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d1stalker · 3 months ago

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The Feeling's Mutual | Part One

[Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader]

Summary: If somebody told you a week ago that you were a mutant, being stalked, and would be teaming up with an annoying, grumbly bastard, you probably would have laughed in their face. Too bad that was last week, because here you are, in that very situation, wondering how in the world things escalated so quickly.

PART TWO PART THREE FINAL PART

Warnings: fem!reader, canon-level violence, reluctant alliance, bickering, not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they don't rly get along, it's gonna be a slow burn y'all WC: 5.7k - MASTERLIST - A/N: If you saw me post this earlier, no you didn't 🤫 i added more hehe

You’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

It all started last week—when you were walking to the grocery store. Just an ordinary day, nothing special about it. You had a list in your hand, some cash in your pocket, and thoughts of what to cook for dinner running through your mind. The route you took had you winding down the usual streets of your neighbourhood, and that’s when you noticed him.

Something about him was different, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was that made you think that. Perhaps it was the way his eyes followed you, stalking you, like a predator its prey.

At first, you thought it might be a coincidence. Maybe he was just another person going about his day, heading in the same direction as you. People share paths all the time; there was no reason to suspect anything sinister, right? But as you continued walking, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something was off. You decided to test it, making a sudden turn down a side street, one you usually never take.

The street was quieter, less foot traffic, and the late afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, still a few steps behind, his gaze remaining locked onto you with a focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Quickening your pace, you felt an almost paralyzing fear.

This wasn’t just a shared route.

The more you turned, the more you weaved through unfamiliar streets, the more persistent he became. He never faltered, never hesitated, always keeping just close enough to let you know he was there.

Finally, you reached the store, breathing in short, panicked gasps, your eyes flitting around. You ducked inside, hiding the fluorescent lights and bustling aisles. You tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was nothing, that you were being paranoid. After all, what were the odds? Maybe he’d walk past, maybe he wasn’t even following you. You spent longer than usual picking up items you didn’t need, giving him time to disappear.

But when you walked back outside, bags in hand, you saw him again. He wasn’t right at the door, but still, close enough—across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of another building, watching. His eyes locked with yours once more, and you froze, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into your palms as your grip tightened in fear. He didn’t move, didn’t smile or sneer, just stood there, silent.

You rushed home, not even bothering to see if he was tracking you down, too scared to find out the answer. Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Who was he? What did he want? You didn’t sleep much that night, jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made, the image of that man’s cold stare burned into your mind.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing, a one-time thing, just some creep who had too much time on his hands. A pervert, possibly.

But happened again. A different man this time, but with the same unnerving intensity. He followed you the same way, mute and relentless, through the streets, to the store, and back home.

Then the day after that, and that, and that. They didn’t approach you directly, just followed, watched, waited. It was like a game, one that you didn’t know the rules to, and the stakes felt like they were getting higher and higher and more time passed. Whenever you stepped outside, you felt their eyes on you, felt their presence lurking just out of sight. It was terrifying.

The fear gnawed at you, growing with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore. You started taking different routes, avoiding your usual stores, changing your routine as much as you could. Still, no matter what you did, they always found you.

Soon it changed—no longer just silent stalking. One night, as you were walking home, one of the men stepped out from the shadows and blocked your path. His presence was oppressive, the way he stood there, so still, so certain of his power over you. You had no idea what he wanted, but you knew it whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, trying to muster up all the courage you could, voice shaking slightly despite your attempt to sound strong.

“Because we were told to,” the man said, his voice cold and emotionless. There was no malice, no pleasure in his words, just a chilling matter-of-factness. “You’re coming with us.”

Panic surged through you, a primal instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but comply. You refused to show it, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spat back, hoping your defiance would be enough to make him reconsider.

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them, and before you could react, he lunged at you, his fist swinging with brutal intent. Time seemed to slow as you saw the blow coming, your mind racing, but your body moving almost on instinct. You raised your arms to defend yourself, bracing for the crushing impact that would follow.

You couldn’t explain what happened next. When his fist connected with your arm, the force that should have sent you to the ground, left you unscathed. Instead, it was the man who staggered back, a look of shock and pain twisting his features. He clutched his hand, wincing as if he had struck something far harder than just flesh and bone.

You stared at him, bewildered, before glancing down at your own arm in disbelief. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing to indicate that you’d just been hit. It was as if his attack had bounced off of you, like you were made of steel.

Had you really just blocked that hit? And why did it feel like… nothing?

Before you could process what had happened, before the realization could fully take root, another man appeared out of nowhere, moving with a speed that blurred the edges of his form. Mutant. He was faster than the first, more determined, and this time, you felt your heart stop as he came at you from behind, his hands outstretched to grab you.

But something in you reacted faster than your fear. You twisted out of his grip with lightning speed, with movements so fluid and precise, it was as if your body knew exactly what to do, even if your brain was struggling to keep up. You sidestepped his attack, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and found yourself behind him, safe for the moment.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. How did you move like that? How had you known where to go, how to dodge?

There was no time to dwell on it. The fight intensified in an instant, the two men coming at you one after another, relentless in their assault. They weren’t holding back, and suddenly neither were you. You moved like a force of nature, dodging their attacks, striking back when you could. Each punch you threw landed with a power that surprised even you. You watched in stunned disbelief as one of the men crumpled to the ground after a single blow, his eyes rolling back as if he’d been hit by a truck.

You are not a gym regular. In fact, you hadn’t worked out in weeks. You weren’t strong, not like this. So how was it possible that your punches were so devastating, that each one seemed to carry a weight far beyond what you’d ever imagined?

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the first mutant, conjured a ball of fire in his hand, the flames crackling and roaring, craving something to burn. He hurled it at you, the fireball spinning through the air with only one target in mind.

You barely had time to scream as the flames engulfed your arm, the searing heat burning through your skin. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that made you gasp and stumble back. You expected to see your skin blackened, blistered, ruined.

And it was.

For a minute.

To your shock—or horror—you looked down, breath catching in your throat as you watched the burn heal right before your eyes. The charred skin knitted back together in seconds, smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had happened at all.

What the fuck?

It was in that moment that the truth hit you, like a thunderclap in your mind. You weren’t just an ordinary person caught in a nightmare. You were a mutant, with powers that had only now revealed themselves, right when you needed them most.

The men kept coming, but now you fought with a new understanding. Each punch, each dodge, each rapid movement felt more controlled, more intentional, your gym class self-defence courses coming in clutch. You were strong, faster than you’d ever been, and you could heal—regenerate from injuries that would have left others incapacitated.

Finally, the two men laid groaning on the ground, defeated. You stood there, panting, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of it all. Super strength, super speed, regeneration… these powers, they were yours. And they had just saved your life.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, confusion set in. What did these men want with you? Why had they gone to such lengths to provoke you? To make you discover what you were capable of?

All you knew was that one thing was clear: this was far from over. Whoever had sent these men wouldn’t stop here. They knew what you were now, and that meant they’d come after you again. You weren’t just an ordinary person anymore. You were something else, something powerful. And that put a target on your back.

Whatever was coming next, you needed to be ready.

----

That’s how you found yourself here, one week later, crouched on the apartment rooftop, the cold wind nipping at your exposed skin. The dark streets below are eerily silent, save for the distant hum of traffic. You sense them before you see them—another group of male mutants, closing in on your position. You grip the hilt of your knife tighter, feeling the now-familiar twinge of anger and frustration settle in your chest. This is the fifth group tonight. They’ve been hunting you in groups for days now, their numbers increasing as each one goes by, and you’re tired of it.

You’ve started to get used to your new powers—testing your limits, pushing yourself harder with each confrontation. What started as simple self-defence, a punch here, a dodge there, has escalated into something far more lethal.

You didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to by use your sharpest kitchen knife (your only kitchen knife) as a weapon, but as the attacks became more violent, you found yourself with little to no choice.

These mutants weren’t holding back, and neither could you.

Within a week, you went from the most average person in the world to what some people might call a vigilante—except you're really only trying to save your own skin.

Leaping off the roof, you land silently behind them. The speed at which you move is almost dizzying, your body a blur as you close the distance in the blink of an eye.

“Looking for someone?” you call out sarcastically.

They turn, eyes widening in surprise, but you’re already moving. Your blade sings through the air, striking true, as you move like a shadow, taking them down one by one. It’s not easy—these guys are tough—but you’ve become tougher. With each strike, you can feel your strength surging, far beyond what should be possible. One of the mutants tries to block you, creating a forcefield, but you grab the edges before it can fully form, and break through it, the temporary pain vanishing as quick as it came. A solid kick to his face, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even realizes it.

“Is this what you wanted?!” you shout, your voice echoing through the empty street as the last attacker falls to the ground, groaning in pain. “Is this what you came for?!”

The answer doesn’t come from them. Rather, it comes from a low growl behind you.

You whirl around, heart racing, and there he is—Logan Howlett—the Wolverine himself. The man you’ve read about in every article, every piece of mutant-related news you could get your hands on since discovering your own abilities. He’s infamous, pretty much a legend, and the stories about him are as terrifying as they are fascinating.

Standing there with that scowl on his face, he looks every bit the dangerous figure you’ve imagined. His eyes are blank, calculating, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it sizes you up. There’s a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re the one causing all this trouble,” Logan states gruffly, irritation coating his tongue. He unsheathes his claws, the adamantium glimmering under the streetlights. The sound is unmistakable, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Heard you’ve been killin’ off mutants left and right.”

You narrow your eyes, instinctively stepping back into a defensive stance. Your heart is pounding, but you can't show any weakness.

“Funny, I thought the same about you, Wolverine. What’s the matter? Run out of bad guys to play hero with?”

Without warning, he charges at you, claws outstretched, but you’re ready. You dart to the side, your speed giving you an edge as his claws slice through the air where you’d been standing, making a woosh sound. You counter with a swift kick to his ribs, putting your enhanced strength into the blow. He grunts, stumbling slightly, but quickly regains his balance. The momentary advantage you gained is gone as he storms toward you once more.

You meet his attacks head-on, your blade clashing with his claws in a shower of sparks. The force of each impact reverberates through your arms, but you hold your ground, refusing to back down. His attacks are ferocious, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He's fast, but you’re faster, dodging and weaving with a precision that keeps you just out of reach.

“Look, sweetheart,” he growls between strikes, his frustration evident. “You can make this easy or hard. I don’t care which, but I’m not lettin’ you hurt anyone else.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you deflect another swipe of his claws. “Oh, please. You think I’m the bad guy here? These jerks have been coming after me for days. I’m just defending myself.”

Logan doesn’t look convinced, and that pisses you off more than anything. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You’re leavin’ a trail of bodies behind you.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the anger boil over. “Because I’m not the one who started this! They did! But of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? You just show up, swinging your claws around like you’re the big savior.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t ya?” He retorts, snarling as he charges at you again, faster this time. You barely have time to block his attack, the force of his blow sending you skidding back several feet. But you dig your heels in, refusing to give an inch as he continues plows forward. Your speed kicks in, allowing you to duck under his next swing and land a punch to his jaw.

He staggers, but quickly recovers, swiping at you with renewed fury. You're a bit sloppy compared to him, not as much of a seasoned fighter. His claws swipe at your arm, cutting deep and drawing blood, but the wound heals almost instantly, the skin closing up as if it had never been cut. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it doesn’t slow him down. He lunges again, becoming a blur of motion as he ups the ante.

You parry with your knife, but this time, you’re on the offensive. You launch a rapid series of attacks, your speed and strength managing to drive him back. In the rush of movement, you're able to see an opening, grasping his shoulder and shoving him hard, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The impact is enough to crack the brick, but Logan just shakes it off, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Gotta say,” you huff, panting slightly from the exertion, “I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from the you, after all I’ve heard.”

Logan grunts, clearly fed up with the banter. “I'm done talking.”

He lunges at you again, and this time, it’s a battle of wills as much as it is of skill. You don't back down, your knife clashing with his claws in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The alleyway becomes a blur of movement, metal against metal, strength against strength. Each time his claws find their mark, your regenerative abilities kick in, healing the wounds almost as quickly as they’re made.

And for a moment, you wonder if you’ll have to kill him too, just to survive. But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way your attacks grow weaker, less lethal. Or maybe it’s the way Logan’s eyes narrow in realization when he notices your hesitance.

“Wait a damn minute,” Logan says, stepping back just out of your reach, wiping his mouth, then spitting on the ground. He’s breathing hard, just like you. “You’re holdin’ back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as they flick down to the knife you’ve been holding, and then back up to you. His expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and exasperation crossing his face. “And is that a kitchen knife?”

You glance down at the knife in your hand, realizing how absurd it must look in the middle of this intense fight. It’s not exactly standard combat gear, but it’s all you had when this started. You can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips as you meet his gaze again.

“It gets the job done,” you quip, shrugging slightly.

He shakes his head, clearly not impressed. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” The sarcasm is practically oozing off of you.

He eyes you warily, his posture still tense. “You’re not makin’ this easy, you know. You got me here thinkin’ you’re some crazed mutant killer, but you’re just a girl wavin’ around a kitchen knife like you’re in a bad horror movie.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to hit up a weapons store. Besides, I didn’t ask for any of this. These guys came after me first.”

Logan studies you. “So you say. But you’re killing dozens of mutants. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’”

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this–fighting… killing–at all. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a mutant until some guy swung his fist at me a week ago.” You meet his gaze, challenging him. “And what about you? You’re not exactly known for playing nice.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, most of my casualties are from the missions I go on, so I'd say it's justified.”

Your eyes narrow, catching the implication in his words. “Oh, am I your mission now? How long have you been tracking me?”

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve hit on something. “Long enough to know you’re not just some innocent bystander caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, what? You’ve been watching me, waiting for me to screw up so you could take me down?” you demand, the frustration clear in your voice.

“Something like that,” he replies gruffly, “But from what I’ve seen, you’re more reactive than proactive," he looks you up and down. "I can’t seem figure out if you’re the real threat here, or just someone caught in the middle of a bigger mess.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm the fiery anger rising within you. “I told you, I didn’t start this. They did. I’m just trying to survive.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, teeth grinding as he considers your words. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the truth or just playing him. He takes a step closer, his claws still out but not as threatening as before.

Finally, he asks, “You got a name?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “No shit I have a name.”

Logan huffs, unimpressed by your attitude. “Well, if you’re not gonna tell me, I’m just gonna have to call you somethin’… How 'bout Knifey?”

You stare at him, half-expecting him to crack a smile, but he’s dead serious. ��Knifey? Really?”

Logan shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he eyes your weapon of choice again. “Fits, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you my name, alright? Anything but Knifey.” You say, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“... Gotta say, Knifey sounds a little better”

“Shut the fuck up, Wolverine”

“It’s Logan, actually.”

You release a deep sigh. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m telling you I am not the one you need to be going after.”

Logan scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’ve been around a long time. Seen my fair share of people who think they’re doin’ the right thing and end up doin’ a hell of a lot of damage. So, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” The words come out of your mouth before you had time to think about them, and you regret it immediately. You can see the mutant in front of you’s face darken to a degree bordering murderous, and you think you’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. Whatever playful banter existed before this is gone.

“Careful,” He growls menacingly, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You swallow hard. The Wolverine is infamous for a reason, and you just poked at the beast beneath the surface. You briefly consider backing down, but your pride refuses to let you.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admit, “But I do know what it’s like to be hunted, to have no choice but to fight back. So yeah, maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

Logan’s glare softens just a fraction, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do ya?”

“Not when I’m trying to make a point,” you retort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether to continue this conversation or end it with his claws. Ultimately, he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by something more akin to weary resignation.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe you’re not the one I should be takin’ down. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start trustin’ you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you reply, feeling a bit of relief that the situation isn’t about to escalate into another fight. “But I swear, there’s someone else out there pulling the strings. And I’m not sticking around to be their puppet.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms again. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, but I’m callin’ the shots. You step outta line, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You smirk, a little of your bravado returning. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Logan.”

You can tell he doesn't appreciate your attitude, but he lets it slide. “Let’s get one thing straight. This ain’t a partnership. I’m doin’ this to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on, not because I like you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you shoot back, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Logan turns abruptly, not even bothering to beckon you with him.

It makes you roll your eyes but you fall in step beside him anyway, knowing that despite the rocky start, this uneasy alliance might be the only thing keeping you alive.

“…So… where exactly are we going?”

He sends you a sidelong glance. "Who said I’m takin’ you anywhere?"

You throw your hands up, exasperated. "Well, if you don’t, these mutants are going to keep hunting me, and I’m going to keep killing them…” you shoot him a look, batting your eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn't want that, would you?"

“Fuck off”

"Well, too late for that now."

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but it sounds a lot like cursing his bad luck.

"We’re headin’ to my place. It’s the safest spot right now."

----

Turn’s out, it’s not really his place. Or at least, it’s what you’d thought it’d be. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse that he just decided to seek refuge in one day, doing the bare minimum to make it feel at the very least, home-y. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing a chaotic interior cluttered with garbage, old newspapers, and a few scattered items. In the corner, a single bed and a sagging couch that look like they’ve definitely seen better days.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you take in the mess. "Seriously?" you mutter, your voice tinged with disbelief. "This is where you've been hiding out? It looks like a tornado hit a thrift store."

Logan, who had been trailing behind you, lets out a low grunt as he shuffles past, not bothering to respond to your jab. His heavy footsteps echo in the otherwise silent space, the sound bouncing off the bare, cold walls. He heads straight for a small, battered table that looks like it's one sharp nudge away from collapsing. On it lies a worn notebook, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, evidence of extensive use. Without a word, he picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering over his shoulder. "What's this?" you ask, reaching out to take the notebook from him. He hesitates for a brief moment before relinquishing it into your hands. As you flip through the pages, your eyes widen in shock. The notes are detailed, almost obsessively so, listing the names of various mutants, their abilities, and the exact locations where their bodies were found.

"Oh, great," you say with a sarcastic, half-hearted laugh. "You've been keeping tabs on me. What kind of creepy stalker are you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the notebook back, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn’t exactly tracking you. I was trying to track whoever’s been killing all those damn mutants."

Logan’s jaw tightens as you just continue to stare, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "And don’t act all innocent. I needed to know who was causing all the chaos."

Scoffing, you continue to look through the notebook, stopping when you come across a particularly detailed entry. "Wow... 26 kills? Not too shabby for an amateur mutant, huh?"

“Is your mouth unable to stay shut?” he questions, though you know better than to answer that.

The notebook flops back onto the table with a casual flick of your wrist. "Hey, don’t be mad just because I’m doing a better job than you expected."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "I’m not mad," he snaps. "I’m annoyed that you’re making light of this. It’s not exactly a high score to brag about."

"Oh, come on. You’re the one who turned this place into a shrine to my success” you smirk.

"It’s not a shrine," Logan growls, his patience wearing thin. "It’s a record. If you’d been paying more attention to what’s going on, you’d know that."

The playfulness fades from your face as his words hit home. He’s right, but you’re not about to admit it. Instead, you deflect. "Yeah, and if you’d bothered to talk to me instead of playing detective, maybe we’d have figured this out sooner."

"You think you’re the only one who’s had a rough time? This whole situation is a mess, and we’re both caught in it." His eyes narrow.

You cross your arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "You didn’t have to get involved, you know. Unless...what if you’re the bad guy here?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Using all these mutants to lure me into your dungeon under the pretense of trying to ‘stop’ me?"

His response is immediate. "I’m way too lazy to think of doing all that."

You can’t help but believe him, especially given the state of the warehouse. He clearly lacks the energy—or the interest—to tidy up his living space, let alone mastermind a complex plot. You let out a sigh and walk over to the sagging couch in the corner. The fabric is threadbare, and the springs groan in protest as you flop down onto it.

"Fine, fine... I trust you," you concede, though your tone is far from serious. "Did you notice anything specific amongst these mutants?"

"Yeah, I’ve noticed somethin’,” Logan says, dragging a hand down his face, now looking more tired than ever. “They’re all pretty low-key. Not exactly top-tier in the mutant rankings. Never caused any trouble before, yadda yadda. If anything, they’re usually on the weaker side."

You furrow your brows, intrigued. "So they’re not a serious threat."

"Exactly," Logan confirms with a nod. "It’s weird. These mutants aren’t the type to just go around being fuckin’ annoying like they have been. Someone—or something—must be pushing them into this."

"You think they’re all being controlled somehow?" you muse, the pieces slowly falling into place. "And that’s why they’re suddenly acting out of character?"

"Seems like it," He replies, rubbing his temples. "Must be powerful if they’re all falling in line like this. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find the source of it.

He moves to sit next to you on the couch, the worn fabric sinking even further under his weight. "Tell me everything you know," Logan says quietly, his voice a tinge softer now, almost coaxing. "Everything that’s happened to you."

You sigh and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you start to recount your experience. "It all began about a week ago. Just a normal day, I was walking to the grocery store, then I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But no matter where I went, he was always a few steps behind."

His attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours. "And?"

"It started as just stalking," you continue, your voice growing quieter as the memories flood back. "Nothing violent. But then, it started happening with different people. Each time, they were more persistent, more intimidating. It became clear that something was off."

You can feel Logan’s gaze burning into you, his concern evident in the way he leans closer, listening intently. "Eventually, they started getting aggressive," you say. "One night, one of them blocked my path and tried to grab me. I managed to fight him off, but when he hit me, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it should have, he looked pretty strong, but my arm felt fine. That’s when I realized I had powers—some form of super strength, super speed, and healing abilities."

"And you figured that out just from fighting them off?" he questions, somewhat impressed.

You nod, rubbing your arms as if to ward off a lingering chill. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice. They kept coming, and I had to use whatever I had to protect myself—including my damn kitchen knife. The more I fought, the more I understood what I could do.”

Logan pauses, his expression unreadable as he processes everything you’ve said. The dim light from the single bulb casts long shadows across the room, emphasizing the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Finally, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, here’s the plan," he starts, his voice rough and tired. "We need to figure out exactly where these mutants are coming from. There’s gotta be a main location where they’re getting their orders or some central hub for this control."

You hum in agreement, though a part of you is reluctant to jump back into action so soon. "Alright, so how do we start tracking that down?"

His lips press into a thin line as he thinks it over. "We’ll stake out the rooftops. From up there, we can get a clear view of their movements and see if they’re converging somewhere specific. Maybe spot a pattern."

You stretch, stifling a yawn as you glance around the shabby room. "Okay, but are we doing that tonight? I’m pretty beat."

“Seriously? You want to put this off?" he accuses, face twisting in irritation.

"I’m up for it, but I’d be more effective if I’m not running on fumes. Plus, you look pretty tired yourself," you shrug.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you sense his reluctance to agree. "So you agree with me," you state, not really feeling any real pride, but just wanting to push his buttons.

Logan grumbles under his breath as he starts to clear a space on the threadbare couch, which creaks loudly under even the slightest pressure. "Do you ever shut up? I’m letting you crash in my bed, aren’t I?"

You chuckle softly, watching him arrange a tattered blanket on the couch with exaggerated care. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Goodnight, old man."

"Watch it, Knifey," he mutters, settling onto the couch with a groan as the springs protest under his weight.

You roll your eyes at his choice of nickname, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the bed, which is small and far from luxurious, but it’s better than nothing. The mattress dips slightly as you climb in, and the covers are thin, barely providing any warmth. Still, exhaustion pulls at you, and you barely have time to think about what the covers smell like before sleep overtakes you.

----

pls comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the series taglist!

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astrologylunadream · 4 months ago

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How Your FS Handles Conflict With You 🗣💬💢 (Pick a card/Tarot love reading)

Hey it's Lunadream🩷 Let's see your future spouse's energy and approach to conflict and how they would wish to handle it!🤭💭 hope you find your message💌

Notice: Only take what resonates because the most important thing is your own judgement!♡ If anything doesn't resonate, don't worry! It's not your message right now <3 (Entertainment purpose only. All rights reserved)

Now, shall we begin~? ^w^ Think of the your future spouse, and pick whichever pile that fits the energy you're feeling~💍🩷💋

Pile 1💦

Pile 2💢

Pile 3🗡

Pile 4💧

Take your time and choose carefully with the heart~♡

On to the readings —> 🎀

Pile 1💦

Sign energy: Quiet place, Run, Away, 11th house, Wedding, Jupiter, Libra, 2nd house, Pisces, Leo,🫥♨️💎🫢

👤Your Future Spouse's energy: So lets first look at the energy of your fs which is very sweet🥰 Some things that may resonate for you is their kindness and consideration, your fs has unique charms I'm hearing.✨️ Possible Aquarius, Sagittarius, Libra, Taurus, Pisces and Leo placements in their chart, they could have specific Jupiter placements/Jupiter-Venus aspects, such venusian energy to them as your future spouse😩💞 Pile 1 your fs is sooo pretty!! You could be in separation from them right now, one of you is distant from the other take what resonates. There is strong absence in this connection with your future spouse, maybe it took a long time of you both apart from eachother before finally being together😭💓 This person is so precious to you pile 1's! They are more so soft spoken with you and have a really attractive voice omg, silently charming🤫 You will find them sensually hot and attractive, I'm not kidding they are one of a kind lucky pile 1🤭🎀 I'm seeing that your future spouse is liked by many, also they look good in photos. Specifically getting selfie poses are their thing😘 Ahh it's so cute, wedding came out for confirmation and I think your wedding will be very dreamy and "unrealistic" with this person some might call it like it will literally be a fairytale👑 Haha for some of you this spouse buys nice things, they look expensive and alluring. Could make money from online, also they wear jewelry/accessories. They have a big house/place they live in, or you will live together somewhere really nice🏠✨️🏷 They are artistic and take care of their appearance/self care, some of you might have manifested them. Interest in beauty products, also touching your future spouse is irresistible I'm hearing lol. They have a soft delicate aura but also hot at the same time, your future spouse is attractive in every way I'm hearing "blessed with beauty" like they are your real prince/princess congratulations pile 1!😍👏💝

💢How They Handle Conflict With You: Mall, Find, Defy, Telepathy, Rose, Neptune, 8th house, Chiron, Pluto, Juno,🩰🪑🔋😚

I didn't think this could get any cuter😭 Pile 1 your fs handles conflict with you so well it's almost unsettling??😂 Like there is this vibe that if you have an argument, your future spouse will somehow oddly understand you as if you two share the same mind🧠🖤 You two share a deep bond I'm hearing, this person prefers not to go against you or defy you they are just so intuitively understanding with you pile 1😭 And I'm getting something super sweet, so like if you two have an argument your fs is the type to give you flowers to make it up to you!🌹💐😫💝 Most likely they will resolve the conflict with you by getting to the bottom of things. I'm getting such good energy they give you when you're in a bad mood, like you literally cannot stay mad at this person🤭💞 They will constantly take your side, It's just so cute I feel like your future spouse is really good at defusing any tension between you guys. Also when you're mad they get all lovey dovey with you omg like "please baby don't be upset with me"🥹💋💋💋 quite a charmer, also they get kinda handsy with you if you guys ever have conflict🫣❤️‍🔥 They will smooth talk you out of whatever made you angry/sad, they don't like seeing you that way. I think they might even be a little naughty for some of you, like instead of getting mad or arguing with you they would rather get back at you a different way??🥵⛓️ Take what resonates and leave what doesn't my pile 1's! They will literally make you forget what you were angry about so easily omg😂 Like they're so romantic with you guys if you ever have conflict, they will never try to hurt you only make you feel better I'm hearing.🌹💞 Your future spouse is only gonna treat you how you deserve cuz I'm getting you are SO precious and sweet in their eyes🥰

Thank you my pile 1's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!💌

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 1 with the splash emoji~💦 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💞

Pile 2💢

Sign energy: Threat, Chaos, Flower, Collab, Forward, Saturn, Fire, Earth, Pisces, Juno,🗣🌊🧳🎧

👤Your Future Spouse's energy: Okay your future spouse gives off very stern vibes, they are direct in their communication which can come across as intimidating or scary to some people, but lmao why am I getting they act like a completely different human being when they are with you pile 2??😂😳 Like at work they aren't afraid to step on some toes but when it comes to you, they are the nicest most delicate and sweet person ever!💝 You two will "work well together", this could be someone you collaborated with for a project or you will definitely compliment eachother. A true partnership I'm hearing.🥰💍 Earth, fire and water energy and saturnian vibes for your future spouse, also maybe Capricorn or Pisces for some. Could be pisces juno or saturn in a fire sign/house. For some of you this person could have a very chaotic work ethic, might be disorganized sometimes but very passionate about their work.💼 They are fierce and just their presence makes others nervous, your future spouse might carry a briefcase or suitcase often. They could be very deadset on marrying you lol so cute like they won't give up🙌💐 I am definitely seeing the courting phase with this person is gonna be so amazing, like they will make it extremely clear how much they want to commit to my pile 2's omg. Their love language may be words of affirmation, they will keep telling you they want you and no one else.🫵✨️🏆 Ahh pile 2 they will be very forward about their intentions with you, also they speak so softly when they're with you omg💖 They are a reliable and dedicated spouse to you, also they will make sure nothing bad happens to you ever like they won't let anything slide😭👏 Your future spouse treats you like a disney princess/prince! They might get in heated arguments with people who don't respect you/them, and often raise their voice but never at you🥺💗

💢How They Handle Conflict With You: Previous, Clue, Fan, 3rd house, Regret, Taurus, Capricorn, Sun, 8th house, Venus,🫥🛑👩‍🎤💪

So there is confirmation on how calm they are with you, definitely a loving and chill energy from your future spouse.😌🌷 I think they're well aware of your capabilities and so if you guys ever have any conflicts this person may get concerned by your mood or intensity. They don't want to ever have to cross you, because they know they will regret it haha🔪 Some of my pile 2's may be scorpio/plutonian placements🤭 Your future spouse just knows not to make you upset, so they rather put a stop to any argument.✋️ I am getting a certain energy, that for some of you this person may tend to become cold or distant if you two have an arguement, like they might act as if it doesn't affect them emotionally whatsoever but deep inside they feel hurt and bad for it.😢 They might just back away from the conversation with you if things get hostile, this person has a very strong mentality and they don't feel the need to get the last word or anything petty like that. Your future spouse just knows immediately when you need space and lets you cool down without fueling the fire🧯✔️ Yeah they're very chill just respectful and not aggressive with you at all.👏😘 If they are ever upset about something they will be real and let you know what bothers them, I can see too for some of my pile 2's your future spouse will dote on you if you are in a bad mood and like buy you things and spending on you to make you feel better.💸🛍 Spoiling you with anything you want if you got mad at them, lol I think they want to show you they can provide for you and that you shouldn't stay mad at them🥺❤️‍🔥 Specific message for some here, they might take you somewhere real expensive like a concert for a singer you're a fan of or pay for any merch or items you want just to make it up to you.🤭💫 For this pile I think your future spouse is more mature than you and for some older, they are very dependable and accommodate for all your needs pile 2.😍❤️

Thank you my pile 2's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!💌

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 2 with the anger emoji~💢 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💞

Pile 3🗡

Sign energy: Height, Clingy, Hands are tied, Mean, Wild, 4th house, Water, 3rd house, 11th house, Eros, 🙇‍♀️🦇🫤✨️

👤Your Future Spouse's energy: Woww okay this pile is already feeling cute haha so pile 3 your future spouse may be taller than you, like they just look like they could pick you up and cuddle you oml😭💞 For some of you they could be shorter and so your future spouse will be very huggable and you just want to scoop them up in your arms <3 also their hands will be noticeable so look out for those!🫶 Cancer energy or 4th house placements, also Mercury signs (Virgo or Gemini) in their chart, Water energy, Aquarius is there too and possibly 3rd or 4th house in a water sign for some. Your future spouse is very affectionate and they love touching and holding you.🤝✊️💖 I see lots of hand holding, tight hugs, their love language may be phsyical touching. They are clingy and very lovey-dovey with you. Now as sweet and innocent at your future spouse sounds, there is a side to them that is wild and fun.🔥🚀 Their caring nature may turn you on, the way they make you feel so comforted and nurtured.🥰 Happy home life! They can be a little crazy sometimes, like they try new things and expiriment a lot. Bats may be significant, ohh now I feel like they're always "batting their eyes" in front of you lol what.😂 Like I think this person looks at you like you are the best thing in the whole world. You know what I think it's funny this pile is represented with the sword emoji which can symbolize communication and I feel like that really came out for your future spouse, their way of speaking is unique and noticeable.💬✨️ I am hearing shiny nails, they take good care of them💅 Some of you may have started as friends with your future spouse, there is a vibe of playfully teasing eachother. Like I'm getting one or both of you make fun of the other as a way of flirting and it gets wild sometimes🤪 You will feel like you can be yourself with them, weird or crazy. You will talk a lot. I can picture you two giggling together, something about your relationship is very youthful.☀️💕 You guys are so cute!!!

💢How They Handle Conflict With You: College, Unknown, Performance, Extreme, Cage, Sun, Pisces, 4th house, North node, Capricorn,👣🏃‍♂️🏆🚀

Interesting so there could be avoidance or walking away from the situation if you have conflict with them, your future spouse may choose to ignore tension or seemingly "run away" from any conflict with you.😭 I think they are very sensitive, there is a lot of energy of just escaping the problem or avoiding it.💬🫥 I do think your future spouse may have the tendency to do this, but it sounds like they want to make an effort and do the best they can as your spouse.🌟💍💞 If you ever have arguements with them, there may be times they feel trapped and don't know what to do. I'm seeing your future spouse wants to be strong emotionally and be able to face conflict without running away from it, this may be something they work really hard on.🔨💦 If you are upset with them they may even cry without letting you see them, because they don't want you to think they are weak or pathetic😭💔 They hide to protect themselves I'm hearing, this could come from their childhood but as always take what resonates my pile 3's. Your future spouse might feel like you are too extreme in your arguements with them, since college came out it could be for some of you this person feels like you sort of lecture them or they just feel incompetent compared to you.🥺 Yeah your future spouse may be a little intimidated by you, also they might feel unheard in their side of the arguement. It sounds like you win the arguements with them, and they won't try to prove you wrong or anything. I think they care so much for you they would never say anything mean or terrible and I think they would just want you both to hug eachother and not fight🫂💞 Yeah I think conflict with them would be very emotional and intense, and they really don't like if you got angry or yell at them for something, it would make them very hurt. So I think they try really hard not to do anything you wouldn't like and always make sure you are comfortable and cared for.💖 They will meet every of your standards in a spouse if you need them to. My pile 3's your future spouse will try so hard to make you happy!🥹☀️ This energy is extremely gentle and kind, they will never hurt you. They really love you and genuinely care about you.

Thank you my pile 3's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!💌

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 3 with the sword emoji~🗡 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💞

Pile 4💧

Sign energy: Union, Recover, Love, Boundaries, Shine, Moon, Mercury, North node, Eros, Taurus,✨️👖🎲🐾

👤Your Future Spouse's energy: So first off you may very likely meet this person during a taurus moon!!🌙💕 Very interesting, for some of you this person could also he a taurus moon or moon in 2nd house, even moon-venus placements. Love and north node is such confirmation that this is your future spouse and your future with them will be full of love and happiness😊🌈 This person shines, like there is a lot of imagery of sparkles here. They have so much beauty, also they could have soft or round features. Their voice is so comforting to you omg it's so relaxing and calm, and hot🗣💌 Signs for them may be Taurus, Cancer, Gemini or Virgo placements, Moon-Mercury, Also for some of you they could have Mercury conjunct north node or Eros. This person is very attractive, for some reason I am getting a vibe your future spouse is into beauty products.🛍✨️ Now your future spouse has very set boundaries, they have self respect and I think that is one of their best traits. They don't let just anyone touch them, others may have tried to touch them and they are just like "Nah."🙄✋️🚫 They have such a strong presence about them, classy and luxurious vibes. I think they will be more comfortable with you than any others, like they will only trust you to touch them or allow you to be close to them.👥️💋 Also they are very open to you about their emotions, definitely loyal to my pile 4's romantically. They could be an animal lover or you two may take care of pets together!😍💞 You may notice how well they dress and they might have designer clothes or just look fancy✨️👜👞 I think this person doesn't feel comfortable in conversations with most other people, but they feel so safe and loved when they talk to you. Your future spouse is very charming and cool, also they may be close to their mother or nurturing parent. You will inevitably grow closer with this person, and they are just so kind and caring towards you💖 They look good in gold, jewelry may be their thing! Your future spouse is so sweet, also I can them shopping with you and eating out at nice restaurants.💫

💢How They Handle Conflict With You: Love letter, Yandere, Interpretation, Be yourself, Perfect, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Taurus, Leo, Jupiter,🐦‍🔥☔️💎🤩

This pile got intense😳 So conflict with your future spouse is difficult because it's very hard to resist them😭❤️‍🔥 You might be mad at them for something but then they give you that look and you just rather be doing something else with them🥵🔞 Wtf this pile is getting wild but I'm trying to keep it light for this reading. They're the kind to act so naughty with you when you're upset with them, like they can't stop smirking and joking about making out with you??🥲 That kind of thing, I think they like to get on your nerves a little. They like seeing your dark side, you could be yelling in their face and they will literally find everything about you perfect.🖤 Your future spouse gets entertained and even excited if you two ever have conflict, because they like seeing different sides of you that you don't show often.🎭🔥 I am hearing "You know pressure makes diamonds"?? Oh but also need to mention they will purposefully try to turn you on during arguements like all the sudden they're speaking in a seductive tone and getting handsy🥵🥵 I'm seeing hands on someone's throat with consent what. You two are wild together... My pile 4's your future spouse will charm the hell out of you.😭 They will tell you how special you are, like they don't even care if they were angry about something, just the tension gets them excited.😈❤️‍🔥 I think no matter what your future spouse will have intense love and devotion towards you, even if you guys fight they will want to be close to you.💋🖤 "Look at me"... I see lots of touching and grabbing, they will view your arguements as an invitation to show you their love. That's actually so romantic omg, very passionate and a little obsessive with you take what resonates. Also they are quite possessive over you, so if they feel you aren't happy with something they will do everything in their power to keep you pleased with them👀♨️ Your quarrels could get intimate pretty fast, so much fiery energy and intensity. For those who are interested, they will fulfill all of your phsyical desires💍 Very naughty with you, but also they will keep letting you know they love you if you're upset.❤️ Wrapping you up in their arms and whispering in your ear how beautiful and perfect you are wow that's how they handle conflict with you.🤯❤️‍🔥

Thank you my pile 4's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!💌

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 4 with the teardrop emoji~💧 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💞

Wanna see more readings like this? Check out my tumblr for accurate readings for you!💗🌊🌸

Thanks for reading! \(*^w^)/💌 -Lunadream <3

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velvetcrimsonkisses · 7 months ago

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Baking w/ Nanami

note: but it gets dirty 🤫

warning: smut plus food play? (it's whipped cream)

“Need some help, Darling?” Nanami comes up behind you, placing his large hands over yours on the rolling pin.

“I can do it...” your laughter dances through the room as your husband presses his body against yours.

“No, I think you do,” he chuckles, helping you roll out the puff pastry. One hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “You smell so sweet,” he coos into your ear.

“I think that might be the cinnamon, not me.” Your attention still on rolling the dough.

“Hmm, maybe I need a taste of you to make sure,” his hands finding their way to the curve of your hips as he peppers soft kisses on the nape of your neck.

“That tickles,” a fit of laughter leaving your lips. “Go taste the whipped cream instead.” You push him away softly.

Nanami leaves you with one last kiss on your cheek as he makes his way over to the bowl of fresh whipped cream. Normally, Nanami knows to try food with a spoon and to never double dip but today he felt like teasing you. You watch him intently as he walks right past the cutlery drawers. Curiosity getting the best of you, you turn around to face him to watch what he was planning to do. He takes one long slender finger and dips it into the bowl, bringing it to his mouth as his eyes lock onto yours.

Your mouth drops open slightly as you watch him suck his finger clean. Eyes growing wide as you notice a small playful smirk on his lips. “Is it too sweet?” you ask as you try to compose yourself from the scene in front of you.

“I dunno… I think you should try it, honey” he utters, once again dipping a finger into the cream. You feel as if your heart will beat out of your chest as he makes his way over to you. Taking his place behind you again, loosely draping his free arm around your waist as he brings his finger to your mouth. “Open.”

You take his finger into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with the man as you suckle the whipped cream off. Removing your mouth from his finger, a string of saliva linking you two together, you nod your head to assure him it's good. Now it was Nanami’s turn for his mouth to hang open but he quickly put himself in order as he turned you around to face him. Hastily attaching his lips to yours, he satisfies his hunger for what he truly desires. You.

“Ken..” You moan as he now has you sat on the counter, lapping up whipped cream he placed on your neck. He continues suckling at your soft skin, with each gentle suction, leaving behind a mark. “So sweet,” he hums.

His fingers come up to trace the soft skin of your shoulder, finding their way to the strap of your tank top. He gently pulls it down, lips still attached to your neck, his gaze coming to meet yours as he makes sure it’s okay to proceed. With a small nod from you, he pulls your top down, exposing your chest in its entirety. He stares at your body intently, which makes you turn your face away, feeling almost self conscious.

Nanami picks up some more whipped cream on his finger. “What’s wrong?” he questions you. “Stop staring at me” your eyes once again meet his honey brown ones. Nanami chuckles, “How can I when a goddess is right in front of my eyes.” At his words, you feel the flush of warmth spread on your face. You gasp suddenly as you feel the cool whipped cream on one of your nipples.

“May I?” Nanami looks up at you with pleading eyes. A smile creeps on to your face as you nod. You weren’t sure what had gotten into your husband, but you were enjoying the sight of him licking whipped cream off your chest. Your hands run through his soft blonde locks as he continues to lap at your chest, leaving matching marks with the ones on your neck. He expertly flicks your nipples with his tongue, leaving you clean of the cream.

His fingers come to play with the waistband of your panties, insinuating he wanted more. More of you. “Up, baby” He commands as you lift your hips up. He pulls down your shorts, dropping them to the floor, continuing with your panties but he tucks those into his pants pocket. Something he always does, that you have to snatch away from him later.

“Open up”. You do as he says, spreading your legs open for him. Wrapping your arms around his neck for support. He slides a digit through your cunt, teasing your entrance. “Wet for me huh?” You nod as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. He chuckles as he finally inserts a finger into you. A small moan escaping your lips at the new but familiar feeling.

He swiftly inserts a second finger… now using his thumb to rub your clit. Closing your legs over his hand, you moan into his neck. The vibrations driving him crazy as his fingers are deep into your pussy. “You feel so good baby, pretty pussy sucking my fingers in.'' He places a kiss on your forehead. “I think i’m gonna cum ken” you inhale with a sharp breath.

Nanami quickens the pace of his fingers. Fingering you at an animalistic pace, you lift your hips slightly off the counter as you feel your high approaching. Nanami brings his hand up to your face, holding your chin, to maintain eye contact with you. The familiar knot in your stomach appears. “Atta, girl. Cream around my fingers” he encourages you as you grind your cunt against his hand matching the pace of his fingers.

You finally orgasm, doing just as he says. “Good girl.” He begins to run his finger through your worn out cunt, lapping up all your essence. Your body jittering at the slight overstimulation. He brings up his fingers once again to his mouth, sucking them clean. Maintaining the oh so sexy eye contact. “So sweet.” He utters again another smirk upon his lips.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento smut #nanamin #nanami drabbles #jujustu kaisen smut

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fishingmice · 8 days ago

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Boyfriend!Katsuki Headcanons!( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

Boyfriend!Katsuki, who sends you dumb (yet funny) reels or tiktoks, which surprises you because sometimes you forget that he has these apps downloaded — but also sends couple videos and saying "you wanna do this next weekend?"

Boyfriend!Katsuki who tries REALLY hard (without yelling) to make you understand whatever was going on in class if you didn't understand. Or if you were absent, he would pass you notes and fill you in on whatever happened that day.

Boyfriend!Katsuki, who barges into your dorm 'just because' — but you know damn well he came in to hold you (or be held- WHO SAID THAT‼️)

Boyfriend!Katsuki who has fucked up hands from all the explosions, so you pretty much show love and affection to his hands. His calloused palms grazing your skin whenever he holds your hand is one of your favorite things ever. You always make excuses to either hold his hands or to kiss them. Like, imagine going to the store and getting lotion specifically for him because he barely does skincare. Let's be fr you just love him a lot <3

Boyfriend!Katsuki, who would try to learn your native language secretly just to impress your parents. (totally not you... just them...🤫)

Boyfriend!Katsuki, who notices little details and tries to lower his voice when he's around you. He tries his best to become better for him partner <3

#bnha #mha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha x reader #mha headcanons

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 2 months ago

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The Northern Winds (pt. 2)

PART 1

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

MASTERLIST

Warnings: profanity, mention of blood, violence & death, menstruation, miscarriage, sexism and medieval notions of women, mature NSFW content (18+), possessiveness/over-protectiveness, brief mention of r@pe

Summary: Whilst Cregan is on a march against the wildlings, Lady Y/N navigates the ruling of Winterfell in his absence as she awaits his return

Words: 15k

A/N: There will be a part 3, with which this series will end (I think). The intro of this part is a bit long but it gets better I promise! (Cregan comes back 🤫)

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

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion (I hope I didn't forget someone! <3)

***

It has been a week since the Lord of Winterfell took his host north to Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, to fight against the wildling invasions. The number of his warriors and those of his sworn bannermen was strengthened by some three thousand men provided by Lord Jonos Whytefort in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage with the Warden of the North. Lady Y/N and Lord Cregan Stark were wed for near half a turn of the moon before he was bound to ride north. Although Lady Y/N was instructed in the ways of Winterfell’s functioning and her duties before Lord Stark’s departure, it was one thing ruling the North with her husband by her side and a whole other to do it on her own. Lady Y/N had noble servants whose loyalties lied with Winterfell to advise her, yet the burden of duty and responsibility weighed heavy on her shoulders. The North was a vast and colossal place to rule with hundreds of thousands of people who looked to House Stark for leadership. Even in the days before Aegon the Conqueror, the North knew no king but the King in the North whose name was Stark.

Winter is coming. The words resonated with Lady Y/N as if they were those of her own House. She thought them every morning when she woke up for her duties and every evening as she laid to rest. The emptiness of her bed at night proved an even greater challenge to Y/N than the absence of her husband at her daily duties. She was surrounded by people great and small whilst the sun was still in the sky. Yet at night, Y/N grew lonely and yearned for home, yearned for Whytefort. No matter how hard she attempted to persuade herself that Winterfell was her home now, Y/N had yet made no memories in this place, felt no familiarity nor true comfort. She found consolation only in her mare, Blackspur, and her ladies-in-waiting, particularly Lady Ellyn Mormont. Whilst Y/N did not mind the company of the other ladies, she had grown the closest to Lady Ellyn. They would often share their meals and walked the castle grounds, although they could not ride together for Lady Mormont had a terrible fear of horses. She was thrown off her mount when she was but a child, which caused Lady Mormont to break her leg. Y/N had not noticed it until it was pointed out to her but there was a small limp in Lady Ellyn’s walk because of this accident. Lady Y/N did not wish to make her companion uncomfortable so she shared her rides with Ser Tybald Cassel, the master-of-horse, or lately more often with Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms. Whilst Ser Tybald was undoubtedly a man skilled and knowledgeable when it came to horses, he often gave the impression that if Lady Y/N had not been Lady Y/N Stark, he would not have paid her the respect she deserved on the account of her being a woman. Ser Harwyn, on the other hand, proved himself a man as loyal as they come and a pleasant companion on adventurous rides around the grounds of Winterfell. Lady Y/N grew even fonder of him than of Maester Bennard, who was also a tremendous help in navigating the ways of her duties as the Lady of Winterfell.

One day, as Lady Y/N and Lady Ellyn walked the glass gardens of Winterfell that were warmed with hot spring water on which the castle was built, Lady Ellyn asked her mistress whether she had been able to grow accustomed to living at Winterfell after near a moon of staying there.

“I imagine it is not the same now that Lord Stark is gone as well,” said Lady Ellyn as they sat down on a stone bench beneath an orange tree.

“No … It is not,” thought Lady Y/N saddened as she played with the sleeve of her lilac gown.

Y/N gazed around the glass gardens. Half of the plants in them Y/N had only seen painted and documented in books. They did not grow in the north, especially not in an area as mountainous as Whytefort. They would not grow here either if not for the thermal waters. Most of the plants were brought from the south through White Harbor in large wooden crates, tended to by maesters specialising in botany and herbology. There was a type of fruit that looked much like an apple, red and yellow with fuzz on its skin that reminded Y/N of moss. She could not remember what it was called, however. And another which seemed like pumpkin yet its flesh was green and sweeter than that of a pumpkin although the foreign fruit smelled similarly. There were also strawberries the size of pebbles unlike those as small as raindrops that grew in the mountains. There were vegetables a plenty too: all sorts of green leafy plants that were often served at nuncheon or for supper along with grains, seeds, and eggs. There were many medicinal herbs and roots as well, particularly for the brewing of potions and infusions.

Nevertheless, Y/N’s favourites remained oranges. She looked up at the big round orange fruits. “Do you suppose we could take one and share it?”

Lady Ellyn smiled to herself. “Of course, my lady. Everything you see is yours.”

Lady Y/N smiled as well although she still felt like nothing more than a guest at Winterfell, especially without Cregan in the castle.

“It …” began Lady Y/N, unsure whether she could trust her thoughts into Lady Ellyn’s care yet she had to speak to someone or she might go mad. “It is hard being away from home,” said Lady Y/N whilst Lady Ellyn’s smile slowly disappeared as she listened.

“I know Winterfell is my home now but I cannot help but long for the familiarity of Whytefort. I miss even the people I thought I despised – and I do, I do despise them still!” Y/N laughed but she might as well have cried. “It is only … It is only this feeling in my chest …” told the Lady of Winterfell as she held a hand over her heart as if to keep it from falling apart. In that moment, she really did think she might cry for everything that she had to leave behind.

“It seems to me that everyone expects me to fail, that they think less of me because I am not from as a great and noble House as they would expect the Lady of Winterfell to be,” spoke Lady Y/N evenly as she tried to contain her emotions. “Lady Daela—” considered Y/N, remembering the comments she swore were meant only as jests and the looks given to her by Lady Manderly when she believed Lady Stark was unaware.

“My lady,” Lady Ellyn cut her mistress off. “I believe Lady Daela’s moods may be a consequence of her having harboured notions of becoming the Lady of Winterfell herself.”

Lady Stark’s gaze darted to her lady-in-waiting. She felt a sting inside of her, an itch she did not only want to scratch but cut out altogether. Suddenly, the thought of Lady Daela made Y/N’s stomach twist into knots; not only of Lady Daela alone but of her and Cregan.

“I had believed you knew, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “That is why I did not mention it sooner. I thought you did not wish to speak of it.”

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N when so many things about Lady Daela suddenly made sense. The looks and the comments, her little japes and glares.

“I do not know much, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “As you would know as well, she is the youngest of Lord Manderly’s four daughters and all of them are already married to men of great and noble Houses: Tallhart, Mallister, and Arryn. White Harbor is one of the largest harbours in Westeros and the largest in the North. The match between Lord Stark and Lady Daela would not be unseemly.” Not like the one between Lord Stark and me, thought Lady Y/N with a heavy heart.

“But Lord Manderly is already fighting his own war at sea with the pirates from Essos,” thought Lady Y/N aloud. There was often news from White Harbor at the councils Y/N attended as the Lady of Winterfell. “He has no men to spare whilst my father has nothing but men.” And sheep.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Ellyn. “Yet as far as I am aware, the match was never proposed by Lord Manderly. The prospect of Lady Daela’s hopes of marrying Lord Stark are but that – hopes and illusions,” Lady Ellyn gave her mistress a reassuring smile.

“I see,” said Lady Y/N, her blood boiling at the thought of Lady Daela and Cregan, and yet at the same time, Y/N felt a heavy weight in her stomach. She had already felt like everyone was judging her before Lady Ellyn told her of this – a match between a lady much nobler than Y/N herself and the Lord of Winterfell – and now the feeling only grew worse.

“If I may be so bold, my lady,” spoke Lady Ellyn when she saw the storm of thoughts in her lady’s features.

“Of course,” said Lady Y/N, “I wish nothing more of you than to speak plainly and in the manner you feel.”

“I long knew I would be a lady-in-waiting for the Lady of Winterfell when Lord Cregan would wed,” began Lady Ellyn. “Yet when I left Bear Island, I felt just as you do, my lady. Lost and alone, with everyone staring at me and watching me. I too had to leave my home and my family, my sweet little brothers and my lord father,” spoke Lady Ellyn, a sadness to her voice. “Even with Lady Daela, with Jocelyn and Harryett, I could not find peace here at Winterfell… Until you arrived.”

“Me?” asked Lady Y/N, her big eyes widening still.

“You were so kind to me – to us. Even when you need not have been,” said Lady Ellyn quickly. “We … We all bear names of great Houses: Manderly, Dustin, Karstark, and Mormont. But we … Lady Daela is devious, Jocelyn barely speaks a word without being called upon, Harryett is in her own world of gallant knights and pretty maidens, and myself … I cannot even accompany you at the thing you love most because of my stupid, stupid fear of horses.”

“And yet it matters not because you are a friend to me,” said Lady Y/N honestly as she took Lady Ellyn’s hand and squeezed it. "A true friend."

“I … I cannot make friends easily,” confessed Lady Stark. “Acquaintances, yes, quick friends perhaps, but not true friends, not loyal friends.”

“If not for you, I …” said Y/N as she looked away. “I would have no one to talk to but Maester Bennard,” she said. “He would have tried to invent a healing potion for my thoughts or ascribe it all to moonblood,” Lady Y/N laughed and Lady Ellyn joined her.

Just so, both the Lady of Winterfell as well as the only daughter and the oldest child of Lord Mormont breathed a little easier and shared an orange on their way back to the castle.

***

It was a moon’s turn since Lord Stark departed for north. Lady Y/N’s days were still filled with council meetings, settling disputes, and listening to the woes of the smallfolk and trying to find solutions. She hosted lesser members of House Dormand and later House Flint. If Y/N could not find the time to take Blackspur for a ride, she would at least take a walk around Winterfell. Yet she would visit the godswood everyday even if the sun had already set only to pray for her husband’s safe return. For the longer he was away, the less news arrived, and the more anxious Y/N grew. She prayed for her family as well; for her lady mother and her brother, and even her father, who was fighting against the wildlings alongside Lord Stark. If there were no duties waiting for her, Y/N could sit beneath the heart tree for hours, wrapped in her thick fur coat as she would lean against the weirwood tree. Whilst her own bed brought her nothing but sadness these days, Y/N encountered what little peace she could find at the godswood and sometimes in the presence of Lady Ellyn, when Y/N found the strength for company.

The stars appeared in the sky that night and the moon was so bright it made the evening frost glisten like crystals. There had not been any snow in a week yet the cold was even greater than before. Lady Y/N was returning from the godswood, hardly needing a torch to light her way as the moon was bright enough. She was more restless then normally and her body felt as exhausted as if she had climbed up to the top of the Iceraven. There were weights bound to her legs and a pressure in her stomach. Y/N had venison for supper with buttered beats and a slice of blackberry tart. The sweet must have been too much because Y/N had to steady herself against a tree and catch her breath. Cold drops of sweat gathered on her chest and neck before she bent over with nausea. All that she had eaten that evening left her body. Y/N leaned against the tall pine and tried to find the strength to return to the castle. She slowly made her way up the cobbled path that lead back. She had to stop twice when she felt too weak to continue.

As Lady Y/N finally made it to the castle, she was awaited by Lady Ellyn.

“My lady,” gasped Lady Mormont as she hurried to her mistress’ side. She took her arm as Y/N leaned against her friend. “Somebody call the maester!” called Lady Mormont. The servant girl nearby dropped the linen from her hands and ran to fetch the maester whilst Lady Ellyn escorted Lady Y/N to her chambers, her skin as pale as the weirwood tree.

“I do not need the maester,” spoke Lady Y/N weakly when she laid in her bed. “I only need some rest.”

“My lady,” implored Lady Ellyn. “You have to allow Maester Bennard to see you.”

“Tomorrow,” whispered Lady Y/N. “If I do not feel better.”

“At least allow me to stay with you, my lady. You must not be alone like this,” said Lady Ellyn as she helped her lady out of her clothes. She brought Lady Y/N her nightgown and a cup of water which Lady Y/N could not be more grateful for. Yet even simply drinking some water made Y/N nauseous again. Lady Ellyn fetched the basin for washing and held back her lady’s hair.

“I beg of you, Y/N,” spoke Lady Ellyn gravely. “Allow Maester Bennard to see you. My lady, you could be gravely ill—”

“I am not ill,” said Y/N as her eyes let in hot tears. She had known it for some time now yet she did not want to admit it to herself. She realized it that afternoon in the gardens when she joked with Lady Ellyn about Maester Bennard.

Lady Y/N rose her gaze to her lady-in-waiting, who could read the answer from her mistress’ eyes.

“You are with child,” breathed Lady Ellyn. Y/N nodded as salty tears slid down her pale cheeks. Lady Ellyn put her arms around her mistress. Lady Y/N’s hands clutched to her friend’s back as she sobbed.

“Are … Are you not glad, my lady?” spoke Lady Ellyn carefully and not without compassion.

“W-What … What if he … What if he does not return?” Lady Y/N’s voice broke. The thought of her alone at Winterfell without him was unbearable, what more alone but with his child. The child who would never know their father nor could their mother tell them much about him as they were only wed for half a moon before he had to march north. The child that she would love with all of her heart but would remind her of the man she had lost.

“Lord Stark?” asked Lady Ellyn.

Lady Y/N nodded.

“He is one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Lady Ellyn with every confidence. “Everyone says so and not only because he is our Lord of Winterfell. He will come back to you safely, my lady.”

Ser Harwyn said so himself, Lady Y/N considered, although that is not what concerned her. She had seen Lord Stark train with the master-at-arms herself and many other seasoned warriors with whom he won every time. Yet Lady Y/N also remembered her husband’s body, his scarred chest. If the savage’s arrow had aimed but an inch lower and pierced Cregan’s lung …

There was a knock on the door with Maester Bennard awaiting outside. Lady Ellyn got up to speak to the maester whilst Lady Y/N managed to change into more comfortable garments.

Lady Ellyn asked Maester Bennard to return in the morning, explaining of her lady’s sickness – but never mentioning the pregnancy – and how she was feeling better already.

As she closed the door behind her, Lady Ellyn’s heart grew heavy. She had not known Lady Stark for very long but they had grown quite close in the recent weeks. Lady Ellyn wished to help, to comfort her Lady Y/N but she could not find the words that would do so.

“Lord Stark will come back,” assured Lady Ellyn once more. “And he will be delighted with the news,” she tried to cheer Y/N up. It worked because Y/N’s dark thoughts were replaced with bright, happy memories the child would bring to her and Cregan. She imagined telling him, mayhaps sending a raven or a messenger to deliver the news. Or she could wait for him to return and see for himself.

Lady Ellyn was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her mistress, gently caressing her hair. Although they had spent a lot of time together, she noticed Lady Stark was shutting herself away from others. She would take her meals alone more often and spend much of her time in the godswood. It must have been since she found out she was with child, Lady Ellyn considered. Whilst herself, Lady Daela, Jocelyn, and Harryett could somewhat bond over their duties as the ladies-in-waiting to the Lady of Winterfell, Y/N had no one to share her burden with, not truly.

“Allow me to stay with you tonight, my lady,” asked Lady Ellyn, her hand pausing on her mistress’ shoulder. Lady Y/N nodded, allowing someone in properly for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Lady Ellyn laid down in bed beside Y/N, who turned around to face her lady-in-waiting. Her eyes were closed as her tears slipped down into the pillow. They fell asleep together in silence, Lady Ellyn’s hand tightly wrapped around Y/N’s palm.

It was in the hour of the owl when Lady Stark woke in terrible pain. She had felt it coming for hours but half believed the pain was only in her nightmares. Lady Y/N whimpered in pain as she sat up in bed, her nightgown wet with blood. The candles were out but there was still the light from the hearth and the brightness of the moonlight through the windows. Y/N cried in horror, waking up Lady Ellyn, who sat up immediately. Her gaze followed Lady Y/N’s, her mouth parting in shock at the sight of the blood.

“Gods …” breathed Lady Ellyn as her mistress’ hands shook uncontrollably. “Guards!” called Lady Ellyn and got up. “GUARDS!”

Ser Martyn, Lady Stark’s sworn shield, burst into the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s private chambers.

“Get the maester! NOW!” shouted Lady Ellyn, surely waking half of the castle before she returned her attention to the Lady of Winterfell. “It’s alright, it’s alright, my lady,” whispered Lady Ellyn soothingly over and over again yet she could not mask the doubt in her quivering voice at the sight of all the blood.

“N-No, no, no … No, no …” cried Lady Y/N as she stared at her blood-stained fingers. “Wh … What is happening?” she whimpered. Lady Y/N clutched to her abdomen in the moment of another striking pain, more painful than anything she had been feeling throughout the night. Lady Y/N’s nightgown was soaked with sweat, her wet hair sticking to her chest.

Although an old man, Maester Bennard rushed to his liege lady immediately. His assistants were with him, all three of them freezing at the sight of all the blood. Maester Bennard knew then that Lady Stark had been with child but no was longer so.

After the maester and his assistants did the best they could to stop Lady Stark’s pain and bleeding, they let her rest. Although Lady Y/N was given milk of the poppy, it only helped with her physical pain, which was nothing compared to what Y/N felt in her heart. The dawn had already broken and yet Lady Stark could not stop weeping since she had awoken in the hour of the owl.

All four of her ladies-in-waiting wept with her yet none could truly understand. Even Maester Bennard’s heart went out to his lady although he was a man of science, who placed logic and stoicism above most everything else, particularly feelings.

Nevertheless, Maester Bennard allowed himself to approach the foot of the bed. “Even if you had let me come see you last night,” spoke the maester gently, “I would not have been able to make a difference, my lady.”

Lady Stark was blaming herself for losing the babe and her eyes would not go out of tears like deep and endless dark pools do not run out of water.

“It is not uncommon for women to lose their first child, especially this early in the pregnancy,” continued Maester Bennard. “And they go on to have perfectly healthy children, my lady. Do not despair …” The old man wished to comfort her but Lady Y/N could not be consoled. A part of her believed Maester Bennard’s words. If one of her ladies-in-waiting had been in her position, Y/N would be sure to tell them the same as the maester told her. Yet she could not help but feel that it had been her fault. That she had not loved it enough, that she had not wanted it enough and feared for it too much, and that that is the reason why it went away.

Lady Stark’s chest broke into a heart-breaking sob as she clutched to her chest. Maester Bennard decided to leave his lady in the company of Lady Ellyn instead. She wrapped her arms around her lady but Y/N’s pain could not be contained. That day Lady Ellyn shared Lady Stark’s bed once again for Y/N could not bear to be alone with her thoughts. She took some sleeping drought prepared by the maester and drowned her pain in the depths of sleep.

***

The days which followed were the hardest. Lady Y/N spend the first few days in bed, recovering from the loss of blood, but mostly from the loss she felt inside. Lady Stark commanded the maester not to send a raven north to the Lord of Winterfell. If someone was to tell Lord Stark of what had happened, it was going to be Y/N herself. She recalled their final night together at Winterfell and how he said she might be with child by the time he returns. A part of him spoke with hopefulness and Y/N’s heart broke even further at the thought of it.

The recovery was hard. Lady Y/N could not even think of food, much less make herself have an proper meal, which did not go unnoticed on her weight.

“The servants will prepare anything you wish, my lady,” said Lady Jocelyn as she helped her lady get dressed properly for the first time in days. “Lemon cakes, apple tarts, anything you wish. Lord Stark will not be pleased to find you like this when he returns,” begged Lady Jocelyn and did the lacing on Lady Y/N’s dress.

The mention of Lord Stark made Lady Y/N turn around to look at her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn Karstark was plain of face with brows which would always have one believe she was saddened. Her hair was like wheat, her frame slim yet hardy. She enjoyed wearing gowns in blue shades as she thought it would make her hair seem more golden than brown. Yet what Lady Y/N learned of Lady Jocelyn was that she was timorous in the face of authority and did not care much for Y/N personally, rather what the Lord of Winterfell and his maester will write to her family of her service at the castle.

Once when in her cups, Lady Jocelyn confessed she wished nothing more but to be married. She never wanted to come to Winterfell and doted on a boy from her family’s castle in The Grey Cliffs. She was Lord Karstark’s youngest niece through his only remaining brother for fever took the rest some years ago.

The boy Lady Jocelyn spoke of had only his name but no House he belonged to. He was the castle smith’s apprentice. Neither her father nor Lord Karstark would ever allow for them to marry but Lady Jocelyn refused to lose faith. She sometimes accompanied her lady to the godswood where she prayed that the Lord of Winterfell should send her home and she could marry the boy.

Lady Stark felt sorry for the girl. She was only four-and-ten, and although a girl flowered, Lady Jocelyn was not yet a woman grown. She had yet to learn that life was not as simple as a maiden’s dreams or Y/N would have been a stable master’s apprentice or a knight in some lord’s service, trained in swordplay and travelling on horseback throughout the Seven Kingdoms. She had always wanted to see the yellow sands of Dorne and the Red Keep of King’s Landing. She wanted to ride the Rose Road through The Reach and have wine in some meadow outside Highgarden. And if she would have found the courage, Y/N would have even boarded a ship to Essos.

“Go and break your fast with the ladies, Lady Jocelyn,” said Lady Stark as she fixed her earrings herself. She wore a gown of deep juniper green with a slim headpiece of yellow gold and a matching belt.

“And have the servants prepare stewed beef with wine and cloves for nuncheon,” Lady Y/N instructed her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn curtsied and left Y/N’s private chambers.

Alone at last, Lady Y/N sat down at the table and helped herself to some cheese to break her fast. She was not truly hungry. She had not been able to gain appetite in days. Nevertheless, as the sweet and savoury taste of bread and cheese mingled in her mouth, Y/N’s body recognized the need she had been avoiding. Y/N had some wine with her food when a knock came on the door. Ser Martyn entered and bowed, announcing that Maester Bennard wished to see his lady. Y/N had half a mind to ask him to meet her later when the council was to take place.

“He speaks of a raven from the north, my lady,” said Ser Martyn. Lady Y/N’s heart stopped in her chest as she looked up at her sworn shield.

“Send him in,” urged Lady Y/N and got up immediately.

Maester Bennard entered her private chambers, a scroll of parchment in his wrinkled hand.

“My lady,” the maester bowed. “A raven flew in from the north bearing Lord Stark’s seal.” He handed the scroll to Lady Stark. She took the letter eagerly, but once in her hands, the parchment paper seemed to her as heavy as an sword of steel. Even if the news were grave, Y/N could not wait any longer. She broke the direwolf in the grey wax and rolled out the parchment. Her heart beat savagely in her chest as heat crawled all over her body.

Y/N left out a shivery breath.

“What is it, my lady? What word comes from the north?” asked Maester Bennard with haste.

“They are well,” breathed Lady Stark as her eyes welled with tears. The scroll in her hand, she leaned against the table, her chest raising heavily as her tears soaked the walnut wood of the furniture. Lady Stark took a deep breath as she collected herself and brushed the tears from her face. She looked at the maester who was visibly relieved as well.

Lady Stark offered him the scroll to read.

“They had already pushed the wildlings north of The Gift. It is only a matter of time before the host is defeated and whoever is left flees back across the Wall,” told Lady Stark as she sat back at the table with great relief whilst Maester Bennard read the news for himself. He nodded, a hint of a smile hiding in his usually unemotional features. He was neither a tall nor a strong man but the wisdom of books and age made his presence as prominent as any.

“Will you sit, maester?” asked Lady Y/N and poured the man who brought such joyous news from a flagon of sweet Dornish red.

“If it pleases my lady,” said Maester Bennard. Although they have always been courteous to each other and Maester Bennard was an indispensable source of wisdom with a deep personal loyalty to House Stark, Lady Y/N never found a moment to form a personal bond with Maester Bennard unlike with Ser Harwyn, with whom it happened almost naturally.

“The wildlings are just that, my lady, wild and untamed,” commented Maester Bennard on the letter. “Their kind may fight in numbers but not in form and organization, nor is their steel any match for ours.” He never doubted the strength of Winterfell or its lord, yet strange things may happen when an army goes on a march – disease and weather being just two of them.

Lady Y/N saw a wildling once. He was caught in her father’s mountains stealing sheep from the shepherds. The men brought him to Whytefort to her lord father. The man wore sheepskin and leather and seemed to Y/N no different then any man she had met other than in his choice of garments and lack of courtesy. Lord Jonos made his men cut off the wildling’s hands at the wrists before he was hanged and made an example to warn both the smallfolk as well as any other wildlings that thought of sealing in his lands.

“If my lady would consider writing back to Lord Stark,” suggested Maester Bennard carefully.

“I will write to him,” Lady Y/N nodded.

“I am sure my lord would wish to know of my lady’s recent condition,” agreed Maester Bennard. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to him, an unusual coldness lying in her eyes.

“No,” said Lady Stark. “I would not worry him. He needs a clear mind,” she concluded although that was only half of the truth. The other half was that Y/N did not know how she would tell Cregan what had happened. She did not know how he would react and if he too would blame her as she blamed herself.

Maester Bennard wished to speak, to persuade her, but Lady Y/N got up.

“I would have the council gather today, Maester Bennard. It has been too long since I sat in it,” said Lady Stark. Near a week had passed since she fell ill. The North had been in the capable hands of Winterfell’s councillors in the meantime, but Y/N would not allow herself to disappoint the Lord of Winterfell in failing to rule the North in his absence as well. She mustered all of the strength she had left.

“As my lady commands,” said Maester Bennard and left her chambers.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers running through the soft furs laid on her husband’s side. He will come back, thought Y/N. The smile slowly faded off her lips at the thought of it. She was grateful to hear that the warriors were successful, that Cregan was alive and well. She could cry out of happiness. But Y/N could not imagine telling him, not even at the insistence of the maester.

***

Yet another turn of the moon passed before the raven came with news of Lord Stark’s return to Winterfell. Some of the warriors remained south of the Wall to make sure the wildlings were gone, one of those hosts led by Daeron Whytefort himself whilst Lord Jonos returned to Whytefort with the greater part of his army.

Lord Stark’s host was to return to Winterfell half the moon’s turn after the raven of the same news arrived. The castle was in upheaval with the preparations for its lord’s return. There would be a feast held in the honour of the victorious host of warriors. The lords and commanders were to dine in the Great Hall whilst a feast for the soldiers and warriors of Winterfell was to be held in the winter town.

Lady Stark ordered the servants to prepare sweet beef, pork-and-onion pies, roast venison and baked mallards for the feast in the Great Hall.

Lady Y/N paced around the watchtower in her skirts of deep blue with embroidery of flowers in the string-of-gold on her long bell sleeves and ornate bodice. She wore her tear pearls with yellow gold and a cloak of deep blue and fox fur for warmth. Y/N watched the horizon every day, waiting for an army of men to appear in her sight. It had been so for days until a rider came in one of the evenings, announcing the return of Lord Stark’s host on the morrow.

“My lady,” said one of the soldiers who was with her atop of the watchtower. Lady Stark’s gaze followed that of the young man where it found riders on the horizon. Y/N’s heart began to beat harshly against her ribcage, threatening to tear her chest apart and escape. She licked her dry lips when she saw the banners of House Stark flying in the cold, northern winds.

It was midday when the host of warriors reached the castle gates. Lady Stark was waiting in the courtyard with Maester Bennard, Ser Harwyn and Ser Martyn, and countless others. Even the smallfolk who served in the castle gathered in the courtyard to see their lord’s return, at least those who were not busy preparing the feast.

The sound of hooves approaching echoed through the castle walls. Lady Y/N’s arms prickled with goose bumps. She held her breath as the riders arrived into the courtyard, Y/N’s gaze immediately finding that of the Lord of Winterfell. Lady Y/N’s chest quivered. Cregan’s hair was longer and his cheeks covered in yesterday’s stubble. Other than that, Y/N felt like nothing had changed, and yet everything. For a moment, it seemed to her that she was looking at a stranger, someone from a dream she remembered but did not know.

The Lord of Winterfell and his men dismounted as the stableboys and squires took care of their coursers. Lord Stark made his way to his wife with Maester Bennard and Ser Martyn by her side.

“My lady,” spoke Lord Stark, a warm smile hiding in the somber line of his lips. He took Lady Y/N’s hand into his, kissing the top of her knuckles and held it a moment. The touch of his hand felt so familiar and yet so strange to Lady Y/N.

“Husband,” breathed Lady Y/N quietly. Their gazes entwined as neither could manage to fill the silence with words and yet their eyes spoke a thousand phrases.

Y/N remembered to breathe and curtsied gracefully, “Welcome.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said the Lord of Winterfell and watched her as if he had just seen her for the first time. His grey eyes were neither cold nor warm, neither hiding nor revealing; at least not to her.

The Lord of Winterfell greeted the rest of his court whilst the commanders expressed their courtesies to the Lady of Winterfell. Y/N could hardly focus on them as her gaze kept escaping to her husband’s broad back hidden beneath a heavy cloak of wolf fur. Y/N’s eyes watered yet she was unsure whether it was from the icy wind or her husband returning. She could feel Maester Bennard’s gaze on her, however, hiding only one thought.

***

“I would have a bath, scalding hot,” Lord Stark instructed the servants as himself and the Lady of Winterfell reached their private chambers. The servants disappeared to fetch the water and the tub as Lord Cregan took off his heavy coat with a suppressed groan.

“Are you well?” asked Lady Y/N, not anticipating the strange awkwardness that lingered in the air after the comfort she had grown to feel in their time together but that was four moons ago.

Lord Stark smiled to himself whilst he hung his coat over one of the chairs. He had been longing to hear his wife’s voice in the long, lonely days that he had been away.

“I am well,” said Lord Stark as he took Lady Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her to him. “Only tired from the ride,” he spoke more quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. Lady Y/N wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and came closer, resting her cheek against Lord Stark’s chest. He smelled of horses, smoke, and pinewood but she did not mind, not in that moment. Cregan held his wife, realizing how much he had missed her. There was nothing but blood and slaughter and battle everywhere around him, frustrated advisors and fellow commanders, and warriors impatient in the cold northern climate. Lord Stark’s mind often drifted to his lady wife, to Y/N. He longed for the peace of holding her in his arms, for the touch of her soft skin beneath his sword-calloused hands. He missed her big, pensive eyes and her warm, gentle voice.

“Have you been well, my lady?” asked Lord Cregan in turn. Y/N paused. The moment was perfect to tell him yet she could not do it.

“Yes,” spoke Lady Y/N quietly and nodded. In truth, she had been anything but. Ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence was one thing, yet trusting her body and finding leave to grieve at the same time was a different matter entirely. When Lady Y/N was with her moonblood for the first time since she lost her babe, she wept. She wept from happiness of things going back to normal and she wept from sadness as the blood only reminded her of what she had lost.

The servants returned and prepared a bath for their lord. Lady Y/N stood by the window as she noticed the snow had begun to fall almost as if it knew the Lord of Winterfell had returned to his castle. The servants retired once they readied the bath, leaving their lord and lady alone once again.

Cregan began unclasping his thick, leather jerkin lined with warm wool.

“I can leave you if you wish,” offered Lady Y/N gently as Lord Stark pulled off his boots. He turned to her with a frown.

“I have been gone from you for neigh four turns of the moon, wife,” said Lord Stark. “I do not wish to be parted from you a moment longer.”

A blush crept to Lady Y/N’s face as her spoke those words, an even greater fever flushing though her cheeks when Lord Stark took off his tunic and breeches and stepped into the bath. The feeling lasted for but a moment, however, because Y/N’s gaze fell to Cregan’s built chest, which was bandaged beneath his armpits and across his left shoulder.

Lady Y/N hurried to him and knelt by the bathtub.

“What happened? You said you are well,” asked Y/N quickly, her eyes wide and her brows in a frown. She wished to reach out and touch the bandage yet she did not dare.

“I am,” assured Lord Stark, the hint of a smile returning to his lips. His wife’s concern for him warmed Cregan’s heart.

“But—” Lady Y/N shook her head, looking at the red-brown stain of a wound trying to disguise itself in the pale bandages.

“You have my word, my lady,” said Lord Stark as he reached his hand to Lady Y/N’s cheek. His thumb brushed against her soft skin. He leaned in slowly as Y/N’s hand reached just beneath his jaw and their lips met in a kiss not of lust and desire but of profound longing. Y/N wondered how she could find the strength to hold back and not kiss her husband the moment he climbed off his horse. An overwhelming set of emotions washed over Lady Y/N as she rested her hand on her husband’s cheek, his lips leaving ever so familiar kisses on her own. It has been too long.

Lady Y/N pulled away hesitantly and reached for air. Her husband’s eyes lingered on her lips before they shifted to her eyes, his gaze warm and full of longing.

“I should call Maester Bennard to attend to your wound. Gods only know what sort of pretender treated it on the battlefield,” said Lady Y/N, whose voice was grave with worry and even anger at the thought of some charlatan posing for a maester treating her husband’s injury.

“Later,” agreed Lord Stark to reassure his beautiful wife. “I would have this bath first.”

Lady Y/N nodded, still holding her husband’s hand that held her cheek only moments ago. It was wet from the water yet still Lady Y/N held it tightly, drawing shapes into his palm with her thumb. Her eyebrows were in a deep, troubled frown, her eyes like big pools of worry and sadness.

“What is it?” asked Lord Stark, not unkindly, yet his own voice was grave with worry and suspicion. Something was amiss, something must have happened whilst he was away for Maester Bennard’s eyes were also hiding something when he awaited Lord Stark in the courtyard. He saw the meaningful look the maester gave to his lady wife yet the meaning was still unknown to the Lord of Winterfell.

Lord Cregan’s brows hung formidably as he studied his wife.

“Hm?” Lady Y/N looked up. She felt as if she had been caught red-handed yet Cregan could not have heard her thoughts. “Nothing,” lied Y/N and pressed a soft kiss atop of her husband’s hand before she let it go. “I was only … I am glad you have returned.” Lady Y/N offered a small smile but she could not mask how troubled her mind was to Cregan. He had learned to recognize in their short time together when something was amiss with his wife even when no one else would notice.

“I should prepare for the feast,” Lady Y/N changed the topic and got up. Lord Stark did not question her any further yet his grey eyes lingered on Lady Y/N as she walked to the dressing area.

Lady Y/N had a gown made especially for the feast in the white and green of the field of House Stark’s banner and string-of-silver for its grey direwolf. The base of the dress was white with the hems of the sleeves, collar, and the bodice embroidered with dark green jewels, Myrish lace, and string-of-silver. Lady Y/N wore her necklace of emeralds and pearls and matching earrings gifted to her by her mother and had her handmaidens braid her hair for the occasion.

When Lady Y/N emerged from the dressing area, Lord Stark was already in his dark boots and breeches yet held off the tunic and jerkin until the maester would change his bandages. As the servants and the handmaidens left, Lord Stark’s grey eyes fell upon his wife wearing the finest gown in the colours of his House. His mouth parted softly.

“I had it made for this occasion,” said Lady Y/N when her husband would not speak. She felt a mixture of self-consciousness under Lord Stark’s gaze as well as some satisfaction at his reaction.

“I hope it pleases you,” said Lady Y/N as she locked her hands, offering a small smile.

“Pleases me?” breathed Lord Stark and got up eagerly. Yet before he could even take two steps towards his wife, the door of the chambers opened, announcing the arrival of the maester.

Maester Bennard brought his assistant, who carried a heavy yet ornate wooden box of herbs, potions, and medical supplies. Lord Stark’s gaze lingered on his beautiful wife a moment longer before he sat back down and allowed the maester to change his bandages. Lady Y/N stood by, watching it all from a distance. When Maester Bennard revealed a gash in Lord Stark’s chest just above his heart, Lady Y/N’s brows returned to a concerned frown. Whatever blood there was was old, dry and crusted on the bandage whilst the wound seemed to be healing. It was a cut caused by a wildling’s short axe who managed to steal into the Lord of Winterfell’s tent one night. The savage came at him with a dagger but did not know Lord Stark was still awake. Cregan knocked the man on the floor and took his dagger but the wildling recovered as they rolled on the floor. When the man got up, he came at Lord Stark with his short axe but managed only a weak blow for the Lord of Winterfell broke his arm when he had knocked him on the floor. Cregan got to the wildling’s own dagger and stabbed him in his side and then in his heart.

As Lord Stark told the tale of his new scar, he did not look at his wife. Cregan could feel her worried gaze on him with every word he spoke and did not want to give her any more cause for concern. Lady Y/N, however, had to hold her breath to keep the tears from her eyes as she listened, refusing to show her feelings, least of all in front of Maester Bennard. They have been working relentlessly since Lady Y/N recovered from that night, never speaking of it once since Lord Stark’s letter from The Gift arrived – other than checking on her health once in a while to ensure the lady’s recovery. Lady Y/N did not want to give Maester Bennard any more cause to see her as weak or incapable of ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence. She made all the efforts to keep the council happy and Winterfell functioning as it should.

“Considering everything, the wound is healing nicely, my lord,” concluded Maester Bennard after he changed the bandage and stored away his supplies.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lord Stark as he got up and pulled on his tunic and jerkin. His cheeks were shaven clean and one of the servants must have shortened his dark hair some. For a moment, it seemed as if the march north had never happened, thought Lady Y/N, although in truth she felt as if four years and not four moons had passed since Lord Stark marched.

“Will you join us at the feast, Maester Bennard?” asked Lord Stark.

“I will. Thank you, my lord,” smiled Maester Bennard and bowed courteously. “And if I may, my lady, you look exquisite,” he added, turning to his lady and bowed as well.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lady Stark, slightly taken aback by Maester Bennard’s comment.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell joined the commanders in the Great Hall where the feast was held. The music was already playing merrily as the lords drank on ale, waiting for their liege lord to begin feasting on delicious foods as well. Once the presence of Lord and Lady Stark was noted with everyone rising in respect before they sat down together, the servants began to bring dishes of beef and venison, meat pies, buttered vegetables, and even baked mallards. When all of the food was brought into the Great Hall, the Lord of Winterfell rose with a cup of ale in his hand.

“My lords,” addressed Lord Stark firmly, his voice booming and as solemn as ever yet unmistakably pleased. “Another march north is behind us and once again we have defeated the wildlings and sent them beyond the Wall where they belong!” he spoke with a heavy northern accent as the Great Hall roared with cheers and fists and cups slamming against the heavy oaken tables. “We protected our homes and we protected our people; our wives and our children—” the Lord of Winterfell continued but Lady Y/N’s heart sank to her stomach at the sound of his words. Her eyes rose to Maester Bennard, who was holding onto his cup of warm honeyed wine and watching his lord address his noble commanders. Still, Y/N wondered whether the maester wrote to her husband in secret, whether he told him of what had happened without her leave.

“This feast is for you! The finest warriors in all of the Seven Kingdoms and PROUD NORTHERNERS!” Lord Stark’s voice thundered through the hall as he rose his cup. The men cheered even louder and got up as well as did Lady Y/N, all emptying their cups to Winterfell’s victory over the savages.

The men dug into the delicious food prepared for them, having lived off stew and porridge for too many days on end. It was difficult enough to cook anything in a camp, much less something that did not come from a big pot for a great many people.

The Lady of Winterfell helped herself to some sweet beef and some buttered potatoes, having no more than a cup of wine all evening as she feared it might make her say something she would regret. For a moment, Lady Y/N considered it was all in her head – Maester Bennard’s burning gaze that she seemed to feel on her at all times. Nevertheless, when she rose her eyes to the maester, he was already looking at her. He averted his gaze when the Lady of Winterfell caught it. A part of her was furious with the old man and yet a part of her understood. He would not have his lord remain in the dark about anything, not even his wife.

Lady Y/N lost her appetite even before the desserts came. She made the kitchens prepare blueberry tarts and rice pudding with spices that warmed up even the coldest hands.

The Lord of Winterfell did not care for sweets yet he nevertheless had a slice of the blueberry tart. The tension at the high table could be cut with a knife, the mood no longer reflected only in Lady Y/N and Maester Bennard, as well as Lady Ellyn who sat by her lady’s side, but also in Lord Stark himself. The uneasy looks, the silence on both sides, where there was usually at least talk of the weather, made Lord Stark’s thoughts drift into dark and unsettling places. A seed of anger and frustration grew inside of him and it did not go unnoticed in a man who was usually as calm and stoic as a rock. He was tired and his patience was thinning.

“Would you tell me what is it that you are hiding from me?” suggested Lord Stark to his wife as he washed down the slice of tart with a cup of ale. The tone of his voice was harsher than he intended but once the words lingered between himself and Lady Y/N there was no taking them back and his wife’s silence only frustrated him more.

Lady Y/N stared into her husband’s eyes as if she were searching for something, something she hoped to recognize from many moons ago. She squeezed the fingers of one of her hands inside the other until it hurt. Lady Y/N licked her dry lips as she realized she would no longer be able to keep her secret to herself. If it would not be she who tells Lord Stark, the maester surely will.

“Will you … Will you walk with me?” asked Lady Y/N as she avoided her husband’s gaze.

Cregan studied his wife as his brows rested in a formidable frown but agreed nevertheless. “I will.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell got up from the high table and walked the grounds of their castle, its walls filled with the sound of merriment of its warriors. They walked the path to the godswood, the crowns of the pine trees blocking the snow some. Lady Y/N slowed her pace once they were finally alone and away from even the smallfolk attending the castle.

“Do you …” began Lady Y/N, not sure where to start. “Do you remember what you said to me the night before you left Winterfell?” she asked, her voice small and shiver-like. Her breath came out in small, white clouds.

Lord Stark looked at his wife as they walked. His face was frowning in such a formidable way that made Lady Y/N’s stomach twist into painful knots. She remembered her father and his anger.

“You asked me to return safely and I said I would,” said Lord Stark, his voice clear and sombre. Lady Y/N nodded but he could see that that was not what she meant. They walked down the path of cobblestones towards the godswood. It was narrow enough for only one person to walk it at a time. Lady Y/N went first, Lord Stark following on her trail. Y/N could almost feel his warm breath on the back of her head from his closeness. Goose pimples rose on her arms and legs. She held up her skirts as she passed some stairs until they reached the godswood, the heart tree, and the black pond.

“I told you that I loved you,” tried the Lord of Winterfell as they stood beneath the great, haughty weirwood tree. Lord Stark’s voice turned quieter yet remained earnest.

Lady Y/N’s gaze rose to her husband’s grey eyes as her entire body froze. Her heart broke into a million small pieces like a figurine made of glass shattering on the floor. Her eyes watered with tears although she had been doing everything in her power to keep herself from crying. She turned her head away and bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering yet it was all in vain. Hot, salty tears escaped her eyes and stung her cheeks as she closed her eyes. She could not make the words pass her mouth.

Cregan watched his wife, his own heart aching at the sight of her tears. A thousand and one thought had passed his mind on their way to the godswood. If something had gone wrong with the ruling of Winterfell in his absence, if there had been a falling out with one of the Houses, Maester Bennard would be sure to write of it to him whilst he was away. Yet another, more pressing thought weighed heavy on Lord Stark’s mind, a thought that made him burn with anger, with fury and jealousy unlike he had ever known before. If his wife had been unfaithful … He would not allow himself to believe that thought. He did not know what he would do if it proved to be true. Yet when he saw Y/N’s tears when he mentioned the time he told her of his love for her, Cregan had almost believed it – believed there was another man. But as his wife turned away, her body shivering with tears and a sadness so great that it threatened to break her, Cregan knew it could not be the love of a man that made her weep.

Lady Y/N’s small, delicate hand rested on her stomach as she looked down, her cheeks stung with tears.

“You might be great with child by then,” the Lord of Winterfell remembered his words from the night they last lied together. Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach and he could not swallow the heaviness that formed in his throat. Furious with himself for his foolish thoughts and his harsh behaviour, Lord Stark’s mind overpowered with concern for his wife. He understood now too why the maester was involved.

Although Cregan was saddened about the babe, the feeling could not be compared to the sight of Y/N, his wife, in such a state of sorrow.

Lady Y/N’s chest allowed a small sob to escape, her hand closing over her mouth.

“Y/N …” spoke Lord Stark, his voice deep and hoarse as he reached for his wife. Y/N took a step back instinctively, her shoulders tensing around her neck as if she believed he might strike her.

“I am so sorry,” whispered Y/N as she shook her head, tears stinging her cheeks.

“If you will ever … ever be able to f-forgive me,” Lady Y/N’s voice broke as she made to kneel.

“Y/N,” Lord Stark spoke again, this time even more gently as he took her shoulders. The frown on his face was no longer one of anger and frustration but one softened with sadness and worry. Y/N’s eyes were red, her lashes clumped with tears.

Cregan pulled her into his arms. Lady Y/N resisted at first but Cregan held her tightly. At last Y/N’s chest broke into a painful cry, one with sobbing so sorrowful it made even the Gods cry. The face of the heart tree was lined with red streaks as the Lord of Winterfell held his wife.

“I am so sorry … I am so sorry,” spoke Lady Y/N over and over again against her husband’s chest. Her fingers were buried in his coat as Lord Stark held her head close.

“It is not your fault, Y/N,” assured Lord Stark with all of the authority in him but it made no difference to Lady Y/N. “You are not to blame.”

“I was so afraid, Cregan,” cried Y/N. “I was so afraid you would not come back … And it … It made it go away …”

“That is not true, my love,” Lord Stark spoke more gently against Y/N’s hair. “It is not your fault.” Cregan kissed the top of his wife’s head and rested his chin there as he held her trembling frame close to his.

“Maester Bennard said there was nothing he could have done,” whispered Lady Y/N tearfully as her crying soothed down some. “There … T-There was just s-so much blood.” Lady Y/N's chin quivered as she remembered that night. “I was so scared …” she whispered so quietly she thought her husband would not be able to hear but he did.

“It is not your fault, my lady ... I am here now, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly against his wife’s hair as he caressed her head.

“I thought … I thought you would be so angry with me,” spoke Y/N in the same voice.

“Why would you think so?” frowned Lord Stark, his body tensing.

“I only thought … I thought you wished for it …”

“I did,” spoke Lord Stark gently and cupped his wife’s cheeks and made her look him in the eye. “But not as much as I wish for your happiness and health,” he said earnestly. Y/N closed her eyes. She could not look into her husband’s eyes no matter how much he wanted her to.

“We will have dozens of children if that is what you wish,” said Cregan but he could not stop his wife’s tears.

“Two dozen,” tried Cregan again. Lady Y/N laughed a small laugh through her tears and nodded. Cregan wiped away the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs before he kissed her forehead. Their lips met as snow began to fall. Lord Stark leaned his forehead against his wife’s, his eyes closed whilst he took in the scent of her hair. He longed for her; not only for her body but for her company.

“Come, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly, his hand caressing his wife’s cheek before they returned to the castle.

***

Neither the Lord or the Lady of Winterfell got up at the break of dawn that morning. Cregan laid on his side with his wife’s arm hung over his waist as she pressed against his warm back. Even in her sleep, Lady Y/N could not make herself part from the safety of her husband’s touch now that he had returned. As Lord Stark began to wake in the late hours of the morning, he took his wife’s hand absently and pulled it to his chest where it rested in his. Cregan could hear her sigh, her nose nuzzling against his broad back and making him smile. He turned around carefully.

“No …” murmured Lady Y/N as her source of warmth shifted, her eyes still shut tight.

Lord Stark smiled to himself and guided his wife’s small hand over his side once again. He pulled her closer and watched her catch the last minutes of sleep before the morning would turn into day. He studied the colour of her beautiful hair and the line of her jaw and her nose, the shape of her shoulder, which disappeared from his sight beneath the covers. Lord Stark guided his hand from his wife’s ribs down to the curve of her waist, which made his body warm with desire. The feeling did not linger long, however, as Lord Stark’s mind drifted to his time away on the march and the loss not only he but especially his wife suffered. Cregan reminded himself to speak to Maester Bennard about Lady Stark’s health and what happened. He caressed his wife’s head and shifted his body lower so that he could kiss her forehead. Cregan left soft kisses on Lady Y/N’s cheek until she smiled through her sleep and slowly opened her eyes.

“What time is it?” mumbled Y/N just before Cregan softly kissed her.

“Late,” said Lord Stark yet did not seem to care. He had just returned from a march – he was entitled to a good night’s sleep for once.

“I can get dressed,” said Lady Y/N but snuggled closer to her husband’s body. The Lord of Winterfell smiled yet could not hide the worry that settled in him. His body was tense and his hands secured its grip protectively around his wife’s body.

Lady Y/N rose her head and looked at her husband. “Is something the matter?” she asked softly. After they returned to the castle last night, they only went to sleep. They had not been together since Cregan returned although in truth it has only been a day’s turn.

“I’m sorry I was not here for you when it happened,” said Cregan, caressing his wife’s cheek. All of the sudden Y/N was wide awake. She hoped they had closed this matter last night in the godswood.

“Why … Why are you sorry if I … If I was the one …” Y/N tried to find the right words without triggering any tears but that was harder than she thought.

“You had to go through such a terrible thing alone,” said Lord Stark solemnly. “If I were here—” But Y/N could not hear it, she would not hear it, and so she placed her palm over her husband’s mouth.

“Please,” pleaded Lady Y/N. “Don’t make me talk about it any further … I just want to forget.”

Cregan nodded and took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Forgive me.” But Y/N only shook her head. She leaned in and softly kissed her husband. His large hand cupped her cheek instinctively as he brought her closer.

“You cannot imagine how I longed for you all this time, my lady,” said Cregan against Lady Y/N’s lips in a deep, husky voice of the morning. He shifted and leaned against his arm so that his wife laid beneath him. She wrapped her soft legs around his waist. Y/N realized how she too longed for him and his touch and how it was even possible they had not been together yesterday already. She pulled Cregan closer, her hands wrapped around his neck as she tugged gently on his hair. A soft moan escaped Y/N’s mouth when Cregan’s hardness brushed against the inside of her thighs. She gathered the hem of his shirt, yearning to see his body. Cregan pulled off his loose tunic, revealing his strong, built chest but also his injury that sobered Y/N some.

“Are you in pain?” asked Lady Y/N quickly. “Should we—”

“I am only in pain from not having you,” Cregan cut her off and pulled off his nightbreeches before entering his wife. The pleasure he felt was so great that when Lord Stark steadied himself against the headboard, the wood cracked beneath the grip of his fingers. Cregan could not be bothered as he savoured the delight of his wife’s body. He tried to go slow and gentle but his desire was too strong. Instead, he slid an arm behind Y/N’s waist and turned them around without leaving her. Cregan laid on his back and let his wife take control or he would lose it.

Y/N pulled her hair to one side of her neck as she leaned down to Cregan’s lips and kissed him passionately. She almost leaned her arms against his chest before she saw the bandage that she had forgotten about in her pleasure. Y/N steadied herself against the bed instead whilst Cregan’s hands wrapped around her hips as she moved steadily against his waist. Her heart beat hard against her chest when she began nearing her climax. She both wanted to stop and have Cregan take over but at the same time Y/N would do anything for the feeling never to end.

“Fuck,” muttered Cregan when he saw how close Y/N was. He sat up, drunk on desire, and helped her by moving his hips as well. His hands reached for her soft breasts that he squeezed and kissed, his fingers brushing against her nipples that made Y/N whine in pleasure.

Y/N was almost there. Her thighs quivered and her nails dug into Cregan’s back. She leaned against his body when a series of quiet whimpers escaped her mouth and her entire body trembled with pleasure. Her shivering breath disappeared in her husband’s loud groan with his arms locked around her waist tightly. They were breathing heavily in each other’s arms, incredulous how they could bear so long without each other. Cregan was still inside of her as they already laid back on the bed, him unable to stop kissing Y/N. His strong arms were wrapped around her bare shoulders, holding her to him as if he feared she might disappear if he let go.

“Gods, I love you,” murmured Cregan against his wife’s lips. Y/N pulled away some, looking up in to her husband’s grey eyes, the warmest she had ever seen them.

“And I you,” spoke Y/N softly.

***

After breaking their fast, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell attended the council together. Lady Y/N wore a grey dress with embroidery of string-of-silver in the pattern of tree branches with small red leaves representing the heart tree. She wore her pearls and the ruby necklace of her wedding day.

Lady Stark sat beside her husband at the long table whilst the councillors discussed the matters of the past few moons. Lady Y/N spoke herself at times, adding and taking from some of the words of the lords. Some would make things seem better or worse than they were to please the Lord of Winterfell and look good in his eyes. Y/N did not say anything then but after the council, in the private audience only between herself, Cregan, and Maester Bennard, the three could discuss plainly what was said and where the real truths lied.

“Thank you, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark as they came to the end of both daily matters as well as things concerning his recent absence. “I will see you in the evening should there be more ravens and matters to attend to.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. His small eyes glanced between the Lady of Winterfell and Lord Stark. “Would you allow me a private audience, my lord?” asked the maester carefully. He looked down in respect and Lady Y/N did not think twice of it. She told Cregan everything and if the maester wanted to check on that, she would let him. If it was about another matter, Y/N could not be happier to be relieved of her duties for once.

Lady Y/N looked at her husband but Cregan was already waiting to hear her wishes. Y/N smiled reassuringly and curtsied.

“I will take Blackspur for a ride. It has been too long,” said Lady Y/N and left the maester and her husband to speak privately.

Lord Stark leaned in his chair and watched his loyal advisor take a seat before him. He had been meaning to speak to Maester Bennard himself ever since he learned of what had happened in his absence.

“My lord,” began Maester Bennard hesitantly, which was rather untypical of the maester. He usually spoke with conviction and certainty.

“If you mean to speak of my wife’s passing condition in my absence, I would have you know she had already spoken to me about it, maester,” said Lord Stark neither kindly nor upset. The maester seemed relieved at the news and nodded.

“It gladdens me, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. “Lady Stark commanded she should be the one to tell you.”

“I see,” said the Lord of Winterfell. “And if she had not spoken to me prior to this audience?”

Maester Bennard paused as he sensed tension in his lord’s voice. “I was of a mind that a raven should be sent to you when my lady fell ill,” said the maester. “These things rarely happen without complications. If nothing else, the loss of blood can be significant.”

The maester’s words made Cregan sick to his stomach. He had seen men’s limbs torn from their bodies, their heads hacked in half and cut off; he himself cut off many a man’s head be it as punishment or in battle, but the thought of his wife in a puddle of blood made Lord Stark’s stomach twist.

“But my lady recovered well,” said Maester Bennard encouragingly. “I believe she found solace in work although she is spending less and less time with her ladies-in-waiting, even with Lady Mormont, who was a comfort to Lady Stark in her darkest hours.”

The Lord of Winterfell listened.

“Whilst losing a babe, especially if it is the first, is nothing unusual and the body oft heals relatively quickly,” said the maester, “The healing of the heart, especially a woman’s heart, is a different matter.”

Cregan nodded to himself. “Thank you, maester,” said the Lord of Winterfell, understanding now.

“My lord,” bowed Maester Bennard and left Cregan be. Lord Stark looked through the window on his right. The sun glistening in last night’s snow blinded his eyes. He wished he knew what to do.

***

Buried in his work, the Lord of Winterfell lost the sense of time. One of his personal servants came to call him to a late nuncheon, making Lord Stark realize how long he had been chained to the desk.

"I will join the Lady Stark in a moment," said Cregan and pressed his seal into hot, grey wax.

"My lady has yet not returned from her ride, my lord," said the servant cautiously.

"What do you mean she has not returned yet?" said the Lord of Winterfell, his stern, grey eyes rising to the servant's. The young man looked down.

Lord Stark rose from his desk and stormed to the master-of-stables who informed him that Lady Stark had left only with Ser Martyn as her escort.

“How could this happen?” Lord Stark rose his voice mindlessly at his servants. They all bowed their heads and looked at the ground, even Ser Tybald. “She is the Lady of Winterfell! She should have an escort of at least a dozen knights!” thundered Cregan with anger boiling within him. His fists were squeezed tight as he stormed outside and called for his men to gather. The hour grew darker by the moment with a snow blizzard on the horizon. A party of two dozen men was gathered, most of them horsed save for the master-of-kennels, Ser Jon, and his apprentices that held the hounds on their chains.

The cruel northern winds whistled mercilessly as Lord Stark mounted his courser Nightkeeper. The snowflakes were dancing in the air, not a single one reaching the ground in the wild wind seeming more like ash than snow.

The party did not even make outside of winter town before they ran into the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield, Ser Martyn. He looked as pale as the weirwood tree in the face of his lord’s anger yet his sword was bloodied and his armor soiled red.

The Lord of Winterfell dismounted immediately as did Lady Y/N and Ser Martyn. Cregan stormed to his lady wife, grasping her shoulders before he pulled her into an ardent kiss of relief never minding his men watching. Lady Y/N was knocked out of wind and would have stumbled backwards if Lord Stark had not held her arms so securely.

“Where were you?” demanded Lord Stark from his lady wife. He still held her tightly by the shoulders, his brows in a terrible frown. Lady Y/N’s cheeks were flushed red where the cold wind lashed at them but not only that. The redness masked the small cuts that neither bled nor remained insignificant. Her neck, where visible, was more of the same and her head of long hair loose from its braid and windblown.

“And you!” snapped Cregan before Lady Y/N could manage a word and grabbed Ser Martyn’s breast plate. “How could you leave without an escort?” Lord Stark roared at one of his best men, but in that moment, Cregan could just as well kill him with his bare hands for endangering his wife. Lord Stark could not tell what angered him more: the thought of his wife alone with another man or that man, her sword shield, allowing Cregan’s wife to leave the grounds of Winterfell without a proper escort to protect her.

“Please, everything is alright now,” urged Lady Y/N as she came up to her husband, “A host of bandits attacked us ... ” She touched Lord Stark’s arm but he winced livid with fury, his cold, grey glare snapping to his wife.

“I should think,” snapped Lord Stark. Lady Y/N took a step back and lowered her gaze. Cregan was breathing heavily, still holding onto Ser Martyn’s breast plate although his eyes were on his wife. Lord Stark’s breathing began to calm although not so much his anger born from concern.

“I will hear of your pretensions later, knight,” the Lord of Winterfell growled at Ser Martyn as he let go of his breast plate with a yank.

A shivery breath of relief escaped Lady Y/N’s chest as she stared at her lord husband. He turned as did she, intending to mount Blackspur.

“No,” commanded Lord Stark, his insides still boiling with anger. Lady Y/N’s big eyes found her husband’s furious glare as he took her hand and led her to his courser. The dark brown stallion paced restlessly as he sensed his master’s rage. Cregan grabbed a hold of his wife’s waist and lifted her effortlessly on his courser. Y/N gasped soundlessly but dared not say a word. She had never seen her husband so furious or his anger so slow to cool. She wanted to tell Cregan what had happened and how Ser Martyn was not to blame but the wind whistled so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts. They had to get back to the castle and quickly.

Heavy snow began to fall as the Lord of Winterfell climbed up into his saddle, one of his arms tightly wrapping around his wife’s waist. Lady Y/N held onto his strong, tense arm as Cregan spurred his mount around and they rode back to the castle. One of the men took Blackspur’s reins and led her to the castle with them. Y/N could almost sense the white-hot anger radiating off her husband’s body as he held her to him. Lord Stark’s anger only cooled some when he began to realize his wife was unharmed for the most part but was fuelled yet again as he knew none of it would have happened if a larger party escorted her. A tempest of thoughts ran through Cregan's mind. He doubted they could have got lost and were ambushed. Ser Martyn may not have been born in Winterfell but he had been a squire for his father since he was a boy of seven. He knew Winterfell as well as any.

Cregan’s heart pumped furiously as a seed of jealousy began to grow in him once again. Just the thought of Y/N alone with another man, any man. The foolish idea in Lord Stark's mind was soon overpowered by a thought that could prove to become all to real if Ser Martyn had not brought Y/N back safely. A pack of bandits, if they had prevailed over Lady Y/N's sworn shield ...

Cregan’s grip on Lady Y/N’s grip tightened even more just as they passed the castle gates. Lady Y/N squeezed Cregan's forearm, trying to tell him wordlessly that the grip was too tight but Lord Stark was too deep in his thoughts. The more Y/N tried to peel his arm off her waist, the stronger Cregan’s grip became.

“You’re hurting me,” said Lady Y/N at last. Her words sobered Lord Stark immediately and woke him from his poisonous thoughts. His hold softened immediately and he released a long held breath.

They reached the castle where one of the stableboys took the reins of Lord Stark's horse. The Lord of Winterfell dismounted and took his wife’s waist carefully. As her feet reached the floor, Cregan towered over her easily. He was suddenly acutely aware of his strength and how his thoughts carried him away.

“Forgive me,” asked Lord Stark of his wife, “It was never my intention to harm you.” Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, taken back by the change in his voice. Cregan was far from calm, she could tell, but calmer still than he was only moments ago.

“Only if you can forgive me, my lord,” said Lady Y/N and bowed. Her hands began to tremble as she remembered the group of bandits. Neither herself nor Ser Martyn were sure they would be able to escape and it was her fault for persuading the knight they do not need more men with them. But she was no longer the young Lady Whytefort who no one knew of. She was the Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Warden of the North, and therefore much more valuable to bandits and delinquents.

“There were six of them,” told Lady Y/N once in her husband’s solar. “One of them was slain by Ser Martyn and another lost his arm at the wrist but the rest of them remained unscathed. Some of them had swords and short axes, and two of them were ahorse – one of those died at the hands of Ser Martyn when they chased us through the Wolfswood,” said Lady Y/N quickly, her words flying out of her mouth as if they were in a race to be heard by Lord Stark and Maester Bennard.

“Is there anything else you remember, my lady?” asked Maester Bennard as he wrote down the details for there would be a search party and an award for anyone who would provide information of the delinquents.

Lord Stark stared at his wife, wondering what it would be like if her and Ser Martyn had not returned, if he could not find her in time. Cregan had only just returned home only to neigh lose his wife, the woman he dreamed of every night on his march north.

The snow blizzard raged outside but that was the least of Lord Stark's concerns. If Lady Y/N could not have managed to escape the bandits … The wax stick in Cregan’s hand snapped like a twig. He had been rolling it around his fingers to keep his focus and pace his temper.

Lady Y/N’s eyes moved from Cregan’s eyes to his hands and finally to the maester. She shook her head.

“Thank you, my lady,” said Maester Bennard curtly and put the quill away. Lady Y/N nodded and finally felt at ease enough to remove her cloak. She hissed when the heavy fabric drew across a deep gash on her shoulder that she had forgotten about in the midst of it all.

Cregan jumped up hastily at the sight of the wound. The sleeve of Lady Y/N’s riding gown was drenched in blood.

“I think I caught a branch when we were running away,�� said Lady Y/N, her fingertips red with blood as she inspected her wound.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” asked Lord Stark, rushing to his wife’s side. Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, his formidable frame looming over her. He looked the wound before he tore off a strip of his tunic and wrapped it around her upper arm to stop the bleeding, whilst the maester went to fetch his things.

“I forgot,” said Lady Y/N quietly yet in all honesty. Cregan frowned at her, hardly believing what she was saying. Only then could Cregan see the tremble in her hands and the fear in her eyes. The small cuts on her face became more prominent once the blush from the wind drained from her cheeks. Lady Y/N should have taken a larger escort but the bandits had no business lurking the grounds of Winterfell in the first place, much less attacking its high lady. If Cregan feared for his wife's safety, how frightened must she have been in the face of it all.

Cregan caressed his wife’s cheek gently and pulled her closer, careful not to brush against her shoulder. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head as he felt her small hands reach around his waist.

“Please forgive me,” said Y/N quietly. Tears soaked her voice as she leaned against Cregan’s steady frame. "I was a fool not to heed Ser Martyn's advice. I never thought ..."

“Forgiven,” murmured the Lord of Winterfell against her hair. A different kind of anger rose inside of Cregan as he caressed his wife’s hair.

“I will have their heads and hang their from the walls of Winterfell, my lady. You have my word.”

***

It took a week for the snow blizzard to settle and near another three for any traces of the bandits to be found. Ser Martyn led one of the search parties, knowing full well what the men looked like. Just so, it was his group of knights who found them. Ser Martyn delivered the news as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell had their nuncheon in private. They had trout prepared in a skin of herbs with baked potatoes and a flagon of dark ale.

Lady Y/N’s heart paused in her chest when she heard the news.

“How did you find them?” asked Lady Stark. It has been so long everyone began to lose hope of ever catching the group of delinquents.

Ser Martyn hesitated a moment, showing a clear discomfort. “We found them despoiling a peasant girl,” he told.

Lady Stark’s lips parted but she could not find the words she wanted to say. Her stomach twisted and turned into knots and Y/N had to do everything in her power to keep her meal down. Blood began to boil in her veins. Out of nowhere, Lady Y/N could see the men’s faces in her mind as if it were yesterday that she encountered them in the Wolfswood. The man slain by Ser Martyn, the one who lost his hand, the short one with missing teeth, the two lanky men who seemed to be kin and the one who remained on horseback. Y/N did not know why but she wanted to see how the life would leave the bandits’ eyes. She wanted to be there when Cregan would pass the judgement and condemn them to whatever punishment he saw fit.

“I will see them,” said Lord Stark severely and got up from the table. Lady Y/N's eyes followed him.

“There are only four of them left, my lord,” informed Ser Martyn. “We interrogated the men separately and all claim the fifth was taken by the snowstorm.”

“After I am through with them, they will believe the frozen fool fortunate,” said the Lord of Winterfell.

***

The bandits were brought to Winterfell in chains, unharmed at the command of the Warden of the North. When the day of their execution came, most of Winterfell and the winter town gathered in the main square to witness the deaths of the men who had been pestering their lands. The Lady of Winterfell was not the first person they attacked and the peasant girl would not have been the last if not for Ser Martyn and his knights.

As the four men were led to the scaffold, not one of them walked without a limp. Their faces were broken and bruised but Lady Y/N could recognize them still even with the blood drying on their wounds. As per law, their heads were to be cut off for their crimes, but the Lord of Winterfell ordered their carcasses be hanged above the main gates of the castle as a warning to others.

The morning already broke but the snow was falling heavily in the silver-blue light of day. Lady Stark was standing with Lady Ellyn on the dais beneath a canopy that shielded them from the worst of the late autumn snow. Lady Y/N had trouble sleeping and had been feeling uneasy all morning. She could not find comfort not even in her husband’s embrace. Y/N could not stop thinking about the peasant girl nor of the day herself and Ser Martyn were ambushed. She could have ended up as the peasant girl or worse. The whole of it made her sick to her stomach. Lady Y/N wanted to be there for the execution, she wanted to see, and yet she wished for all of it to be over as quickly as possible.

The Lord of Winterfell marched on the scaffold where the prisoners waited in line. Thick snowflakes nestled in his heavy fur cloak and his long, dark hair. Ice hung solemnly on Lord Cregan’s back as the charges were told to the prisoners and the crowd that gathered.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Cregan told Lady Y/N when she asked last night who will bring doom to the bandits in the morn. The words rang almost as profoundly of House Stark as those of “Winter is coming”. Y/N had long thought it an old-wife's tale yet the longer she stayed at Winterfell, the more she began to believe there really never was a Stark without honour.

An eerie silence filled the square when the Lord of Winterfell unsheathed his great longsword. Cregan took off the prisoners’ heads one by one yet before he could reach the third, Lady Y/N’s head grew light as a summer cloud and a sickness settled in her stomach. She could not watch any longer but it was too late. Y/N tried to grasp Lady Ellyn’s hand to steady herself but her grip was no grip at all, merely a touch before she came crashing to the ground and darkness swallowed her vision.

Lady Y/N could feel the pillows beneath her as she began to wake but even the slightest movement of her head sent her head spinning. Y/N groaned and steadied herself against the mattress, slowly opening her eyes. She recognized the ceiling of her private chambers. There were voices speaking but there was ringing in her ears and she could not understand them. Suddenly, a heavy nausea came over her and she threw up, a basin already by her side. Someone took her hair and held it back as sweat coated Lady Y/N’s neck and forehead. The ringing in her ears gradually stopped as did her vomiting. She was offered a cup of water by someone. Lady Y/N rose her gaze and saw her lady-in-waiting.

“It’s alright,” whispered Lady Ellyn with a small smile.

“What happened?” asked Lady Y/N as she looked around her chambers. Cregan was standing by her side, his eyes bright and restless and his brows in a concerned frown. If this were a battle, he would have been swinging his sword and shouting orders. But this was no battle although his body was just as tense.

Lady Y/N noticed Maester Bennard was there as well as were her other three ladies-in-waiting. The ladies wore cheerful smiles and exchanged silent whispers.

Maester Bennard offered a small smile. “I am pleased to say that your ladyship is with child again.”

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark x y/n #winterfell #house stark #the wolf of the north #cregan fanfiction

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hysteria-things · 7 months ago

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DRUNK IN LOVE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend has never been so in love. he has to prove it to you somehow.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FILTHY, swearing, jealousy, oral (female receiving), spanking if you squint, overstimulation, dumbification, passing out

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 756

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: day FIVE (🤫) of nate week!

WE ARE SO BACK…

genuinely, you don’t know how much more you can take, but god it feels so good. your legs are propped over nate’s shoulders, still shaking from your two previous orgasms.

juices coat his mouth and the sheets below, your fingertips massaging his hair. he hasn’t come up for air once, and it’s quite shocking to you.

your twitching lower half grinds into his face, chest heaving as you pant uncontrollably. your parents aren’t home, so you two need to take advantage of that.

the funny thing is, he’s not doing this because you guys got bored. he’s doing this because he saw you and this one kid talking at his lacrosse match… he didn’t like that.

the two of you are a well-known couple around school, so it didn’t take long for everyone to know you’re off limits. guess that one junior didn’t get the memo whatsoever.

before the other team gets to the school and while the stands slowly fill, they warm up as much as they can on the field. a glimpse of you catches nate’s eye, but you’re not alone.

nate stops in his tracks, staring intently at the way whoever that fucking kid is is talking to you. from where he is he can’t hear, but he can tell by the boy’s body language.

you’re too much of a people pleaser to notice, but your boyfriend can notice from a mile away that he’s flirting with you. his hand touches your shoulder while you’re laughing at something he said.

eyes like daggers, nate breathes heavily from anger the more he watches this go down. “nate, man, you good?” one of his teammates asks, jogging in front of him to block his view.

“yeah. i’m fine.”

it’s just the fact that he loves you so much he can’t help himself as he worships your pussy. his pussy, and he’s letting you know that it belongs to him and nobody else.

his tongue licks fast strands up your slit, high-pitched mewls leaving your mouth. “nate.” you sob, hot tears trickling down your face. “nathan.” you repeat, gripping tighter onto his brown locks and arching your back.

usually, he would praise you, but he’s so pussy drunk that he can’t pull away. your mind isn’t the only thing that’s not thinking straight. his isn’t either.

other than your cries and moans, the squelching noises your pussy makes are his favorite sound. he hums hungrily into your cunt, and you exhale when your third release of the night paints his lips that have to be swollen by now.

the view at nate’s eye level is fucking filthy. your poor comforter is drenched, practically ruined at this point. the inside of your thighs glistening with your folds fluttering the rest of your orgasm out onto his chin. this isn’t enough. he needs more.

his muscle enters your sopping hole, all red and used from continuous stimulation. gasping, you close your legs tight around his head and keep them there. this hits a new angle, making him dig deeper… and deeper.

you’re wrecked at this point, absolutely helpless and out of control. “stop it.” you whimper, breathing through your sobs.

with that, his hands grip your calves and spread your legs wider than they were before. “s-stop.” you cry out again.

you desperately try to push his head away, but of course, he doesn’t listen. in fact, he pulls you closer to the point where his nose grazes you clit with each stroke and slaps the outside of your thigh.

screaming, you accept your fate and lay there. he’s eating as if he’s never eaten a meal in his life. your whole body loosens, brain dead, and laying there to take it like you were supposed to do. your lower half is so numb that you don’t feel the other orgasm rip through you.

this time, he takes his lips and sucks at your pussy along with your clit. poor you, so useless and crying with your eyes crossed and tongue sticking out. then, your vision goes black; the rest of you becoming limp.

he kisses your puffy cunt before slowly stopping to catch his breath. a string of saliva mixed with your cum connects from his lips before he breaks it by pulling away.

getting up, he wipes his mouth and makes his way to where your face is. he rubs the tears from your cheeks and kisses the corner of your lips softly, whining before he thrusts into the mattress while cumming in his sweats. again.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2 @sturnsjtop @luverboychris @yapperchris @imaslutforoldermen @madisonlovesyouu @poetatorturadaa @chr1sgirl4life @hiimolivia @jo-777 @sturnskiss @st4rgrlll @mattyblover07 @sm-ec @mattluvsmarni @knowingnothingnoel

#nate doe #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nathan doe #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #nate doe smut #nate doe fanfic

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nisuna · 11 months ago

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Are my reoccurring kinks becoming more and more evident hmmm I wonder

But anyway, let's just say I finally got inspired over the weekend 🤫😉

<3masterlist<3

Strictly 18+ MDNI

TW: stepcest, doggy, bj, camgirl!reader x yuji, different positions; use of good girl, nii-chan, whore once; creampie, consensual filming, sex tape, sex stream, mentions of ass fucking, spanking, yuji's an ass man through and through, he's crazy strong as always<3

You never got along with your parents, but you liked your brother very much, he was always there for you so you missed him a lot when he moved out and just tried to survive day by day, but as soon as you turned 18 you packed your bags and moved in with him.

He was a bit confused when he first saw you at his doorstep but he understood. Things are hard at home. So you've been living together for a few years now and everything was going well. You could even hide your little secret from him this whole time. You always made sure that he wasn't at home before you started your stream. Until you didn't one day. You swore he told you that he'll be gone for the night, probably at some friend's party you didn't really pay attention. You even went down to see him off and told him to have fun.

"You guys wanna see my brother fuck me? Oh god he always fucks me so good I wish you guys could see that!", you sighed and continued "You should see his arms, god I bet he could fuck me while standing. And his fingers are so thick and long he can reach much deeper, better than my tiny ones." you splayed your fingers out while you took a sip of your drink. Immediately a couple donations came in either begging or saying ME NEXT.

You chuckled to yourself, "Alright alright, I'll try to ask him, but he's very camera shy guys I'm sorry.", you pouted at the camera. As you proceeded to chat and pick out some toys for today you unfortunately failed to notice the door opening and your brother lean against the door frame

"You fucking minx", he thought to himself. When he first heard his friends talk about a new hot camgirl they found he didn't pay much attention. But when they eventually got him to look his jaw dropped as he quickly snatched the laptop from his friends.

"Eeyy not fair we saw her first!", they protested, but Yuji was having none of it. That's definitely you and that's defintely your room in HIS house. So that's why you always want him out of the house especially on weekends. Is that the reason you wanted to move in with him so quickly, to slut yourself out? What happened to his sweet little sister, maybe he shouldn't have moved out so soon. He felt guilty for leaving you alone he, felt like wasn't a good enough brother for you to resort to something like that-

"Aww I wish you guys could see my my brother he's soo big it just doesn't feel the same without him", you whined while drilling yourself with a dildo. You have got to be shitting me.

"Yeah she talks about him all the time I wonder what he looks like. Chat always goes crazy whenever she mentions him."

Yuji thanked the heavens that they haven't met you yet. God have you mentioned his name before please no.

"Want me to moan his name? Guuyyss he's shy, but because of all of those donations I'll make an exception this once." you winked and went on with your little show, "Yeah you're so good oh god Yu-", nope not doing that, he thought while he slammed the laptop shut.

"HEY party pooper she was about to say his name and be careful that shit was expensive."

"Yeah sorry."

So that's when he set up his plan to catch you in the act. He pretended to leave like usual, but as soon as he heard you run up the stairs he snuck back in and got ready to pounce.

"Y-yuji what are you doing here", you choked as you tried to cover yourself with whatever was laying around.

"Me? You're asking me what I'm doing in MY house?"

"No.. I mean aren't you supposed to be at that party..", you trailed off.

"You wish huh.", he sighed, walking in and closing the door behind him.

You didn't know what to do with yourself as you felt him get closer to you. As soon as you reached out to turn off the camera he stopped you.

"What are you-"

"Don't play coy now, lets go do what we alway do right?"

You were dumbfounded. Huh.

"Cmon, put that mouth to good use."

So that's how you ended up here with your step-brothers cock down your throat while he was filming your face. He had an iron grop on your hair, almost suffocating you with the way he was moving. He was not only bulky and buff body wise but his cock definitely wasn't lacking.

yn's footstool: how do we even stand a chance if he looks like that and he's your standard?? no womder you always talk about him

yn's cumdump: whoa that's better than when she's sucking the dildo

yn's doormat: cumshot cumshot cumshot cumshot bukake

feetluvr77: whoa i can see it in her throat

"C'mon put on a show they are loving it. This is what you've always wanted to do right?", he pulled you off his dick making you cough and suck in a deep breath. Oh you felt so fucked out already, eye make-up smeared and he hasn't even started yet.

"Cmon lay down, 'm gonna fuck you like you always tell them I do." As soon as you laid down on your back he pulled you close and pushed right in without a warning. Your eyes shot open as you tried to muffle a moan.

"Oh that was a good shot, keep it up."

You were so so embarrassed but all of that faded when he started to move, making your eyes roll back and tongue loll out. You always knew he was big, seeing him without a shirt around the house was nothing new but seeing him right now while he was drilling his cock into you it just hit different.

"Yn?"

"Hmm?", you mewled through teary eyes.

"Play with yourself, don't just lay there this is work afterall right?"

You groaned but still reached over to roll your hardened nipples between your fingers and looking directly into the camera.

"That's it, that's a good girl.", he praised while squeezing your thigh and keeping a steady rhythm. "God I can see myself in your tummy, you're so tiny."

Donations were through the roof right now, flooding your ears with requests and remarks.

"Oh, someone said do a peace sign!"

Definitely not-

"Don't be like that, give the people what they want." and with a particularly hard thrust he had you throwing your head back while reluctantly holding up two of your fingers.

"Now smiiileee for the camera. Good girl~"

Oh this was so embarrassing, but it was starting to get you off so you played along. His rhythm faltered for a bit before pulling out and turning you over to your stomach with one arm. He really was strong you always forgot.

"Now, on all fours gotta give them a view of that perfect ass.", you obeyed, turning around and giving the audience the deepest arch you could manage.

"Oh yeah thats it"

After zooming right in to where you two were connected, he went to town. There was already a white ring frothing at his base. God how has he never noticed your ass before, that thing's huge and in this position your waist to hip ration looked ridiculous. His huge hand just looked perfect when spreading and spanking your cheeks. Careful or he'll cum in a few strokes.

He felt like you were reaching your limit, so he pushed even further.

"Fucking whore wants to get railed by her brother. You should've just told me you wanted me to fuck you. You didn't have to lie to your audience, I would have fucked good everyday if you said so sooner.", between his words he spanked your reddening asscheeks and god you were getting close. What you didn't expect though, was for him to spit on your ass and massage it over your puckering rim.

"Stay tuned for next stream, I'll fuck her ass."

"Nooo~", you whined reaching back only for him to grab your arm and force it against your back.

"Don't lie to me, we all know you want everything stuffed don't we, guys?"

Yn's cumsock: Hell yeah!

Feetluvr77: "Make her call you nii-chan or some shit"

You tried to muffle your sobs in the pillow below you, but Yuji had other plans. Before you could react he pulled your back flush against his hard chest kissing and licking down the expanse of your neck while flipping the camera and getting a nice view of your smeared fucked out face.

"For old time's sake tell your nii-chan how good he's making you feel, what do you say? If you do you're allowed to cum, alright?"

He felt you hesitate in his hold.

"Hey what's wrong? You were always soo", thrust, "cute when you called me nii-chan when you were little, what happened to you? Gotta get my cute and obedient little sister back.", a particularly hard thrust almost made you topple over, but his strong grip held you up without a problem.

"Ah- no it's embarrassing..", you moaned at his mean thrusts.

"Say it or you won't cum."

He's as annoying as ever, but you couldn't hold back anymore.

"Feels good, yeah so so good nii-chan thank you. Please can I cum I'm such a good little sister right? Letting you use me however you like please~~"

"Yeah? Good job. Now play with your clit and cream on my cock.", he groaned into your ear and you thanked the heavens. Your hand immediately went to play at your sensitive nub. And with his praises and mean thrusts in his strong hold you felt yourself come undone. Luckily he got the money shot of your blown out eyes and gaping mouth right on camera.

"Thaaaat's it good~", he mused fucking you through your high and holding your limp body before stuffing you to the brim and filling you up as well. "You better take it all, 'm gonna make ya nice and plump."

After he sent you down he pointed the camera at your exposed cunt. "Now push some of it out" when he didn't get any reaction from you he gave you a spank and that did the trick as you felt his cum drip out of you and down your leg, "oh yeah that's it look at that guys." You could see how proud he was by his smug grin and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the camera.

"Any last words?", he questioned while he saw your huffing form as he directed the camera to your face.

Feetluvr77: God I never came this quick and much holy shit best stream so far

A couple comments came as you were saying your goodbyes and with a wave and kiss the camera was turned off. As soon as Yuji laid it back on your desk and was about to comment, a pillow came flying his way, almost knocking him over.

"Ayoo what was that for??"

"Shut up!! Why did you do that?"

"What do you mean? You liked it didn't you?"

You definitely couldn't argue with that, so you just huffed and tried to cover yourself with your blanket. He felt a little panicked at that and went to sit by your side.

"It was okay right? That we did it on camera I mean."

"Yeah it's fine that's what I do. I've always wanted to invite someone over to do it, but I never expected it to be you.." you trailed off not daring to look at him.

"Ohoo, but you always talk about me don't you? Why did you not just ask me?"

"Because it's weird asking my step-brother to have sex with me, it's that cringe step bro porn trope I didn't think you'd be interested in that. And what if someone recognizes you isn't that weird?", you looked at him, cheeks still pink.

"No, we can do it again, I don't mind. Actually I kinda-", he trailed off and you felt a little hopeful only to be let down. "Depending on my cut of course. By the way how much do you even make and will I see some of that for my hard work?"

You groaned and tried to shove him away, but he's built like a wall and didn't even budge.

"I do make quite a lot" when you told him the exact number his eyes shot open.

"That much a month??"

"Per week most of the time."

"What? Then why the hell do you even still live with me?", he was dumbfounded.

"I don't know, it's comfortable and I like being around you I guess.", you said honestly, he was not only easy on the eyes but actually really kind and helpful most of the time.

"Unbelievable, but fine by me" he chuckled shaking his head but came right back, "soooo when do we do it again and what do we do? Also I gotta practice my camera work. I have a lot on my mind, how about-"

Before he could finish you slapped a hand over his mouth and let out a drawn out sigh. Oh boy this will be more work than you anticipated.

-------

Feel free to send me your Hot Takes as well ^^

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runariya · 3 months ago

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🥸🤫☠️ : JK

He wants something 🤫 as down payment before he lets u inside safe haven (a place where survivors go to seek refuge)

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L, yandere-ish? warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, dark creatures, denied prostitution for safety, Jungkook is whipped from the start so that should suffice for yandere, foul language, smut, oral (f. receiving), squirting, JK comes in his pants, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.239 (upsiiii)

a/n: I couldn't rly make JK more yandere without it feeling a bit too dub-con, so I hope that's alright 💕 also it's heavily inspired by the trilogy '2033' by Dmitri Gluchowski (and to my Russian readers: Московское метро выглядит так круто на фотографиях в интернете, надеюсь, однажды смогу его посетить☺️)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’ve been wandering for what feels like years, though it could be months, or perhaps just weeks; time’s an abstract notion now, in this world broken to pieces and baked under a nuclear sun.

With each step you take, the weight of exhaustion and your protective suit presses harder against your bones, but you don’t let it stop you. The world may be a dying beast, choking on its own ash and poison, but you still walk through it, a lone ember that refuses to snuff itself out. The remnants of cities whisper ghost stories to you as you pass, their bones twisted metal and crumbling concrete, charred earth for flesh. The wind sometimes hisses through the ruins, carrying tales of survivors—others like you, fighting, scavenging, enduring—and sometimes it’s silent, as if even the air is holding its breath for fear of what’s out there in the deep silence of the aftermath.

The black creatures—those twisted silhouettes of the apocalypse—roam the earth like shadows unbound from their hosts, moving through the poisoned fog with an unnatural grace that chills your very marrow. They are things of nightmares, remnants of the old world, perhaps, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout or born anew from the hatred that festers in the radioactive soil.

Their eyes, if they have any, are voids, consuming light and hope in equal measure, and their movements are barely perceptible until it’s too late, until they are upon you, whispering your end in a language only the dead would understand. They hunt relentlessly, not for sustenance, not for survival, but as if driven by some primal force deeper than instinct, a desire not just to kill but to erase, to wipe away the last remnants of humanity like dust from the pages of a forgotten book.

And you—battered, exhausted, teetering on the edge of oblivion—cannot rest, not here, not ever, because even in your sleep they find you, crawling into your dreams with their inky tendrils, reminding you that peace is a luxury no longer afforded to the living outside of shelter.

Your gas mask, an old friend now, covers your face like a second skin at this point, the filters clogged and heavy with days of dust, radiation, and fumes. You’ve noticed the way it pulls in air with more effort now, as if it’s trying to remember how to breathe.

You check the filter again. It’s nearly gone, the little red marker ticking closer to empty with every breath you take. You’ll have to find something new soon or you’ll suffocate on the very air that should sustain you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to find shelter. In those early days, the optimism hadn’t yet drained from your veins and the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, had clouded your better judgment.

There had been men—those ones with teeth like wolves, eyes like death, always leering, always demanding. You’ve had to pull your knife more than once to remind them that your body isn’t for sale, that safety shouldn’t cost that much. That death, perhaps, is a kinder alternative to what they would have asked of you.

You can still hear their laughter sometimes, echoing in your skull—mocking, cruel. You had fled from them, from their dark gazes and cruel hands, from the taste of fear that licked at your throat when their eyes lingered too long on your body. Better the damnation from outside than their promises of protection.

But today… today you find yourself at the mouth of the metro. The entrance yawns wide like a secret, and the shadow of it draws you in, as though it’s reaching out for you. Your steps falter, but only for a moment—just long enough to recognise the hesitation in your chest, the uncertainty gnawing still on your mind. The thought flickers briefly across your consciousness—what if the people down there are like those others? What if all you find is more violence, more degradation, more proof that humanity has shed its last skin and become nothing more than base instincts and brutality?

But the mask is running low, and you can feel that desperation is creeping back into your bones, burrowing deep. You tighten your grip on the strap of your pack, pushing the fear down, burying it beneath a layer of resolve. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back now.

The entrance is quiet—eerily so, as you push the tall hermetic door open and step inside, closing it quickly after. You glance around, eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. There’s nothing at first, just the silent exhalation of wind and the low hum of the distant, underground world. Then, movement.

You hear him before you see him—a soft shuffling of boots against stone, the faint click of a weapon being cocked. You freeze, instinctively tightening your grip on your knife as he steps into view.

Tall. Taller than most of the men you’ve encountered in these forsaken times. Muscles sculpted from necessity, sinew and strength coiled beneath his clothes like a waiting beast. He’s staring at you through the mask, gun raised, the barrel pointing at your chest. For a second, neither of you move. Then his eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, taking you in, assessing, like all the others. You brace yourself for what’s to come.

But it doesn’t come.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low, barely more than a growl. His weapon doesn’t waver, and his expression is hidden behind a mask, eyes glinting through the cracked visor.

You hesitate. There’s a moment where you think of running, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s only the metro behind him, and the world ahead, both full of uncertainties, both as equally capable of destroying you. You suck in a breath, let it fill your lungs like a final goodbye to the stale air in the mask, and then you reach up to peel it away from your face, your skin sticking to the rubber for a moment before it falls loose.

The air tastes strange on your lips—metallic, sharp, almost alien after all this time behind the mask. You lift your eyes to his, half-expecting some sort of reaction, maybe disgust, maybe lust. But instead… there’s something different there, something you hadn’t anticipated. His gaze softens, though his grip on the weapon remains steady. He stares at you as though you’re something out of place in this hellscape, something fragile, a curiosity more than a threat. His gun lowers, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave your face, as he too rids himself of his mask.

He’s younger than you thought. Ink spills across his skin—tattoos that ripple over his arm, dark lines twisting around muscles. You catch a glimpse of two piercings through his lip when he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out, and then his lips curve, ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not quite hostility either.

“Shelter,” you say, your voice rough, the words like stones scraping against the back of your throat. You cough once, clearing the dust away. “I need shelter.”

He eyes you for a moment longer, his gaze wandering down your frame, but it’s not like before—not like the leering stares of the men who sought to take more than they were willing to give. This is different. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as though the mere fact that you’re still standing here, after all this, after the end of the world, is enough to stir absolute disbelief in him.

“Alright,” he says, after a pause that seems to stretch out longer than it should. “We’ll see.”

He gestures with his head, motioning for you to follow him into the metro. You hesitate for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The air inside is cooler, the shadows deeper in the few flickering candle lights, and for a moment, you think you can almost breathe easier.

“Wait here,” he says, nodding towards a bench half-buried in dust. “There’s a process. Need to fill out a form.”

You blink. A form? The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—almost. But you’re too tired for laughter, too worn down by the world to even consider the possibility of joy. So, instead, you sit with an exhausted plop. You watch as he disappears for a moment, hear the soft scrape of papers being shuffled, and then he’s back, clipboard in hand, a pencil poised like a weapon in his grip.

He doesn’t sit down. Just stands there, towering over you, his presence impressive but not oppressive. You glance up at him, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel exposed—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel seen for the first time in a long time. It’s unsettling.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the clipboard. “Name?”

You give it to him. He writes it down, slow and thoughtful.

“Age?”

Again, you’re honest, coughing right after. He writes again, his eyes lifting to your face between each question as if checking to see if you’re lying, or maybe just to remind himself that you’re real.

“Where did you come from?”

You answer, though the place you once called home feels distant, like something from a dream you can’t quite remember. His pen scratches the paper, and you almost lose yourself in the sound of it, that soft, repetitive scrape, the only noise in the otherwise still part of the metro.

“Any medical conditions? Injuries?”

You shake your head, your body numb to the aches and pains that have become part of you, the exhaustion that’s settled into your bones as permanent as the sorrow for the destroyed outside world.

He writes.

The questions continue. And all the while, his eyes keep returning to you, scanning your face as if he’s trying to commit every line, every shadow, to memory. You can feel his gaze lingering on your skin, not in a way that makes you want to shrink or hide, but in a way that makes you want to ask why he’s looking at you like that, why his lips keep twitching into something that almost resembles a smile, sometimes a pout.

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes writing, his pen stilling against the paper. You think he’s done, that maybe this bizarre interaction will end and you’ll be allowed to rest, to sleep, to breathe for just a moment.

But then he clears his throat again. And this time, when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place.

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and the air between you feels too much like outside, chocking and not fit for you.

You stiffen. You feel that old familiar dread curling up inside your chest again, clawing at your ribs. You’ve been at this stage before, the formality of it, the false promises of security, of kindness. The moment where it all comes crashing down, where the mask slips and you’re left standing there, alone and defenceless against the greed, the hunger that always lurks just beneath the surface of those too desperate to remember what it means to be human.

He sees the shift in you. You know he does. You see it in the way his brow furrows, the way he toys with his lip piercings as though he’s searching for the right words, something to say that won’t make you bolt for the hermetic door. He takes a breath, and for a moment, you think you might run, you think you might grab your mask and take your chances with the toxic air outside because anything—anything—might be better than this.

But then, he speaks.

“I—” His voice falters, and you see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His grip on the clipboard tightens, the knuckles going white. “I want to… I want to eat you out.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. You blink, stunned, and for a moment, you’re not sure you heard him correctly. Did he really just—?

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process the absurdity of it, the strangeness, the unexpectedness.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, almost pleading. There’s no threat in his posture, no demand. Just… want. Raw and unfiltered. Like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t even be allowed to ask, but he can’t help himself. His breath is shallow, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly, the tension in his body like he’s bracing for you to reject him, to walk away.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should get up, leave this place, leave him behind, leave all of this strangeness and vulnerability and run back into the wasteland where at least the dangers are known, where the air is poison but the intentions are clear. But instead, you sit there, frozen in place, your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him.

He’s not like the others. That much you know.

He’s so painfully handsome, a rare sight in this broken world, and it’s been so long—too long—since you’ve felt the heat of another body, since before the fallout turned everything to pure survival.

So, when the chance arises, when you catch the hunger in his dark eyes and feel the thrumming ache in your own bones, you seize it like a lifeline in the endless wasteland. Your fingers tremble as you pull the zip of your protective suit down, the rough fabric parting like a sigh, and you free your legs, peeling it off your lower half. You shift on the bench, boots still clinging to your feet as you raise them to rest beside you, and open yourself to him, your legs spread wide, exposing your cunt like a silent offering, need pulsing through your veins.

Jungkook barely hesitates. The clipboard thrown, clattering to the ground behind him, forgotten, his focus now laser-sharp on the sight before him, his eyes flickering wildly between your face and the growing wetness glistening between your thighs. He steps forward with a pull that feels almost sacred, falling heavily to his knees as if the ground beneath him is the only place he belongs. His warm, calloused hands trace their way up your bare legs, the roughness of his skin sparking something primal under your own.

He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your slick skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you, and the word falls from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck,” and then he’s there, tongue pressing into you with a hunger that’s suffocating, lapping at your cunt as if he’s desperate to prove himself worthy of it, as if he knows exactly how lucky he is to be granted this wish.

A moan escapes your throat, unbidden, as his tongue forces its way into the tight heat of your hole, your hand reaching instinctively for his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as you push your hips into his eager mouth. The sound that rumbles from deep within his chest vibrates against you, a groan of raw pleasure that seems to send waves of newfound pleasure coursing through your body, arousal dripping from you, coating his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he rasps between breaths, his voice rough and broken with want. “Fucking angel sent from heaven.” His gaze flicks upward, catching yours, his eyes wide with disbelief, adoration simmering beneath the surface despite the fact that you’re strangers, despite the fact that the world outside has crumbled to nothing.

You find yourself moving against him, riding the flat of his tongue, his fingers dancing over your clit in a rhythm that feels almost divine. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh with a kind of desperation, as though he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear, that this will vanish like a dream.

“Yes,” you cry out, breathless and shaking, as he finds the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, his mouth and hands working together with an almost agonising precision. And neither of you can tear your eyes away from the other, locked in this frantic, desperate exchange of need and lust and something deeper you can’t yet name.

He gives you everything—every ounce of affection and euphoria you’ve been deprived of for months—and you can feel it in the way his own body trembles, the way his hips move mindlessly against nothing, rutting into the air as though he’s just as desperate to be filled with pleasure as you are.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him harder against you, urging him on, desperate for more, for him to push you over that edge.

And he listens, his tongue working with relentless skill, circling your clit with a pressure so precise it almost drives you mad, and then you feel it—your orgasm tearing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, shockwaves rippling through your body as you squirt onto his tongue, something you’ve never done before, the surprise of it lost in the haze of pleasure. Jungkook groans beneath you, greedily lapping up everything you give him, cleaning you with his mouth like he never wants to stop, his hips stuttering forward as he spills into his pants, caught in his own silent climax.

“Fuck…” he moans thickly and long, collapsing against your stomach as your legs tremble and fall to the floor, muscles too weak to hold them up any longer.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing, the disaster of the world momentarily forgotten. But eventually, he pulls himself together, straightening up with a sheepish grin, adjusting his pants which are now damp with his own release, his expression cringing just slightly.

You quickly dress again, pulling your suit back into place, feeling a flush of heat creeping into your cheeks. There’s an embarrassment there, sure, but not disgust—not even close. If anything, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction, of relief, and you catch yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him, that he isn’t bored now that his hunger has been sated.

But as you reach for your pack, Jungkook’s voice breaks through the quiet, and he gestures for you to follow him deeper into the metro, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, a grin spreading across his face, his eyes bright with something that looks almost like joy—something you haven’t seen in anyone since the fallout. “You can stay with me if you want.”

There’s a pause, your heart skipping a beat at his offer, and you hesitate only for a second before whispering, “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay.”

He beams down at you, stars shining in his dark eyes like you haven’t seen in months, and he takes the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Good,” he says softly. “I’d like that too.”

PART 2

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