a pitiful smile, shifting to face you while stretching his arm behind his neck, “I know what you mean, I transform every full moon…” he hints.

Remus was a quiet, caring boy, completely unlike his Animagus form. You had spoken a handful of times before about your shared love for Defence Against the Dark Arts. You had clearly underestimated your overwhelming similarities that you unpicked like the sleeves of an unraveling sweater over the unlikely pillow talk that followed your chance encounter.

You quickly discovered that you were the sly, red fox to his dark, brooding wolf, a fact that made you all the more drawn to the boy. You carefully moved to sit on his hospital bed despite your growing pains, whispering in soft understanding as you both awaited Madam Pomfrey’s dotting care.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A few months later and the leaves have shifted to a golden hue since that bright summer’s morning, only visible under the full moon. You stalked through the forbidden forest, walking in line with Remus’ large dorm.

Aching from a night of battles and mischief, your sleek auburn body began to shift uncomfortably in your pace as you found yourself becoming more human by the minute.

You had grown all but inseparable with the werewolf after that fateful morning, quickly falling into a comfortable routine of tracing each other’s scars while muttering praises of admiration.

The bright moon illuminated your path, your boyfriend’s fierce eyes softened with a lidded gaze under the rays of light.

The sun threatened to tip over the horizon in a mere few hours as you slunk home side by side with the strong wolf. You fought back sleep, foxy red hair shining in Hogwarts’ glow as you clambered along the stone path.

You had never longed for the awkward feeling of hospital fabrics across your aching body as much as you did on this tiring night. Your monthly visits to hospital beds were no longer lonely as you entered hand in hand with the tall boy every time, relaxing under the cooling touch of mattress to skin.

Fully transformed and gripping the walls of the castle, you groaned as you began to sulk in the direction of Madam Pomfrey, as you had done every other treacherous night out.

“L-love, wait a minute,” Remus called in a stutter, “why don’t we just tend to ourselves tonight?”

Stopping in your tracks, you pondered his proposition for a moment, head aching as you turned to look between your boyfriend and the entrance to the hospital wing further down the hall.

“I’ll fix you up while you tend to me. We…we can fall asleep in each other’s arms, just for one night,” he continued to hiss and groan, holding his side with one hand while reaching for you with the other, “Like a- a normal couple…”

Silently, you nodded at the pleading boy with a pained smile, moving into lean against his tall body, adorned with scars. You limped in tow towards the Gryffindor dorms, contact unwavering at his decorated side.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The door to the Marauder’s dorm closed with a soft thud, Remus making sure to not alert his roommates to your arrival.

You tossed yourself onto his bed, closing the surrounding curtains as Remus fetched various remedies from his desk. He slid between the fabric enclosure as you muttered a silencing charm before letting out a pained sigh.

Remus made quick work of your wounds, applying ointment to your bare back before you did the same. The night air pushed a refreshing breeze through the dorm’s open window that shifted the fabric surrounding you like waves over land.

Overwhelmed with relief from the mutual healing, you pushed yourself down to splay across the bed, joining your boyfriend with your head to his pillow.

“We are a normal couple, you know,” you murmured, “well, as normal as we can get. Hospital wing visits will never change that.” Remus gazed into your glossy eyes, slick with sleep. “I know, love, I know. It’s just- nights like these make me want to fall asleep with my girl in my arms, like real people do…”

You hummed at his reply, lips forming a soft smile as you inched closer to the werewolf. “We are real. This is real.” You planted a delicate kiss to his pink lips, his eyes fluttering closed at the contact, in sync with your own.

“This is real.”

You encircled his legs with your own, blending your face with his chest and your hands with the back of his neck. He nuzzled into your hair, muttering sweet nothings as you drifted to sleep.

“I love you, sweet fox,” he spoke softly, only to be met with the quiet snores of his sleeping girlfriend, before joining you in slumber.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[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

[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 Quiet Wolf's Reminisce

The Stag and The Young Wolf

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)

A Jealousy of Infighting (a modern!au part 7)

A Small Bundles Flash Forward (a modern!au part 6.5)

A Snowy Wolf Pup (a modern!au holiday drabble)

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

Blood Filled Danger

Memories of a Dead Past

The Winterfell Sept

Young as Stained Red

Conflicting Boundries and Ties

The Stag Against a Dragon

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Cariad | Werewolf!Bucky Barnes x Fae!Reader | One shot 2.3k

After a forced night out with your fellow fae ‘friends’ ends in a trail of your fairy dust, it’s your werewolf roommate who takes the blame.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of violence, blood, bad friends and bad ex boyfriends. Bucky is a cutie pie puppy (werewolf) and reader is a fae with wings.

A/N: Very loosely based on the story of Beddgelert. Cariad - darling in Welsh. 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Come on, you can’t stay cooped up in your flat all night.”

Your friends pounded their fists on the door of your apartment, calling through the keyhole and begging you to come out with them.

Friends might be too generous, women who also worked at the shitty diner down the street and also happened to be fae was more accurate. That seemed enough license for them to come and bother you, but it was never quite enough for you to really open up to them or for them to offer you a place to stay when you left your disgusting ex, John.

“I don’t want to, I’m fine here,” you shouted back, lounging against the arm of the sofa, your feet in your roommate, Bucky's, lap and a bowl of popcorn on your own. You tossed a kernel across to Bucky and he caught it with a snap between his preternaturally sharp teeth. You giggled and he grinned, flashing his long canines, before returning his attention to the terrible reality show you were both watching. 

The two of you had been watching the series from the start and had become increasingly close over the last six weeks since you moved in. Bucky always made sure you had popcorn, a blanket, which he spread over your legs, and something fun to drink, either a cocktail, a glass of wine or, one week, a huge hot chocolate covered with marshmallows.

Despite your reservations about moving in with a were, he was really a lovely roommate. He kept mostly to himself apart from your TV nights, which you looked forward to more and more, enjoying the feel of his warmth so close to you, the heady scent of his musky cologne and his ringing laughter that always made you smile.

 In fact the only downside seemed to be that he shed hair like a large dog, but then you left fairy dust everywhere so it worked out evenly in the end.

Plus after living with John and his volatile nature, being able to predict Bucky’s mood around the moon cycle was actually more reassuring than scary. You’d expected him to be grumpy, snappy, even a little mean when the moon was full, but instead he just stuck around the flat and, if anything, was friendlier, touching your elbow or the small of your back, brushing his leg against yours on the sofa and, as he was now, massaging your feet after a long day at work. His instinct was to nest and seek comfort, following you around like a lost puppy, a huge, muscular, lost puppy.

“You can go out if you want, doll, don’t stay in on my account,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Bucky liked to stay in around the full moon. It wasn’t that he was dangerous as a wolf, he could still control himself, but everything felt so much…more. He was always a little more territorial when the moon was at its fullest, seeking the comfort of a familiar space and, increasingly, wanting to make sure that you were protected.

In reality, he’d have liked to keep you exactly where he could see you and keep you safe, but he’d never been the kind of guy to trap someone like that. He liked seeing you smile. If going out made you smile, then he’d try and suck it up… okay, he’d be a grump, but he certainly wouldn’t be letting you know that, even if it meant you wouldn’t be here to scratch behind his ears to keep him calm when the moon rose. 

“I like staying in with you.” You poked him with a fluffy sock covered toe and earnt his fingers tickling you in return. 

“Well, that’s settled then. Go away!” he shouted at your friends, still banging on the door. 

Quiet reigned for all of two minutes before your phone started pinging.

You’re allowed to leave,you know?

Tina, of course, was always starting the arguments about Bucky.

He can’t control you

Morgan, desperate to be the ringleader of the group, but falling very far short. 

So that was two of your friends chipping in, that just left Jenny.

Leave the dog at home and come out with us, I promise we won’t see John. 

She was the biggest barrier to your friendship. Their personal attitude towards Bucky went way beyond the suggestions that he kept you trapped in the flat somehow and ended up in slurs. She’d use any opportunity to take a dig at him, especially if she knew he could hear. 

No.

You text back, slamming the phone down on the arm of the sofa, but they continued to text and text and text until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Ugh, God fine!” you bellowed across the room, your wings glittering and flashing red with fury, sprinkling fairy dust in your wake as you stomped across the room and yanked the door open.

“One fucking drink and then I’m coming home, just to prove that I can leave whenever I want.”

You glowed with anger as you slammed your bedroom door, emerging a few moments later with a crumpled dress on and a pair of heels. On your way past the mirror, you rubbed a finger below each eye to tidy your makeup.

“Have fun, Fairy, see you soon.” Bucky smiled, squeezing your hand over the back of the sofa. “I promise I’ll watch something else so we can see who gets voted out together.”

Dutifully, he flicked the TV off. 

“Let’s go,” you said, allowing your friends to drag you out of the door while Bucky waved them off. 

There was no way Bucky was really going to let you go out alone on the full moon. Although you’d have that gaggle of fae around you, he didn’t trust them not to abandon you at the first sign of trouble and, despite his lone wolf status, he knew that there were plenty of other wolves and shifters about just waiting to pounce should the opportunity arise.

Waiting until you’d at least left the building, Bucky sprang up from the sofa, looking out at the last of the sunset before he shook off the blankets, then his clothes and then his human form. Dragging his nails along the hardwood he clambered out the window and onto the fire exit. Scenting your perfume as you rounded the corner onto the next block, he couldn’t help but let out a howl, leaping onto the roof of the adjoining building and beginning his watch. 

Fairy dust.

It was everywhere, sparkling like glitter, the scent of vanilla frosting, but twice as sweet. It glimmered a path towards the alley way and, as Jenny rounded the corner, it was all she could see.

Despite the sparkling impairment, she could still hear your scream, ringing in her ears.

Tina and Morgan fell out of the side door of the nightclub, stumbling on their heels and dominoing forwards until all three fae were piled together on the cold, filthy ground. The golden shimmer of your fairy dust was all that let them know you’d been there. 

Sometime after the third round of shots and your fourth complaint that you wanted to go home, you’d edged away from them, towards the exit. That’d been fifteen minutes ago, when a were approaching Morgan at the bar had prompted the conversation to turn to Bucky again and what a disgusting, unsuitable, roommate they all thought he was. You rolled your eyes. If only the knew how bad John had been. 

Tina had only stopped when they’d all had a chance to complain about his taste in clothes, his solitary nature and even his smell, when she noticed that you hadn’t said anything in a while and their hunt for you began.

Eventually, trailing a story of you and a tall man with dark hair from the bar to the back doors, they had ventured outside.

“Look!” Jenny declared, spotting a spec of blood higher up on the alley wall. She fluttered her yellow wings and got closer to inspect it, running a finger through the smear, blood. “It’s blood! Call the Police!” 

Tina immediately started to dial as the three fae set off as fast as their wings could carry them, following the trail of blood. 

The trail wound between each block from the club to your street using the darkest back streets and alleyways. Morgan had conjured a ball of light to follow, but the three fae were still anxious to be back in the street lights or, better yet, back inside their own locked homes. 

It was a full moon after all, a foolish night to be out, drunk and alone.

Everyone they met confirmed that an injured fae had passed by with a brunette man and the trio’s imaginations ran riot, thinking of all the horrible things they were sure Bucky was doing to you for leaving the flat. 

As they turned onto your street, the blood seemed to stop but, at a run, they continued towards your apartment building.

From the outside, it looked as if Bucky was still watching television, the blue and white flashing of the screen lighting up the window and the patch of ceiling they could see from the doorstep below.

Then a figure appeared, a huge figure with pointed ears and long arms ending in claws that seemed to go on forever, elongated by the shadows cast across the walls. It reared up and then, just as quickly, it ducked down. No doubt to complete whatever awful ritual it was that weres enjoyed on the full moon, killed and eating fae no doubt.

Jenny screamed and began running up the short steps to the foyer, forcing her way past your confused looking neighbours. 

In the street, Morgan, rooted to the spot in horror, watched as the werewolf lifted a body in its arms and moved away from the window. Tina grabbed her hand and dragged her up the stairs to follow Jenny. 

Blood. Blood. Blood. That was all Bucky could think as he paced the living room, his fur matted with it, the scent filling his senses, stinking and hot and foul. He took a deep shuddering breath, willing the wolf inside of him to quiet. It paced in his mind, snarling and growling at any thought he sent its way, the thought of another man’s hands on you, the thought of you at the bar, unprotected and alone. 

Blood. Blood. Blood. 

He heaved a breath in and dropped his head into his hands, groaning as his body calmed. He tried to stay still, not wanting to cause anymore damage or spread the blood any further than his stumbling body already had. 

You were covered in it too, your wings heavy and drooping down your back. The iridescent shine was dulled, your breath coming in shallow, rasping sobs.

But no sooner had Bucky caught his breath than the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his senses telling him that danger was still approaching.

Looking up, he finally saw Tina, Morgan and Jenny standing in the door, staring open mouthed at his blood covered body. His fur, where it was longer across his head, was matted together and his paws left red marks against the white walls when he pulled away, shrinking back, ears flat to his head and tail tucked between his legs.

Jenny screamed, a blood curdling, piercing scream causing the neighbours to open their doors. Bucky’s ears twitched, and his soulders slumped, his hearing enhanced by his current form. 

“He killed her! He killed her! Look at that blood!” Jenny screached.

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, unable to do anything but let out a low howl of pain at the thought of doing anything to hurt you. 

“We know it’s her blood, on you!” Morgan shouted. 

Bucky was shaking now, the wolf desperate to fight back while Bucky tried to tame him. He knew being aggressive would make it worse, but he was having a hard time keeping his body in check in such a small space. He backed his way to the wall and slid down onto his hackles, the hair on his neck still raised, and gave a sharp bark of warning. 

“We knew you’d turn on her, you were mad she went out!” 

He shook his head again, his howl now a constant, pained, wail. 

Then he couldn’t hear anything.

Tina, Morgan and Jenny had brimmed with magic as they cornered him, but now he was behind a wall of light watching your friends and neighbours back away, forced out of the door by your power. 

Bucky grabbed around your waist so he could get close enough to press his muzzle into your neck, scenting you roughly in the hopes of calming the wolf. 

You fell back into his arms, spent from using the last of your energy on defending Bucky, but safe in his arms. 

“I’m okay, Buck,” you whispered, tired and breathy, digging your hands into his fur.

He scooped you up into his arms again, the same way he’d carried you home after John’s attack just an hour before and held you close.

“I’m with you, I’m okay.” You gave a weak smile, placing your hand on his muzzle as the fur faded and the wolf disappeared for another month, leaving your hand on his stumbled cheek. He turned into your warmth, placing a delicate kiss on your palm and kept you there for a moment, your eyes locked and then he dipped his head, brushing his lips against yours.

[domesticgoddess22]

wish upon a cowboy

chapter 4: guilty as sin? - Joel's POV

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: A rugged raider takes you under his wing after hunters leave you for dead. The two of you form a team and you quickly grow attached to him–mumbling, grumbling, protective Joel Miller. When you divulge your wishes to experience life before the outbreak, Joel decides to make them come true. All of them.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, unplanned pregnancy, unprotected piv, canon-typical violence, light choking, dom!Joel, angst word count: 4.6k words (chapter 4) rating: 18+ explicit MDNI masterlist here

Joel knows he doesn’t have a soul left inside his body, that he should be feeling distraught over the damn deer just like you are, but he doesn’t really give it much thought. His mind is occupied with how your tits looked this morning and he knows he’s going to hell for it. 

He’s been stiff since the second he saw you, and it took every ounce of self-control in his body not to take you right then and there. But he didn’t, maybe because there’s still humanity left in him after all,  but damn did he want to fuck you. Badly.

These thoughts whirl around in his mind as he paces around in the middle of the woods. He’s been alone for so long, the last time he even had a good fuck–before he had you–was probably half a year ago. Once he had a taste of you… fuck–he needs to have more. 

Doubt and uncertainty cloud above him whenever he thinks about his self-restraint capabilities. He’s a man, you’re an attractive young woman–so much so that his instincts are becoming fucking hard to ignore. He’d already slipped up once, pumped an entire six month’s worth of his seed into you. He isn’t a good man and he knows that, he’s done a lot of things that aren’t right, but he could sure as hell blame the alcohol for that last bit. 

Tommy would surely be disgusted with what he’d done, sleeping with someone half his age. His brother was never able to look at him the same after the hunts. Joel can’t imagine Tommy would even be able to look at him at all for this. Not that he’ll probably ever see his brother again…

Tommy always had remnants of the man he was before and it showed. Joel didn’t have anything left, and even so, back before things went to shit, he wasn’t excatly a stand-up guy. He was young when he had Sarah, had to raise her all on his own so he did what he needed to. Stole–not cars but other things–and he lied a lot. Cheated his way through life just to make sure his kid had food on the table and a roof over her head. 

Eventually, his contractor business became more stable so he didn’t have to resort to being an asshole, but he did do other things he knew weren't considered by the general public as polite behavior. He had women to keep him company whenever Sarah was at school or sound asleep. He’d sneak out and get laid by some chick in cowgirl boots and a miniskirt that he picked up at the bar--and then he wouldn’t call them back. The next night, rinse and repeat. He’d done it so many times that he'd lost count of his score. 

That was another time, but the truth is, Joel still isn’t a great guy. If anything, he’s even worse now.

Yet, he still knew up from down and right from wrong, even if he didn’t choose right, he did feel like he took advantage of you, a vulnerable little thing. Needy. You’d probably do anything for any guy that took care of you like he does given the circumstances. Compared to Joel, most of your life you’ve been pretty sheltered and he could tell. Never had to kill anything when you lived in the QZ, only lasted two days outside of it by yourself, and ever since then you’ve had him to do everything for you.

You’re in the tent, sleeping like a little lamb and he’s a big bad wolf on the verge of losing his fucking mind, his dark eyes boring into the zipper of the tent. He remembers the soft cushion of your breasts against his arms, the way you felt up against his chest while he showed you how to hold the gun, how your moans sounded when he was driving his cock into your wet folds.

Joel wants you. Now.

A sinful smile curls at his lips when he thinks about how his spend dripped out of you that night, his mind wanders further into the lustful abyss, fantasizing about your belly growing swollen with his baby. 

He’s practically in a lustful trance right now, wanting to fuck you, fill you, make you his. 

Joel finds himself deep in the woods now, close enough to hear you call if you need him, but far enough away for him to have privacy. The bark of a chestnut oak tree is digging scaly patterns into his left palm. His belt is loose, the buckle is swinging around his thigh, jeans sagging around his crotch as he bucks his cock in his hand, furiously stroking it with the slick from his spit. 

It’s like he’s a damn twenty-something again, imagining you in that sexy pink bra of yours– and with a thong to match. He’d unhook your bra with ease, just as he’s done a million times, and then he’d watch in awe as your perfect tits were on display for him, groaning as he sucks on your perky peaks. Fuck your breasts were so full lately, maybe it was his carnivorous mind playing tricks on him, but he felt like they were just begging for his attention.

He’d press you up against the tree, spread your legs, and hook one of them around his waist. 

Then he’d slide your panties to the side to make room for himself, not bothering to take them off. Your pink pussy would be dripping, all wet and ready for him and he’d slip out a curse or two at the delicious view of your cunt.

The big head of his cock would line up at your entrance and then he’d press in, one inch at a time, slow and steady in his movements like he was holding his rifle and waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger. The feel of your walls constricting around his head would knock the breathe out of his lungs, again, and he’d bottom out with a loud groan. His rhythm would start off paced, giving you some time to adjust to his size, and then he’d pound into your little pussy, balls kissing your folds and his tongue tangled with yours.

Joel liked the way you tasted, fresh like summer rain with a hint of honey. You tasted so sweet. 

Needy girl, fuckin’ soaked on my cock. You like that? You like that, baby? Yeaaah, you like that. Lemme hear your little moans–tell daddy how much you like it.

Your moans were the sweetest sound, a song he was hearing for the first time at just the right pitch–the perfect cadence for him to come. Joel, Joel, Joel! Harder, please, please, more, ahhhhnn, Daddy!A mess of his spend decorates the dirt at his feet and the guilt seeps in as he looks at what he’s just done–and what he thought about did get it done. Yeah, he’s disgusting and he knows it but the pietist in him died at seventeen when he told his ma he wasn’t going to church anymore and just about kicked him out of the house. 

This isn’t the first time he’s jerked off to the thought of you in the last month–and it sure as hell won’t be the last. It’s the only thing keeping him from actually laying his hands on you. He’s replayed this same scene and–many others–in his head that he’s starting to run out of ideas.

He’s chased his own release at the thought of himself buried deep inside of you, over and over again. But it was never enough–he was hungry. And it was becoming impossible for him to feel satiated by his hand alone.

Back at camp, the venison is still cooking over the spit, the meaty smell permeating the air, surely making both of your mouths water. Joel’s eyes land on you, rummaging through your bag, frantically digging through each pocket like something was missing.

“Hey. You’re awake.” His low, grumbling tone sounds grumpier than he means for it to be. He’s still getting used to having someone around. At having a woman around to soften his nature instead of one of his old raider buddies he’d boss around or tell them to go to hell whenever they wouldn’t shut their yappers. “How are ya feelin’, darlin’?”

“Better. Just a little hungry now. How long til the meat is done?”

“That ain’t gonna be done cookin’ until dinner, darlin’. Help yourself to whatever you can find in there.” Joel points to the crate he built that’s packed with foraged goods and the spoils of your scavenger hunts in town. He drags his gaze back down to your hands, fingers digging into the muddy fabric. “Som’ wrong?”

“No.” Your lips pucker up whenever you’re cross with him, and he knows you’re up to something but he can’t help but fight back a smile at how pretty you look when you’re about to get sassy.

“Ya holdin’ on to that thing so tight, your nails are about to pierce through the damn denim.”

“Did you take anything out of my bag?” Your eyes snap to his.

Joel laughs through his nose in disbelief, and then he licks the back of his teeth and says, “And why would I take anythin’ out of your bag?”

“I dunno, maybe cuz I was sleepin’ and you thought it’d be funny?”

“No, I did not take anythin’ outta your bag while you were sleepin’. You’re welcome for carryin’ you back.” His voice is dry and even, not bothering to hide his lack of amusement.

“Ughhh… Sorry Joel. I’m just missing something important and I’m still a little out of it after fainting earlier.”

He adds a few sticks to the burning fire, eyes watching the meat cook. “You should drink some’n, stay hydrated. I uh-brought some fresh water from the creek. Just need to let it boil.”

“Thanks.”

“So what was it?” Joel says after you crack open a box of frosted mini wheats, a cloud of sugar and cereal bits explode when tear open the ancient plastic wrap.

“What was what?”

“The thing you dropped.”

“Oh.” You swallow down the dry miniwheat with a big gulp. “It was just stupid stuff–a pad.”

Joel narrows his eyes at you. “You just about ripped my head off over a damn pad?”

“They’re rare ya know?”

“Well let’s go back out and find it then.”

“No, no, no. It’s gonna be all dirty. There might be bugs on it and all that, I can’t use it now.”

Joel rubs his beard in thought, watching the fire dance in your big, beautiful eyes. Normal your face is so expressive, lit up with a sort of eagerness to live. But not lately. Something was different. It was subtle, but he’s taken notice of how your light has dimmed, how your once frequent chatter has been replaced with an eerie quietness. Joel starts to wonder what he’s done to make you upset. Making you accuse him of stupid shit he ain’t even done. He’d start to remedy the situation by acknowledging the events of today and apologize for the stupid shit he did that made you puke your brains out.

“I threw ya to the wolves ‘n I shouldn’ve done it. Just thought–I thought maybe you’d learn quicker that way.” He clicks his tongue, reflecting back on the horrors from earlier. “Next time we’ll start off with trappin’, start nice ‘n slow, then work our way up.”

“It’s all my fault that she suffered like that, isn’t it?” There’s a dazed, far-off look in your eyes as you gaze into the fire.

Joel is quiet in thought, not sure what to say to bring you comfort. He wasn’t built for that. Comforting people, that is. Not with words. All he knew how to do was protect… and kill. So he says the only thing he can think of to put you at ease. “The world is crueler now than it’s ever been ‘n ya can’t let it get to ya.”

There’s so much you haven’t had to experience yet, it makes you somehow innocent, almost untainted by the horrors of the world. He loves that about you, wants to protect your delicateness as much as he can for as long as he can. Shield you from anything that dares to corrupt your sweet soul–which is why he has to keep the dark side of himself a secret from you. The things he’s done, the people he’s killed, the torture he’s inflicted on countless individuals is something he knew you’d find downright disgusting.

Yeah, you knew he was a hunter, but he never filled you in on the gritty details of what that entailed. How he was so much worse than those hunters that left you for dead. Didn’t tell you that his brother abandoned him because he was a monster. If you found out, you might be scared of him, run away from him even. And he can’t have that. You're safe with him at your side and so this little secret of his is just to protect you, that’s all. You don’t need to know about his past or what he’s capable of.

Joel knows what’s best for you.

“It’s gettin’ cold now ‘n we need somewhere warm to stay soon.” Joel begins, cutting through the deer's breast with his knife. “Was thinkin’ we could head back to that cabin you liked so much.”

“Nah,” you say with that same distant look in your gaze and he had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on in your head. 

“Alright then. We could find another farmhouse, somethin’ more secluded than the ones we’ve been passin’. Think we might be able to find som’ nearby, near the creek ‘n the town.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you’re practically in a trance and Joel’s not even sure you’re actually listening, but he keeps talking to fill the silence–something you normally do.

“I’ve got a hoodie you can wear, it’ll be a little big on ya but it should do the trick ‘til we find ya som’n else.” He’s scrambling for words at this point. It isn’t in his nature to be the one driving the conversation, 

“Mmkay.”

Joel rests his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. “‘S everythin’ alright, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet.” 

Eyes lidded, you look up at him. “Still feeling tired is all.”

“Get som’ore sleep. We can head into town in the mornin’ and get whatever you need. Maybe there’ll be pickled goods in one of the markets. Oughta be good for your stomach.” Joel is attentive to the fact that you have a sensitive stomach. First, it was the tuna, then you had a few instances where your nose would scrunch up in disgust if he tried to get ya to eat, and then the vomiting earlier today, all telltale signs that you were a delicate little thing.

He’s convinced that pickled goods will solve this little stomach issue of yours.

***

His hoodie looks good on you. He likes the way it’s too big for you, but despite that, he can still see the outline of your curves. After an hour of walking on an incline up into the town, you shed your layers to keep the heat at bay and Joel does everything he can to keep his eyes off your plump tits, barely held in place by your bra and spaghetti strap tank top. Were they always that plump?

He licks his lips and shakes the thought away. Getting a hard-on would be troublesome to hide from you, especially since the jeans he’s wearing today are a little tight.

Joel realizes that he isn’t interested in just sex with you, like all of the others he’d laid with. There’s something about you that he’s drawn to. Something that lights a flame in the dark chambers of his heart and gives him a purpose, a reason to live. Your enthusiasm and excitement for the world make him feel alive again, and it’s exactly why he’s so adamant about making sure he finds a way to knock out as much of your bucket list as he can.

These feelings that are developing toward you also explain why he feels an ache beneath his ribs when he sees how unwell you’ve been. Whether it’s the sickness you have or something else, he doesn’t know for sure, just knows it’s been dimming that beautiful light in your eyes and he’d give anything to make them shine again.

Up ahead, there’s a crusty sign that says Welcome to Taylor. You dip into the first convenience store that comes into view. Joel’s hand is on the small of your back as he ushers you in, carefully closing the door once both of you are inside.

Joel’s made it a habit to look for Twizzlers at every stop. “Sorry, darlin’. Looks like they’re all outta stock today.”

“It’s okay. I was actually in the mood for chocolate. See any around?”

“Chocolate huh? Never heard ya say that before. It’s usually all Twizzlers, gummies, and bright-colored candies that do it for ya.”

“Yeah, well I’m just in the mood for chocolate today.” You close the distance between you, hands resting on your hips, neck cranked up to look him in the eye. “That alright with you, cowboy?”  

There’s a cocky smirk on Joel’s face as he looks down at you, a little thing with a big sassy attitude and he’s glad to see that it hasn’t changed. He notices the rosy pink color of your lips and the thin layer of shine on your cupid’s bow that he can’t take his eyes off of. “You can do whatever you want, angel. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“Good. Let’s get moving then,” you say nonchalantly, heading for the door. Joel had already grabbed the last two jars of pickles and an old box of saltines that were hidden in the back of an old shelf. “There’s nothing else here that’s worth our time.”

“Ain’t true. There’s these,’ Joel argues, holding up a couple of composition notebooks and ink pens with what’s probably their last drops left to spare.

“What do we need with old notebooks and pens?”

“There’s an old community college down the main road,” Joel begins, awkwardly fumbling to finish the sentence as if completing it would admit something about what he feels toward you. “So you can go to school.” 

You stop in your tracks. “Last time I ‘went to school’ I puked.” 

“We’re gonna take it down a notch or two. I’ll show ya what school was really like back in the day.” 

Maybe it’ll put a smile on your face. Make you forget about all this shit.

Joel smiles when he sees how your face brightens up at the sight of the old college, bricks still red and distinct, nature not claiming it just yet. You both do a sweep through the main building, careful not to make noise and alert anyone or anything nearby, but the coast is clear. 

“First class of the day: Film Studies,” Joel says, unstrapping his gun and kicking his feet up on a dusty wooden desk, hands tucked behind his salt and pepper curls. “First thing you oughta know is George Lucas made the greatest films of all time: Star Wars. Completely transformed the film industry as we knew it. Nobody had dared to even dream of making some’n like this series before. Spaceships, blaster guns, entire fuckin’ planets we ain’t even seen before, right there on the big screen.”

“So it was about aliens?”

“Yeah, som’ like that. ‘S bout a galaxy far away, and all the inhabitants in it. Humanoids, Wookies, Droids, and Jedi Knights. The first movie came out in 1977, Star Wars: A New Hope, and tells the story of Princess Leia, her brother Luke who’s a Jedi, and Han Solo, a badass motherfucker–pilot of the Millennium Falcon. They’re tryin’ to save the galaxy from the big evil Empire.”

“Kinda like how we’re trying to save the world from the big evil Clickers?”

“Yeah… som’ like that… Except this is more fun cuz the good guys always win.” Joel tucks his legs under the desk and straightens his spine. “You takin’ notes?”

“Yes Mr. Miller, I am taking notes on your class about Star Wars.”

“Good, cuz I’m gonna give ya a test on this later to make sure you were listenin’.” 

“I’m listenin’ just fine,” you say, resting your cheek on your fist and biting the butt of the pen.

The rusted metal legs of the chair screech against the tile as Joel stands up, pacing the classroom now as he dives further into his lesson. Joel wasn’t a film junkie back in the day, if anything he was just an average guy that went to the movies now and again, but he had his favorites of course. He tells you everything he knows about cinema, mostly raving about what his favorite movies and shows were, but he shares as much as he can remember about film history, including some of the classic film directors like Alfred Hitchcock and Blake Edwards. 

His knowledge was limited, but he knew that what he had to share was more than enough to paint the picture for you. The light was back in your eyes and it warmed Joel’s soul.

“I like when you tell me about the stuff you liked back then. Wish you’d always tell me more about yourself like this,” you say, nibbling at your pen and looking up at him through thick lashes.

“Mmm,” Joel hums, and that’s about all he manages to say as his gaze is fixated on the window to your left. He looks back over at you. “Think maybe we should start heading back. ‘S already gettin’ dark.”

A gunshot rings in the distance and both of you snap your attention to the window. “There’s people here. What do we do?”

“Lay low. We’ll go out the back and find a quiet place nearby to stay for the night.” Joel’s voice is low but commanding as he straps his rifle back into place and waves you to follow him. “Come’on.”

***

The quietness after the gunshot feels eerie and unsettling. There’s an odd sense of safety in being alone nowadays, so the fact that someone is nearby means danger lurks. Joel scans the street for signs of life, his brain racing, gears turning as he tries to determine which house would be the safest, the one least likely to be broken into with the most convenient exits if the worst case scenario did happen and you both had to make a run for it in the middle of the night.

Not that running was really his style. If anyone came in at night, if anyone hurt you, he’d put a bullet to their head without remorse. He’d shatter their skull until they were utterly unrecognizable by their face alone, and he’d leave the rest of them untouched as a warning to any of their friends that if they fuck with Joel, they die.

“This one,” he points to a yellow house with white shutters. The front door is covered with debris and vegetation, but there are two adequate back exits on the east side of the house by the kitchen and on the south-facing side that leads to the once was garden.

Male voices in the distance keep both of you on your toes. Joel thinks they’re at least a block down the road and tells you he doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about just yet.

“What happens if they find us?” Your voice is riddled with fear.

“They ain’t gonna find us,” Joel says confidently. “No one saw us, no one heard us, ain’t no one lookin’ for us.”

“But what if they do?”  

He sighs, rubbing his beard in thought. “I’ll fuckin’ kill them.”

“What if they kill you first?” Your brows knit inward with desperation.

“That ain’t how I operate, sweetheart.”

“But what if?!” Your chest is heaving now, your eyes are wide, hands trembling as you reach to hold onto Joel’s shoulders. “I-I can’t fight Joel–can barely shoot a gun, you know that. How are we gonna take ‘em? What do I do if somethin’ happens to you?”

Joel squeezes your shoulders, pulling you an inch or two closer to him, eyes serious, brows furrowed as his eyes bore into you. “If anythin’ happens to me, you run. You got that? You run and you don’t look back.”

“No, I can’t leave you behind–I need a gun–I need–I need you. You don’t understand. I can’t make it without you–”

Joel hisses your name, teeth bared in a snarl. “No! If I’m down, you run. Understand?”

You nod your head rapidly in obedience. Joel can feel your little heart pounding away, and he thoughtlessly lets his thumb glide across the smooth surface of your skin, just above your heart before releasing his tight grip on you. 

“Upstairs,” Joel commands, and you follow. The first step creaks under Joel’s boot and he turns to you, a finger to his lips. 

Joel checks all the rooms, dusty, littered with crap, but good enough for the night. There’s one last bedroom to check before the two of you can safely stay there. Joel doesn’t like it when you go off on your own, and when he sees you twist the knob on the last door before he’s even finished his sweep through of the third bedroom, it takes every ounce of strength in him not to yell. 

The knob twists with a little squeak and then the little white door with peeling mint green paint swings open with a creak. You gasp, mouth agape at whatever lies beyond the doorframe, out of Joel’s view. 

“What?! What is it?!” He rushes to your side to see and before you can even answer the question, he answers it for himself.

Inside, the main wall is painted with a faded yet still colorful rainbow with a bouquet of balloons on each end. The ceiling is decorated with paintings of smiling clouds, and at the center hangs a lampshade shaped like a sun with golden strings holding little rainbow and star ornaments. They sway gently from your touch, making a melodic tinkling sound as they stir. 

Below the lamp sits a beautiful wooden crib ornately carved with hummingbirds and little flowers. The entire scene feels like something you’d read about in a book, a world where people lived vibrant, happy lives and painted childlike illustrations on their walls. It was as if someone captured happiness and sunshine and trapped it in this room so that all who walked in would feel a rush of joy, love, and warmth.

“A nursery,” you say in a gentle whisper, fingertips brushing over the little hummingbirds

Voices stir in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. Joel’s calloused palm clasps around your delicate wrist. “Baby, ‘m gonna need you to hide.”

You ignore him, continuing to look fondly at the crib.

“Are you listenin’ to me?” He tugs at your arm.

You turn to him, eyes glistening with tears. “Joel. There’s something I gotta tell you.”

He swallows, voice hushed. “Can it wait?” 

You shake your head and tears cascade down your cheeks like a river that’s just burst through a busted dam. Joel’s chest feels tight and his stomach is doing flips at the sight of you crying and he has not a single clue how to stop it, he just knows that there are men out there who could hurt you and he doesn’t have time for this. Your lips part, a shaky breath of wind escaping from your lungs before you compose yourself and finally say what you’ve been keeping to yourself for some time now. The secret you’ve been keeping frozen and locked away from him is now thawing, melting away the once-hidden layers of secrecy, and Joel was on the edge of his seat to finally find out what has been making you act so strange.

“I’m pregnant.”

~~~ au: Today is my birthday so I wanted to treat everyone and upload a few chapters here today! Enjoy <3 masterlist here

[auxmodi]

after the chaos

my masterlist

summary: after a battle, there's blood everywhere, chaos all around. you and sandor somehow end up fucking behind a half-destroyed wall. it’s rough, fast, and messy, exactly what you need.

warnings: rough sex, battlefield setting, breeding kink kind of, aggressive/possessive behaviour, public sex, throat grabbing, fuckbuddies, swearing, dom!sandor, kinda cold (no romance).

word count: 1.8k

the battlefield stank of blood and sweat, the clamor of steel on steel fading as the last cries of the fallen were drowned by silence. you staggered back, the weight of exhaustion settling into your limbs.

your vision blurred for a moment, and you swiped a grimy hand across your face, smearing dirt and grime across your cheeks. somewhere behind you, the crows were already gathering, their harsh caws echoing in the eerie quiet that followed the carnage.

you barely had time to register the sound of boots crunching over the battlefield debris before a large, calloused hand clamped around your arm. “what the hell—?” you managed, your voice hoarse and weak.

sandor.

his grip was iron, dragging you behind the crumbling remnants of a stone wall before you could protest. “quiet,” he snapped, the command in his voice brooking no argument.

this wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. you weren’t lovers or friends. you were just two people, fucking when the need became too much to ignore. no promises, no softness, just brutal, uncomplicated release.

you yanked your arm free, glaring up at him. his face, streaked with dirt and blood, closer than you’d expected. his eyes, wild and sharp as a wolf’s, burned into yours, still alight with the fire of the fight.

“sandor, what are you doing?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady. “this isn’t—”

“it’s exactly the time,” he cut in. before you could protest again, his lips crashed against yours. it wasn’t gentle, sandor clegane didn’t do gentle. his kiss was rough, teeth scraping, lips demanding, like he was trying to devour you whole. you gasped, your hands flying up instinctively to push him away, but they betrayed you, tangling in the filthy fabric of his tunic instead.

“sandor—” his name left your lips in a broken gasp as his mouth moved to your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing your skin. his stubble scratched at you, a delicious roughness that sent shivers down your spine.

“you’re alive,” he growled, his voice muffled against your neck. “i’m alive. that’s all that matters right now.”

his hands roamed lower, tugging at your belt with an urgency that made your pulse skyrocket. your protests were half-hearted at best, dissolving into soft, breathless moans as his fingers worked deftly, shoving your trousers down just enough to bare you to him.

“sandor, we’re, we can’t,” your words caught as his hand found you, rough fingers sliding through your slick heat. the battle had left you raw, vulnerable, and somehow that only made the sensation more overwhelming.

the chaos around you, the distant cries of the wounded, the flutter of crows’ wings, faded into nothingness. there was only him, unyielding and unstoppable.

“we’re in the middle of a battlefield,” you managed to say, though your breath hitched when his fingers brushed bare skin.

"let them fucking look,” he growled against your lips, his voice was low and rough, filled with that primal edge that never failed to stir something deep inside you. “doesn't matter, no one’s stopping me.”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, though it was quickly cut off when he kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue teasing your lower lip. your knees felt weak, but sandor’s large hands steadied you, pulling you even closer. his hands slid lower, fingers teasing your pussy with a possessive urgency.

“you’re so godsdamned warm,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. his fingers moved with precision, stroking you in a way that made your legs tremble.

you bit your lip, the sound threatening to escape you too loud for the ruins around you. his touch was relentless, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as your body betrayed you, arching into his palm.

“turn around,” he ordered, voice low and commanding, his grip tight on your arm as he spun you with ease, forcing your chest to press against the rough stone of the wall. you didn’t argue, you never did.

the first press of him against you stole your breath. hard, thick and demanding. he didn’t waste any time, grabbing your ass with both hands as he pushed himself into you.

the sensation was overwhelming, “shit,” you hissed, the sting of him filling you in a way that was raw, almost too much, but you didn’t want him to stop.

sandor wasn’t as quiet. his low, guttural groan in your ear made your toes curl. “fuck,” he rasped, his voice guttural, like he was barely holding himself together. he slid in deeper, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew you’d have bruises come morning. “so tight, gods.”

“sandor,” you whined, your voice breaking as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against yours.

“shut it,” he muttered, his mouth brushing against your ear. “you’ll give us away with all that moanin’.”

his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. each movement was rougher than the last, driven by an aggression that made you feel like you were barely holding on, the sting of his thrusts cutting through you with every stroke. but the pleasure, the way his body fit so perfectly against yours, had you moaning into the stone, your body instinctively rocking back into his.

“you like it when i fuck you like this?” he growled between gritted teeth, his thrusts deep, relentless. he groaned, his hand reaching around to grip your throat, pulling you up against his chest so you could feel every inch of him. his thrusts didn’t slow, they grew faster, harder, more relentless, as though the force of the battle had somehow transferred into him, and now all he could do was take.

you were dizzy from it, the roughness, the power of his body, the overwhelming pleasure that made everything else disappear. “don’t stop,” you managed to gasp, your voice breaking.

“wasn’t plannin’ to,” he rasped, his breath hot against your face. his teeth grazed your skin again, and the sting of his bite pushed you closer to the edge.

you could hear the faint sounds of soldiers moving through the camp, the clattering of armor, the distant calls of commands. anyone could come around the corner at any moment, and the thought of being caught, of someone seeing you like this, sent a shiver down your spine. it made the heat between your legs burn even hotter.

you knew what this was a quick, filthy encounter, no strings attached, but the sense of risk, the idea of being caught, made it feel like everything was on the line.

"you take me so fucking well," sandor grunted, his pace rough and fast, his thrusts hard and punishing.

your body responded instinctively, moving with his, desperate for the release that was building inside you, a pressure that tightened with each powerful thrust. “sandor,” you gasped, your voice hoarse, “please…”

he let out a dark chuckle, the sound almost menacing. “please what, girl? tell me what you want.” the way he said it, the way he pulled your body into his, was possessive, like you were his to take.

you were so close, the pressure mounting, and all you could think about was the risk, how easily it could all be interrupted. how close you were to being found out, caught in the middle of this mess, exposed in the most primal way possible.

you couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold back anymore. “sandor, i’m—” you gasped, your words faltering as the tension coiled within you, tight and unrelenting.

his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you even closer as he set a punishing rhythm. “come on then, don’t hold back,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. you couldn’t answer, couldn’t form the words, only whine uncontrollably, the sound slipping from your throat as your body jerked with every thrust.

your fingers scraped against the stone wall, trying to steady yourself as the pressure inside you grew. each thrust pushed you closer, faster, it wasn’t gentle, nothing about this was, but it was everything your body craved. his cock filled you completely, and the friction between you made it impossible to think, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

"gods" he growled, his grip tightening. "i can feel how fucking tight you are, squeezing around me." his voice was rough, almost like he was savoring every inch of you, the way you responded to him, the way your body reacted to the force of his movements.

and then, just like that, you shattered. the pressure inside you broke, and you came with a cry, your body jerking in his grip as you clenched around him. sandor didn’t stop, his thrusts unrelenting, his own climax building, the pace never easing. “such a good fucking cunt,” he growled.

you could barely hear him, lost in the aftermath of your own release, but his words cut through the fog. it was all raw and real, no sugar-coated feelings, just the brutal truth of what you were to each other.

as your body still trembled, sandor’s pace didn’t slow. he was relentless, focused entirely on his own need now. “i’m not done with you,” he muttered, the force of each thrust making it clear that he still had something to prove. you could feel him nearing, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. “take it,” he growled, his breath coming in hot bursts against your ear. “take all of it.”

with a guttural groan, sandor came, his body shuddering as he spilled inside you, his grip on you tightening as he held you through it. “fucking hell,” he breathed, pulling you against him with one final thrust before pulling out, his hands still gripping you tightly.

“you’re fucking lucky i don’t make you carry my seed around,” he muttered, his voice still thick with lust.

“shit,” you muttered, your knees wobbling, trying to regain your balance. you could feel the aftershocks of the encounter running through your body, your limbs trembling with the intensity.

sandor’s hand shot out, gripping your arm to steady you. “easy,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over you, his eyes flicking to your unsteady form as though making sure you weren’t about to collapse.

once you found your footing, he took a step back, his usual gruffness returning. he grunted, pulling his pants up with a swift motion, buckling them with practiced ease.

“you’re lucky,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “that no one came looking.” he grumbled, his rough voice low and still carrying that raw edge. "next time, don’t make it so fucking obvious."

you raised an eyebrow, still breathless from the encounter. “i’ll try to keep that in mind,” you replied, your voice dry, but still tinged with lingering heat.

without sparing another glance, sandor adjusted his pants and turned away. his boots thudded against the dirt, heavy and deliberate, as he walked back into the chaos of the battlefield. he joined his men without a second thought, blending in with them as if nothing had happened, his presence as imposing as ever.

[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

[impish-baby]

Masterlist 🎃

Fandoms:

Pokémon:

Platonic yandere Saguaro headcannons

Platonic yandere arven headcannons

Stardew valley

Platonic yandere haley headcannons

Platonic yandere stardew valley moms

Platonic yandere caregiver Elliott headcannons (agere)

Bugsnax

Platonic yandere strabby

Platonic yandere bunger

Cookie run kingdom

Platonic yandere cream ferret cookie headcannons (agere)

Original characters:

Home is where the heart is (platonic yandere familly)

Jaiden's intro (yan big bro)

The reckoning (Jaiden's reaction to reader leaving)

Marcus's intro (yan dad)

Clara's intro (yan mom)

Jack and Theo's intro (yan twin older siblings)

The twins' reaction to reader being kidnapped

A fluffy moment with them

Would the twins keep reader

The twins see reader out shopping

Reader's interlude

The family's reaction to thinking reader was kidnapped, but they actually have a romantic partner

The family's reaction to reader running away because they thought they wouldn't be supported after coming out

Marcus and Jaiden's reaction to reader being kidnapped

The family's reaction to reading reader's journal

Jaiden's reaction to reader having an abusive partner

Platonic yandere werewolf familly

Rowen's intro (werewolf father)

Summer days (Rowen fluff)

Vivian's intro (werewolf mother)

Maddison's intro (werewolf sister)

Liam's into (werewolf brother)

Do the other kids regress? (agere)

Is reader babied the most? (agere)

Platonic yandere pantheon x godly reader

Introduction (pt.1)

Introduction (pt.2)

Both arms cradle you now (Platonic yandere estranged familly)

A few glimpses into reader's childhood

Burning bridges (first part)

Infant and innocent (first part continued)

Stabbing stars through my back (first part continued two)

Viliian and violent (first part fin)

Is reader's stepmom also yandere? Are their siblings?

Why does reader's fam call them bug?

Miscellaneous familly members taking care of regressed reader

How the neglect was found out + how they become yan for reader

Platonic yandere step brother + friend group

Platonic yandere "friend" group ramble

Day trips (drabble) (tyler)

Platonic yandere superheros/villians

Platonic yandere superhero brother fic (Cyrus) (sidekick reader)

Platonic yandere villian drabble (Eos) (vigilante reader)

Platonic yandere villian and hero fic (Eos and Nyx) (vigilante reader)

Platonic yandere superhero brother (callum) (villian reader)

In April, I open my bill (platonic yandere villians/heros with sidekick reader)

Pt. 1

Pt.2

Platonic yandere vampires

Mother's come, she is the night (pt.1) (valerian)

Headcannons about them (valerian)

How they would react to you hiding from them (valerian)

Gay vampire dads x recently turned reader (Thoren and Rune)

Sylvia (Platonic yandere witch caregiver)

Sylvia's intro (agere)

Sylvia and reader decorate a paci (agere)

Miscellaneous:

Platonic yandere ghost caregiver headcannons (agere)

Platonic yandere siren headcannons

Platonic yandere angel and demon caregivers headcanons (agere)

Platonic yandere demon king fic (Areon) (child reader)

Platonic yandere fae caregiver fic (Briar)

Platonic yandere dragon hybrid headcanons

Platonic yandere dragon headcannons (wings of fire inspired)

Platonic yandere naga brother drabble (Koda)

Platonic yandere haunted doll drabble (mathew)

Platonic yandere eldritch horror fic (jonah)

Platonic yandere alien caregiver rambles (agere)

Platonic yandere harpy familly ramble

Platonic yandere various monster siblings rambles

Platonic yandere vampire caregiver ramble

Platonic yandere caregiver stepdad headcannons

Platonic yandere caregiver stepmom headcannons

Platonic yandere queen x servant reader fic

Platonic yandere loanshark fam concept

Platonic yandere selkie father drabble

Platonic yandere changeling drabble

Platonic yandere big sister red riding hood x wolf reader

Platonic yandere cannibal caregiver drabble (malachi)

[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

[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. 

[misswynters]

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  misswynters HotD masterlist

here is the list of all my works !

last updated: october 13, 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

if you cant find any of my works search my tags !!!

banner: @cafekitsune

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

[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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Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare Taglist;

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @ghostaholics

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[maryannecrimsworth]

Arcane Masterlist

Too far gone

Pairing: Vi x Zaun's rebel/healer! Reader

Summary: An old friend of Vi decides to return to Piltover after the conflict between the top and bottom side starts again. Her friend only didn't expect to see her sided with the enforcers.

A wolf a witch, a lover (Request)

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

A wolf, a witch, a lover(Part 1): As the new wolf of Noxus, Mel had to face her mother's past mistakes. You were one of them.

The line(Part 2):Mel and her new general struggle to find a common ground on their complex affair

Dance with me(Part 3): after months hiding, Mel surprises you in the morning with an dangerous proposal

Headcanons(coming soon)

Your friendly neighborhood

Pairing: Spiderman! Vi x Journalist! Reader

Summary: Your boss is driving everyone insane because of his suspicion about the Red Spider that's out there fighting crime. Because of that, you decide to discover the hero's identity and prove to your boss she's just a friendly neighborhood

Send me requests for any character and I'll be glad to write it!