#but the leather-y cloak; the boots

[darabeatha]

T.ezca for the heart 🖤

[novaursa]

Fire meets Ice

- Summary: A short story about how you challenged Cregan to bring more fire into your bedchamber.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The days had grown colder in the North, though you found Winterfell’s frost to be far less chilling than the unfamiliar silence that often loomed in your new marriage bed. Cregan Stark was a good man—kind, honorable, and fiercely loyal—but his stoicism left little room for spontaneity. He treated you with reverence and gentleness, perhaps to a fault. He was careful with you, as if he feared breaking some delicate piece of Valyrian glass.

You were no fragile creature.

Even on your wedding night, when he had been so careful, so deliberate, you'd thought of speaking your mind but held your tongue. The North’s traditions were far different from what you knew growing up on Dragonstone, and so you let him guide you, hoping things might change in time. Yet as weeks passed, the same pattern repeated—a soft kiss, a lingering caress, whispered words of devotion—and then it was done. A dutiful husband, but not an impassioned one.

It was time to rouse the direwolf in him.

Tonight, as snow blanketed the courtyard outside and fires crackled within the great hall, you awaited him in your chambers. You had sent the servants away early, insisting you needed no help undressing tonight. Draped in deep red silks and black embroidery—colors of both your lineage and fire—you lounged at the edge of your marriage bed.

When Cregan entered, he paused in the doorway, grey eyes drinking in the sight of you. Snow clung to his cloak and boots, the brisk wind having reddened his face. His dark hair, still damp with frost, clung to his forehead. The solemn expression that he wore so often softened slightly at the sight of you, though he masked it quickly, as was his way.

“Y/N,” he greeted softly, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. “Why are you still awake? I’d hoped you would rest.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a measured look. “I was waiting for my lord husband. Is that so strange?”

Cregan crossed the room, shrugging off his cloak. “No stranger than you sending away the servants,” he replied, his brow knitting slightly. “Is something amiss?”

“Not amiss,” you said, a slow smile curving your lips. “Merely… lacking.”

He turned to face you fully, still standing at a distance, clearly puzzled. “Lacking?”

You rose gracefully, closing the space between you. He was tall—so tall that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Your hand came to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath layers of wool and leather.

“Yes,” you murmured. “I think it’s time for a challenge.”

“A challenge?” he repeated, grey eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“To keep things interesting,” you clarified, your voice lowering to a sultry whisper. “Here, in our bedchamber. It seems to me my lord husband is far too… gentle for my liking.”

Cregan blinked, clearly caught off guard by your words. “Gentle?”

“Yes,” you continued, stepping back slightly, letting him see the playful fire dancing in your eyes. “The women born of both Velaryon and Targaryen blood are not so easily broken, Cregan. You treat me as though I might shatter beneath you.”

He looked at you carefully, his jaw working, though he remained silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “I would never hurt you, Y/N.”

“And you do not,” you replied quickly, tilting your head again. “But there is a difference between hurting and… taking. Do you understand what I mean?”

Cregan’s grey eyes darkened slightly, though his voice remained controlled. “Are you challenging me to be less of a gentleman?”

A thrill ran through you at the sound of his tone—low, dangerous, the slightest edge of a growl. The direwolf was in there, after all.

“Yes,” you answered boldly, standing your ground. “I challenge you to show me the fire that burns beneath all that Northern ice. Prove to me that I have wed a man of flesh and blood, not a statue carved from snow.”

Cregan’s lips parted, as though he might argue—but something in his expression shifted. That carefully composed mask of his cracked, if only for a moment. He stepped forward suddenly, and before you could react, his hands were on your waist, pulling you against him. The force of it stole your breath.

“You think me a statue?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, his face mere inches from yours. “You think I have no fire?”

“I think,” you whispered, staring up at him, “you’ve been hiding it from me.”

There was no more hesitation. Cregan’s mouth crashed against yours, his kiss searing and demanding in a way it had never been before. His hands tightened on your waist, lifting you with ease as though you weighed nothing. He set you on the edge of the bed, your legs dangling off as he stepped between them, his imposing form looming over you.

You gasped softly against his lips as he broke the kiss, his calloused fingers already working the laces of your bodice with surprising urgency.

“You wanted fire, Y/N?” he murmured darkly, his voice a rasp in your ear. “Then I hope you can withstand the heat.”

A shiver—of excitement, of satisfaction—ran down your spine. This was the man you had married. Not just the honorable lord of Winterfell, but the wolf whose fire could match your own.

“Prove it,” you whispered, challenging him one last time.

And he did.

That night, Cregan Stark proved himself to you not with soft words or careful touches, but with a raw intensity that left you breathless. You had awakened something in him, and in doing so, something in you awakened as well. Fire and ice met, not in opposition, but as equals.

As you lay together afterward, the room filled only with the sound of your mingled breaths, Cregan brushed a strand of hair from your face, his grey eyes softer once more.

“I will never treat you as though you might break again,” he promised quietly.

You smiled, your fingers trailing along the sharp line of his jaw. “Good. I should hate to think my direwolf has no teeth.”

His low chuckle reverberated through the quiet room. “Careful what you wish for, my lady.”

But you had no regrets. Not that night, nor ever again.

[brunchable]

Winter Prince, Part One: I Was Enchated To Meet You

Pairings: Prince, Soon to be King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place, Princess Reader Words: 4.5K Themes: Regency Period AU, Instant attraction, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut. Summary: Trapped in the palace gardens, Y/N’s escape attempt is interrupted by a mysterious charming man who offers to help. Little does she know, the man she’s avoiding is the one lifting her over the wall. A/N: You're damn right I took inspiration to Queen Charlotte. Let's call this a "retelling" Bucky will still have his metal arm in this to keep it interesting.

The sound of hooves echoed in the distance, the rhythmic gallop of a horse cutting through the stillness of the early morning. You clutched your dress tighter around you, the fabric tangled in your fingers as you stood before the towering stone wall, your heart pounding. You were almost free—almost—but the moment stretched painfully, as if the world itself held its breath with you.

You glanced over your shoulder, the imposing silhouette of the palace barely visible through the mist. It loomed behind you, a symbol of everything you were bound to—everything you were trying to escape.

Your breath hitched as the soft thudding of hooves grew louder, and you turned back to the wall. Climbing it had seemed easy in the few moments of adrenaline-fueled desperation, but now, standing before it, you realized how futile it was. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t scale the stone, couldn’t flee the life that had been thrust upon you.

The horse slowed, and you heard someone dismount, the creak of leather and the solid thud of boots hitting the ground. Your fingers trembled as you placed them against the wall, ready to make one final, frantic attempt. But before you could take another step, his voice cut through the mist.

“Running away?”

You froze, heat rushing to your cheeks. His tone wasn’t harsh, nor was it amused—just… curious, and that only annoyed you more. 

Slowly, you turned toward the voice, expecting to see one of the palace guards ready to drag you back inside. Instead, a man stood before you, taller than you had imagined, with dark hair tousled by the wind, his sharp features softened by the morning light. He was dressed in simple riding attire, a cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but there was an elegance about him. Certainly not a guard, then?

“Are you going to stop me?” you asked, your voice breathless, daring as your fingers tightened against the stone. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

He chuckled softly, and the sound sent a strange warmth curling through you. “I don’t know,” he mused, a playful glint in his eyes as he stepped closer, “Should I? You seem to be doing a fine job of stopping yourself.”

Your mouth parted in disbelief, heat rising to your face again. “Excuse me?”

He nodded at the wall. “Well, you don’t exactly look like you’re about to make it over, do you?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

The man raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, climbing walls isn’t for everyone. Especially not someone in a gown.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your approval to escape,” you shot back, glancing at the wall again and then back at him, frustration bubbling inside you. “Why don’t you just go about your business and let me fail in peace?”

His grin widened, and he crossed his arms, his posture too relaxed for someone who’d just found a would-be escapee. 

“I could help you.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “Help me?” you echoed, suspicion lacing your words. “Why would you help me?”

“Maybe I like seeing people succeed at impossible things,” he teased, the smirk never leaving his face. “Or maybe I’m just curious to see how far you’ll get.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms tighter. “I don’t trust you.”

“Smart,” he said with a laugh. “But if you want to get over that wall, you’re going to need more than distrust.”

You looked up at the towering stones again, dread gnawing at you. He was right, as irritating as that was. But still…

“And what do you get out of this, then?” you asked, glancing at him warily.

He leaned casually against the wall, watching you intently. “A conversation,” he said, his voice suddenly softer, less teasing. “Tell me why you’re running.”

You scowled at him, the heat rising in your cheeks again, and turned your gaze back to the wall. Frustration bubbled inside you, and you began pacing, sizing up the towering stones as if staring at them hard enough would magically make them easier to climb.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered under your breath, though you weren’t sure if you were talking to him or the wall at this point. 

You glanced back up at the impossible height of the stone barrier, chewing on your lip as you tried to mentally map out some kind of strategy—any way to make it work. You huffed, planting your hands on your hips, and shifted from foot to foot, casting the man a glare every now and then. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with an amused expression, as if you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen in a long time.

After a few moments of pacing and staring—then pacing some more—you let out an exasperated sigh and kicked a small stone out of your path, turning back to face him, arms crossed.

“Well?” you asked, your voice a little more breathless than you’d have liked. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head, but the grin he was trying to hide betrayed him. 

“Nothing,” he said, the words dripping with humor. “Just… you look like you’re trying to intimidate the wall into letting you pass.”

You glared at him, heat flooding your cheeks. “Maybe I am. Maybe it’ll work.”

His chuckle turned into full-blown laughter, and the sound of it—rich and genuine—sent a strange warmth curling through you, despite your annoyance. He had that kind of laugh that you hated admitting was contagious, and you found your lips twitching upward before you could stop yourself.

“I’m serious!” you huffed, though the playful tone was creeping into your own voice.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, still chuckling softly as he shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside you, but you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he looked at you.

“Are you just going to laugh at me the whole time, or are you actually going to help?”

He raised his hands in surrender, his grin still firmly in place. “Alright, alright. I’ll help.” 

He took a step closer, the playfulness still in his eyes as he lowered his voice, leaning just a fraction nearer. “But only because I want to see how this goes.”

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping back toward the wall. “Just… don’t get in the way.”

Behind you, you could hear him chuckling softly to himself again, and though it made your frustration bubble over, there was something undeniably magnetic about the way he seemed to find you so… endearing.

And as you started pacing again, casting glances at the wall, trying to figure out just how on earth you’d manage to get over it, you caught him out of the corner of your eye—his gaze still fixed on you, the smile never leaving his face.

You huffed to yourself, kicking at another stone. Of course, the man who found you trying to escape was now laughing at you, and somehow, it didn’t feel as awful as it should.

“How long will you keep pacing around like that?” 

“I’m not pacing,” you grumbled, though you absolutely were.

“Oh, you are,” he countered with a grin. “You’re doing laps. Like maybe if you circle it enough, the wall will shrink. Or get tired of you and let you through.”

Your jaw tightened as heat rose to your cheeks. “I’m sizing it up,” you snapped, planting your hands on your hips as you glanced back at the wall, your frustration bubbling over.

He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying this, and it only made your chest tighten with frustration. Why did he have to look so effortlessly amused by your struggle?

“Well?” you demanded, trying to maintain some semblance of authority in the situation. “You know you’re actually not helping?”

“Forgive me, but watching you intimidate the wall might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

You let out an exasperated huff, resisting the urge to stomp your foot in frustration. “I wasn’t intimidating it, I was—”

He cut you off with a light chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. “Sizing it up. Right.”

You were too stunned to respond. The man was infuriating, no question about it, but the warmth in his voice, the look in his eyes—there was something about him that softened the edges of your frustration, made it feel less like a confrontation and more like… banter.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. No, this was not the time to get distracted by some smug, arrogant man who was finding far too much joy in your struggle. You turned back to the wall, determination flaring inside you.

“If you’re going to help, do it already,” you muttered, planting your hands on your hips again.

“Let’s see how far you can get with a little help.” he said, his voice low and teasing.

He stopped in front of you, eyes gleaming with amusement as he glanced at the towering wall. “You ready?”

You crossed your arms, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Do I have a choice?”

He smirked, leaning down slightly. “Not if you want to get over that wall today.”

You eyed him warily, but there was something in his smile, something disarmingly warm beneath all that arrogance. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sighed and placed your hand in his.

His grip was firm, strong, and you felt the warmth of his palm seep into your skin as he stepped even closer. The flutter in your chest deepened, but you swallowed it down, ignoring the strange thrill of having him so near.

“Alright,” he said, crouching slightly and motioning toward his shoulders, “Put your foot here, and I’ll lift you up.”

You blinked at him, a sudden rush of heat flooding your face. Wait, what?

“I’m going to boost you over,” he explained, clearly amused at your hesitation. “Unless you’d rather keep pacing around?”

You huffed, your cheeks burning. 

“Fine,” you muttered, carefully lifting your foot toward his shoulder. “But—” You paused, biting your lip as another wave of heat rushed through you. “Don’t look up.”

His grin widened, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You gave him a skeptical look, your heart thudding loudly in your ears as you gingerly placed your foot on his shoulder. 

“Don’t look up,” you reminded him, your voice sharper, but the flush in your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“I heard you the first time,” he chuckled softly, keeping his gaze firmly straight ahead.

He hoisted you up easily, his hands firm at your waist, but as soon as you tried to gain some leverage, the fabric of your gown bunched awkwardly around your legs, trapping you mid-air. Your heart pounded as you wobbled, your foot slipping slightly, and for a moment you flailed, trying to catch your balance. The wall still seemed impossibly high, and every move made your gown twist tighter around you, making it harder to gain any footing.

“Careful,” He grunted, steadying you with his grip. “Got it?”

You didn’t. Not at all.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice strained with effort as you tried to move again. The fabric pulled tighter around your legs, making it impossible to lift yourself further. “This dress—how do women escape anything in these things?”

He laughed, and you could feel the vibrations of it under your hands. 

“You’re doing great,” he teased, clearly biting back more laughter. “But if you keep kicking like that, I might not be able to hold you much longer.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, heat flooding your face. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, it’s very funny from down here,” he said, still chuckling, though his grip on your waist stayed steady.

Another attempt to maneuver only resulted in more tangled fabric. You groaned, realizing that this wasn’t going to work. No matter how hard you tried, the dress wouldn’t let you lift your legs high enough to get over the wall.

“Alright, alright,” you sighed, feeling thoroughly embarrassed as you gave up. “Put me down.”

“You sure? You were making great progress,” he teased, but his hands were already lowering you back down to the ground, the warmth of his touch lingering even as your feet found solid ground again.

As soon as you stood, you stepped back, brushing dirt from your gown and trying to ignore the way your heart still raced, both from the failed climb and from how close he had been.

“Well,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him, “that was a disaster.”

He leaned back on his heels, his grin wide and playful. “Not a total disaster. I got a front-row seat to the best entertainment in town.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him, though the blush creeping up your neck betrayed how flustered you were. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He chuckled again, crossing his arms to mirror you. “Can’t say it’s not entertaining.”

You sighed and looked around, now you owed him an explanation as to why you’re trying to run away.

“I don’t want to marry a stranger,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the truth. “I don’t want to be locked away in that palace for the rest of my life, tied to someone I’ve never met.”

He didn’t speak for a second, his expression softening as he studied you. Then, in a gentle tone, he asked, “And who is this stranger you’re so desperate to avoid?”

You sighed, casting a quick glance around as if the mist might swallow you whole. 

“Prince James,” you admitted quietly, your words barely louder than the mist. “I’ve never seen him, never even heard his voice. I don’t know if he’s kind or cruel, if he’s young or old. For all I know, he could be—”

“Hideous?” the man supplied, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes again.

You gave a small, reluctant smile despite yourself. “Or snotty. Cold. Aloof. Traits that I most certainly cannot stand nor find attractive.”

The man chuckled softly, shaking his head as he took a step closer. “Snotty, huh?”

“Well, royalty,” you said, with a little shrug. “They tend to be.”

He studied you again, something like amusement flickering across his face, but there was no mockery in it, just something warm and knowing. 

“You could say I’ve met him a time or two.”

Your brows furrowed at his familiarity with the prince. “Then what’s he like?” you asked, searching his expression for any hint of truth. “Is he… good?”

He seemed to consider your question, his gaze turning thoughtful as though weighing each word. “He’s... complicated,” he finally said, his voice softer, almost wistful. “Not the man people expect him to be.”

You frowned and sarcastically you said, “That’s really comforting.”

But before he could answer, a loud shout echoed from the palace grounds, and you both turned, startled. Your stomach lurched in panic.

“I need to go,” you whispered frantically, your pulse racing as you prepared to bolt.

His hand caught yours before you could move, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something startling through you. You looked up at him, breathless.

“I could still help you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. His eyes held yours, deep and unreadable, as though he were making a decision only he could understand.

But there was something in his gaze now, something almost… regretful. 

“Speak what you need to say.” you whispered, the realization dawning on you in slow, staggering pieces.

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes searching yours like he could read the thoughts swirling in your head. He let out a soft sigh and tilted his head, a playful sparkle returning to his eyes.

“What if…” he began, his voice low, “what if the prince isn’t some distant, unfeeling man? What if he’s just a person who hates the cage he’s been placed in as much as you do?”

You blinked, confusion tightening your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He took a step closer, his thumb still grazing the back of your hand, sending that maddening warmth through you. “What if Prince James isn’t the man people whisper about? What if he’s spent his whole life wondering if anyone would see him instead of the title?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words settled like stones in your chest, and you stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Why would he care? He’s a prince—soon to be King. He’s powerful, he has everything.”

He gave a small, almost sad smile. “What if the power isn’t worth much if it means living a life filled with expectations instead of choices?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “But he could change things if he wanted to.”

James—because you were sure of it now, he wasn’t just some rider—tilted his head, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “What if it’s not that simple? What if the weight of the crown is heavier than it looks?”

Your heart raced as the pieces slowly started to click together. He was still toying with you, but now there was a seriousness beneath it, something deeper. You could see the flicker of emotion behind his blue eyes, like he was daring you to understand.

“What if…” he continued, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “the prince is standing right in front of you, hoping you’ll see him?”

The world tilted beneath you. The way he spoke, the familiarity in his tone, the way he carried himself… it all made sense now. And suddenly, the puzzle that had been scattered before you came together in a startling rush of clarity.

“You’re—” The words stuck in your throat as your heart pounded harder, realization hitting you with full force. “You’re Prince James.”

He smiled, a mixture of apology and relief in his expression. “I suppose I am.”

Your mind reeled, his confession crashing over you cold bucket of water. Prince James. The man you had been speaking to, was the very one you were trying to escape. The very one you had feared. Your heart pounded, your pulse a frantic beat in your ears as you looked up at him—really looked at him—for the first time.

Prince James.

"Hello, Y/N." He smiled earnestly, taking your breath away.

You took a step back, your breath hitching in your throat as your gaze swept over him. The dark hair tousled by the morning breeze, the sharp features softened by the mist, the broad shoulders, the casual strength in the way he stood. How had you not realized before? How had you missed it?

Your mouth opened, but no words came. You were speechless. Absolutely, utterly speechless.

His lips twitched in that same infuriating, knowing half-smile, the one that had seemed so harmless before but now felt charged with meaning. 

“I suppose I’m not what you were expecting,” he murmured, his voice low, almost apologetic.

You shook your head, still trying to find your voice, but it was like the words had fled, leaving only the rush of your thoughts, jumbled wildly together. He’s the prince. The one you had dreaded. The one you had tried so hard to avoid.

But he wasn’t at all what you imagined. He wasn’t cold, or distant, or cruel. He was standing here, watching you, his expression open, almost vulnerable, as if he was waiting for your reaction, for you to decide what came next.

Your eyes darted over him again, taking in every detail as if seeing him for the first time—the way his cloak clung to his broad frame, the way his eyes, intense and unwavering, seemed to burn through every wall you'd built around yourself.

And then the shouts echoed again, louder this time, and your stomach clenched with a fresh wave of panic. The palace. The guards. They were looking for you.

His gaze flickered toward the sound, the slightest crease forming between his brows before his eyes were back on you, sharp and unrelenting.

“You need to go,” he said, voice low but urgent. Like the moment itself was slipping away.

“I—” You swallowed hard, your words tangled with the storm raging inside you. You—him—everything felt too much, too fast.

He stepped closer, his hand lifting as if to touch you—like he had to—like he needed to—but stopped just short, his fingers lingering in the air, his breath mingling with yours. 

“I felt the same,” he said, his words rushing out, fierce, quiet. “Curious about you. Wondering if you were like the rest of them, if you were cold, detached. Wondering if you were trapped like me.”

You blinked, caught off guard, your pulse roaring in your ears. What?

“I was afraid,” he continued, his eyes searing into yours. “Afraid you were someone I wouldn’t want to know. Someone I couldn’t stand to look at. I was afraid of you.”

His words hit you like a thunderclap, stealing your breath, your heart stumbling in your chest.

“But gods,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I was wrong.”

You stared at him, utterly speechless, the air thick between you. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

He took another step closer, his eyes wild, full of something unnameable. “You’re everything I didn’t dare to hope for. You’re bold, you’re brave, and you’re—” His voice broke off, and you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips, then snapped back to your eyes, something fierce and desperate flickering there.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. His words slammed into you, your mind reeling, your heart racing as his admission hung between you, fragile and powerful all at once.

The shouts echoed again, and your body jolted with the reminder of reality crashing back in.

“I need to go,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the world swirled around you.

But before you could move, his hand finally touched yours—fingers brushing against yours, sending a spark through your skin that made you freeze.

“I was wrong about you,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, eyes blazing with a heat that made you want to lean into him, to forget the world. “So wrong.”

You swallowed, every nerve in your body alive, humming. His hand slid up, cradling your wrist, his thumb brushing the delicate skin, like he couldn’t stop touching you. 

“Go,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “Go before I make you stay.”

Your feet refused to move, your heart slamming against your ribs. But you nodded, turning to slip back toward the palace, your body buzzing with his words, the intensity of his gaze.

But before you could disappear into the shadows, you heard him call out—his voice loud, clear, commanding.

You froze, crouching behind the tall hedge, heart hammering against your ribs as you peered through the mist. The guards had gathered around him now, their faces tense with focus as James, with that steady authority in his voice, pointed them in the wrong direction.

“She went the other way—toward the east gate!” His voice was sure, a lie delivered with the ease of someone accustomed to being obeyed. And just like that, the guards nodded, falling in line with his instructions as they turned, their heavy footsteps fading in the opposite direction.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you watched them leave, your body still coiled with tension, waiting for something to go wrong. But James remained still, standing tall as the mist curled around him, his face calm, unreadable. And when the last of the guards disappeared into the distance, he did something that made your breath catch.

He glanced back over his shoulder—directly at where you were hiding.

His gaze found yours through the thick hedges, that same intense, burning look he had given you earlier, and for a brief moment, the world stood still. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his eyes held yours with a weight that made it hard to breathe, the unspoken connection between you hanging in the air.

Then, with a slow nod—so subtle you almost missed it—he turned, walking away, his figure swallowed by the swirling mist.

You exhaled, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding. Your entire body was trembling, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened. He had protected you.

Prince James, had lied for you, bought you time, and now the palace loomed ahead, quiet, waiting. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your gown as you stood up, pressing yourself against the stone wall, making your way back toward the safety of the palace.

You moved silently, your steps soft against the cobblestone as you slipped through the garden paths, every corner casting long shadows. You had to be careful. You couldn’t risk being caught now.

Reaching the palace doors, you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the mist-shrouded garden. James was gone now, but his presence lingered, the promise of his words still echoing in your mind.

With one last breath, you pulled open the door, slipping inside the familiar corridors of the palace, the warmth of its stone walls closing in around you. It was quiet here, the rest of the palace still asleep, unaware of the storm that had passed just outside its walls.

As you hurried back to your chambers, your heart finally began to slow, but your mind buzzed with everything that had just unfolded. James hadn’t just protected you; he had seen you—really seen you. And now, there was no denying it.

You weren’t running from him anymore.

You were walking straight back to him.

[lilacprose]

𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 | 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚟𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

summary; In a dark, small cell on the Star Fighter, Vader enters. On his knees, his helmet off, eyes on her... word count; 1,040 words a/n; The indulgence is selfing. He's still Vader with the armour but not burned. ROTS-era hair. Yea... 😳 May or may not be inspired by this specific photo. oop-. Shoutout to the best of the best @itsladyliv who always got my back, and @crumblekitty who beta-read this fic (we sure had a Time™ brainstorming this). content includes; Vader on his knees doing you-know-what (oral) to fem!reader. Nothing too graphic, more atmospheric than smutty (but smutty nonetheless). Written in third person with no use of y/n. Minimal dialogue. Minors can look away, there's nothing to see here.

Smooth metal beneath the tips of her fingers. Nails and fingertips digging through the grooves others before her had created. Sensing a piece of them with each scratching motion. Scared. Terrified. Innocent. Guilty. Straightening out the fabric of her long white skirt, she contemplated which one of those belonged to her. Scared when they dragged her, terrified when her face got covered. A white masked “guilty” before doors closed behind her.

And then darkness. It lifted from her head only to engulf her again in the small cell. But instead of marching footsteps, the galaxy gently hummed outside her window. She couldn’t make out anything. A stream of white light illuminated the room, cutting it in two. A straight line between her and emptiness.

She draws a deep, questioning breath. How long was she going to stay here? Long enough for her vision to remember these four walls? Long enough for this bench to become a permanent piece of her? Her hands move on either side of her, her grip tightening on the edge of the bench for a moment. She taps her fingertips mindlessly on the cool metal surface and sighs.

Interspersing the galactic hum, there were sudden footsteps. Heavy. Leather boots sounding like they could be full of metal. Making haste to the door. When the door flies open, she sits up straight. Turns her head. It was only breaths she could hear. Echoing, echoing, echoing. Her eyes began to adjust to the towering presence in the room. Darth Vader was enormous, making the room seem so much smaller than it already was.

He walks to the corner opposite her, past the white light. Something clicks. The breathing suddenly stops. She sees Vader’s shadowy hands reach for the helmet and lift it off his head. Her eyes had gotten used to the dark by now. Adjusted to the outline of his body, the flow of heavy fabric a black waterfall down his broad shoulders. He throws his head back, soft curls gently cascading as he stretches his neck from side to side. Vader lets out a sigh.

The helmet crashes to the ground with a loud thud that makes her jump. Her heart races as he slowly turns towards her. He takes slow steps into the light. Parted lips illuminated, shiny with longing and starvation. His chest rises and sinks beneath the heavy armour. She notices the shallowness of his breaths—impatiently quick with lustful undercurrents.

Her heart thumps in her chest. He’s so quiet. She longs for the echoes of mechanical breaths instead of this. This deafening, deafening silence. Him not saying a word. Her not knowing what will happen next.

And yet…

The more she looks at him, the more she knows. The questions from before return to her like trails of a wildfire. Scared. Terrified. Innocent.

Guilty.

The cloak swishes. Heavy fabric thrown behind his back. Vader lowers himself, moving away from the light, his lips hidden in the shadows. The stream of white hits only his eyes. Closed, looking down, never meeting hers.

A furrow on his brow grows with focus. “Do you believe it?” The sound of his voice, an intoxicating deepness, sends a hot flash in her core. His hands slide, clothed and steady, over her sides. Caressing her hips, creasing her skirt. He grabs fistfuls of white fabric, hitching it over her knees. “That you’re guilty?” Vader looks up at her now, requiring only one look from him for her to lift herself so that the skirt can fall over her hips. Vader removes his left glove. His leather and her white lace float to the floor. Vader’s two hands stroke her thighs, the right clothed and the left as bare as hers.

Slowly. He bends her left leg, his bare grip firm on her soft skin. Slowly. Warm lips begin to trace a trail down her inner thigh.

She gasps at the sensation of his mouth. Vader draws his tongue over her arousal, steady and slow. Tasting her like a starving man. She leans her head back against the wall, letting out a loud moan as he begins sucking her. Oh—she wants to touch him. To feel the strands of his hair between her fingers as he devours her. Her fingertips barely get to graze his hair when her hands suddenly become unable to touch him. All that comes out of him is a low “No…” as his moans reach deeper into her. Her hands move to the edge of the bench. He keeps them there, holding her down with a phantom’s touch. He hums into her, heated vibrations spread all over.

One look.

He denies it. Vader shakes his head, his hair tickling her inner thighs. She becomes unable to say anything. All that can come out of her are pleasured tears. In her mind she pleads and begs, but words don’t form—they only sigh and moan and cry for him.

Let me touch you.

Her knees buckle, and she writhes over him. Vader picks up the pace, adjusting his body so he reaches the parts of her that make her scream. Her legs rest on his shoulders. He lets out loud, deep groans.

Still without looking. Still holding her down.

Please—

The Force slowly lifts off her hands.

Lips lift from her too.

He catches his breath. “Tell me… What’s it going to be, then? Innocent…” He opens his eyes. “…Or guilty?” Vader looks at her for what feels like an achingly long time. The questioning hot gaze and his darkened eyes send her closer to the edge. Her hands glide up his head. She takes in the sight of him as her fingers, entangled with curls, massage his head. She hopes that his eyes never abandon her. To remain open as her hands carefully tug at his hair. To never break when she directs his face back to the throbbing spot between her legs. To stay with her until she comes undone before him.

His shallow, hot breath brushes against her. He waits. He keeps his eyes on her, but he waits. The anticipation, the hovering of his mouth over her.  The waiting.

His eyes stay on her as his lips return.

And he gives it to her.

taglist; @ladyanaschmidt @death-of-peace-of-mind @darth-jess @anakinstwinklebunny @orchidscurse @internallysalad

[elysianightsss]

La da de da viking Price for the win🛡️🌺

Your heavy snow boots trudged through the thick mounds of pure white snow, the freezing breeze was pinching and nipping at your cheeks. The cold had began to hurt your nose as you breathed, the back of your throat dry. Trying your hardest to keep warm, you shove your chin and mouth further into the top of your coat and breathe out hot air.

You only wanted to hunt for food and go back home, but seeing as you couldn’t find any animals near your little cabin, you had to venture elsewhere for the hunt. Something you annoyingly regretted the further away from home you got.

An exaggerated sigh left you for the twentieth time today as you knelt down on the ground feeling the snow start to soak into the material of your trousers. Pulling your bow off of your body and an arrow from the quiver that was strapped to your back. You drew back the string of your bow, holding the arrow steadily in place.

Closing your eyes, you waited. Listening oh so carefully, for anything. The sound of any animal to make itself known to you. A while passed, all you could hear was the soft wind and a nearby steam trickling quietly.

Until the snort of a deer had your eyes shooting open and your weapon aiming at the creature. Exhaling slowly, you let go, the arrow whipping through the air heading straight for the unknowing animal but ultimately hitting a different target. A huge gasp left you as you watched the arrow go straight into the chest of a man, the deer snorted before running off.

You grunted annoyed and dropped everything to run to the injured man. Your eyes set upon his figure. Large and strong, you recon if you’d hit anywhere else on him that’d he probably wouldn’t have collapsed. Probably would have grabbed the end of the arrow with his big sturdy hands and pulled it straight out like nothing happened. Probably.

The realisation started to set in the more you stared at him, you just shot a man. “Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry!” You panicked falling to your knees next to him where he was on the ground. His blue eyes meeting yours, looking at you as though you were an alien. His nostrils flared as he quietly grunted, feeling the pain begin to spread throughout his chest and body.

“I was hunting and….and you…y-you stepped in front of the deer. I’m so sorry.” Your hands hovers over his injured while your mind began to become frantic with how to proceed. You eyed the expensive leather that graced his bulky figure. Wrapping around every muscle eagerly. The fur cloak that was spread around him, clearly from a hunt.

It did little to hide the tattoos on his arms. Further up chainmail covered his shoulders proving how sharp you’d made your arrows for it to pierce the chainmail that presumably sat below his tunic and leather. You took note of his face better now, thin lips almost covered by a bushy moustache all connected with thick mutton chops and a full, long beard that caught your attention a little too much.

“Are ya’ done ogling me lass?” He gritted his teeth, wrapping his hand around the arrow and yanking it out. He groaned loudly, deep and rough just like his voice when he spoke. It sent shivers through your body in an unholy way. Nothing like you’d ever felt before.

“Are you a royal from the mainland?” You asked, worry underlining your question.

He bellowed at that, “Ne’er erd’ that one before.” His laugh trailed off as he pressed his fingers into his wound and pulled them away watching the blood drip down his hand.

“My bag.” He was gesturing to the bag that lay a few meters over from where he was. You scrambled to grab it, desperately trying to pull it open. The leather satchel was medium size with about a hundred strings tying it shut.

“W-What do you need?” You were stumbling over your words as you took noticed of the blood that was seeping out of his wound and staining the snow beneath him.

The man grabbed your shaky hands in his and whispered “Breathe.” You listened hesitantly, taking a deep breath.

“Y’know I think I’m supposed to be reassuring you.” A breathless laugh leaving you sounding more like a scoff, he let out a chuckle his face scrunching up in pain.

“In the bag, the bottle with the red liquid.” Nodding quickly, you searched through the bag and pulled out the bottle, pulling the cork out with your teeth and looking at him for instructions. He took the glass container and poured it over his wound and drank the rest of it.

You watched as his heavy panting of pain began to level out. He soon sat up and looked at you curiously, “I’ve ne’er seen ye round these parts before.” He states though you’re pretty sure it was a question, you simply shrug and stand up. He followed suit, a shock jolting through you when he stands only to tower over you greatly.

“I, um really am sorry. It truly was an accident.” You wring your hands together before offering one of them to him. He looks surprised and you don’t blame him, you’re sure a woman has never made this gesture to him before.

“Svo fallegt,” he seemed to look over you for a moment then let his large hand wrap itself around yours with a shake, “S’okay.”You nodded letting go of his grip and making your way to pick up your bow and quiver.

“What’s ya name?” He asked suddenly feeling a wave of panic as he watched you walking away from him. You answered, waiting for his in return. “Price. John Price.”

Now where had you heard that name before?

[missswritesalot]

Winter’s thorn

Summary: Lady Y/N Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, had no intentions of marriage when she visited Winterfell. But with her honor on the line, she might have to reconsider.

Part two

“What about Lady Y/N Tyrell, the younger sister of Lady Margery Tyrell,” the maester suggested. “She is young and Lady Olenna is seeking an alliance. Her raven comes with certain peculiar ideas that need careful execution.”

Catelyn was delighted. After hours of pouring over letters from all the heads of the houses, she found Robb his ideal match. She ordered a feast to be held, and invited Lady Y/N Tyrell under the pretense of trade.

“Almost here, Y/N,” said your cousin Taena. You shivered and wrapped your cloak around you tighter. “You are aware this visit is not purely of trade?”

“Now, Taena, that’s enough.” The septa chided.

“Even Queen Daenerys wishes to see you married, cousin. Perhaps to-“

“No more, cousin. I tire of this, although you mean it in jest.” You said, exhausted by these rumors.

“It would mean strengthening our loyalty to the Targaryens. He is Jon Snow’s brother,” Taena said.

“Cousin,” you corrected. She took it as though you were chiding her, and unexpectedly fell silent.

You took two steps out of the carriage, unassisted. You tried holding your head high, like the wind wasn’t cutting into your skin.

You were astonished to find the people of House Stark assembled in the courtyard, waiting for your arrival.

Catelyn was the first to greet you.

“My son, the Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark.” She said, motioning to him. You’d heard of him, they called him the young wolf. Honorable. Gentle and strong.

Robb had the most gorgeous blue eyes you’d ever seen, framed by thick auburn lashes. His hair was a signature Tully red, just like Sansa’s. You’d once thought she was the most comely maiden at court, and her brother had all of her good looks in his ruggedly handsome way.

You courtesied in greeting. He took your gloved hand in his bare one and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart raced. He was so beautiful. You didn’t look up, and affixed your eyes on your boots instead.

“Lady Tyrell, we thank you for making the long journey up north. I hope it was not too difficult.” His voice could’ve melted the snow around you.

You nodded curtly: he should not see the blush on your face.

In your haste, you tripped on a stone hidden in the snow. A strong, leather clad arm wrapped around your waist to pull you up. You felt him stand you upright and the fingers of his other hand dug into your arm to steady you.

You gasped at the close contact, and turned to face him. He might be the lord of Winter but his arm felt like it might burn you. His fingers, where they touched the smallest silver of skin at your shoulder, were equally scalding. You didn’t want to step away from him into the cold.

“Forgive me, Lady Tyrell,” Robb said, his blue eyes still peering into yours. There was an instinct to lean into him, to step into his arms. But you resisted.

You turned your face away, and looked as angry as you could.

“Unhand me at once,” you said slowly. The Septa behind you gasped at your lack of courtesy.

“Lady Tyrell-“ Catelyn began, but you cut her off.

“Pardon me, Lady Stark, but the carriage journey was long and tiring. My companions and I would be obliged for a warm room.” You asked.

The walls of Winterfell were bare, the tapestries grey with little or no embroidery. The heat you had longed for suffocated you. Your mind still harbored thoughts of Robb and only Robb. No, you corrected, Lord Stark. You touched your shoulder where his fingers had rested, and giggles burst out of you. Thankfully, your cousins weren’t around to witness your shame.

You thought of how this was where Robb grew up, his childhood home that was now his.

You tugged on a new dress, one that stood out against the drab castle walls, with its golden roses and green leaves on a background of ivory and pale green.

You heard a loud sound outside. You opened the chamber door at once, and Robb Stark tumbled in.

“My lord, what does this mean?” You asked, horrified he was in your chambers.

“I only meant to escort you to the great hall, my Lady. But there has been an invasion into Winterfell and as my guest I must see to your safety myself.”

You only just noticed his armor. He bolted the doors and you backed away from him.

“My cousins?” You asked.

“They are safe, in the library. Do not fret, my Lady. You will be reunited as soon as the threat is stopped.”

You trusted Robb, you realized. It was a fool’s idea to put your trust in a strange man who you didn’t know, just because you found him attractive. But you trusted him.

“My Lord, it is most improper for a Lady to be in the presence of a man without companions.” You protested, just to save face.

“Proprietary will not restore your life when it has been taken by a criminal’s blade.” Robb said. You closed your eyes.

“I apologize you have not yet supped, my Lady.” Rob said softly. His concern endeared him to you even more.

“I’m not hungry,” you said. You went to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Do not mind me, Lady Tyrell. I cannot express the depth of my displeasure that Winterfell is inadequate on your first night here. Please rest until my men finish the task.” Robb said courteously.

You laid on the bed, the dress too uncomfortable to sleep in but fitful sleep did come.

It was in the early hours of the morn when the Septa found you curled on the furs in the chamber room. Robb was resting against your bed, his head lying on furs with his legs sprawled out across the floor.

“Taena,” you said, going into her embrace.

“Oh cousin,” she said, crying. More of your companions rushed in and fussed over you. You broke your fast with them, your voices and laughter could be heard across the hallways.

Your septa walked in just as soon as the servants cleared the room.

“Y/N, do not tell untruths when I ask you this,” she said. “And I place no blame on you. Was Lord Stark in your chambers during the attack?”

“Why, yes,” you confirmed, head nodding. “He was the most noble.”

“And you did not think of your honor?” The septa asked gently.

“Even the most noble ladies laid next to their knights with nay but a sword between them.” You protested.

“Robb Stark is neither your sworn protector nor a knight.” She said. “Lady Catelyn has written an apology to your grandmother, and suggested a proposal.”

“A proposal for what, septa?”

“A marriage between two great houses. You’ll be betrothed to Lord Stark.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Canonical character death; Vomiting; Sexual themes.

A/N: It hasn’t taken me this long to write a chapter for this since I started it. And once again, I’m disappointed in the quality. I hope it’s received well enough. :/ And try not to maim me over the ending. I’m hoping it will inspire me to be a bit faster with updates. 😅

It had taken you a while to calm down. Hours later, you were under the sheets and lying with your back toward the door. People came and went, offering food and medication and water. You accepted all with silence, only for the sake of your baby. The little one needed the food and water and you needed the medication to help you keep it down. Carol informed you that she and Lori had taken care of Daryl. Had they murdered him? 

The sun had set and cloaked your room in shadow by the time you opened your eyes again. You didn't even remember falling asleep. What had woken you? Hands rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you sat up. There was a curious light outside the window. It was as if you had been denied the audio from a feature film but suddenly pressed the button to unmute. 

Screams, gunfire, cars, motorcycle. What the hell is happening?! Your fingers brushed the top of your boots when the bedroom door swung open. Lori appeared wild, frightened to a degree you had never witnessed in her before.

“Carl!? Y/N, have you seen Carl?!” 

“No, I’m sorry. Lori, what—” But she was gone. Now the panic was setting in, your chest tightening for the second time that day. Where was Daryl? What was going on? 

“Patricia! Beth! Y/N! We have to go!” Carol’s voice was an unfamiliar tone, the quiet woman infused with a tension and fear in the call of each name. You stepped into your boots and jogged down the stairs just as Patricia and Beth stepped out onto the porch. Carol was reaching for you before you even noticed her. 

“What’s happening?!” You were breathless with worry and confusion.  

“The farm isn’t safe. We have to go!” The woman urged, her hand wrapping around your wrist. Beth was crying, Lori was panicked. The sight that greeted you was overwhelming. Walkers everywhere. The barn burning. Gunshots from cars circling the herd. 

“Carol.” You whimpered. You had no weapon, watching Lori bolt with a bag. “Do we have any guns?” 

“No time to find one! Go!” 

The four of you sprinted off the porch, the herd closing in, forcing you in different directions. You weren’t sure how you ended up so far into the field, running blindly in the dark, the only light coming from the unsteady flames devouring the barn. You didn’t stop running, the dead closing in from all sides. 

You nearly stumbled into the desperate clutches of a woman, teeth snapping at you before she could get a good hold. You pushed her, stumbling backward into the chest of a man, his rotting mouth snapped by your head, nearly taking your ear. You couldn’t help but scream. You’d never make it to the forest. There, you could easily utilize the safety nature provided. However, the amount of dead that blocked your path made it impossible. 

With the fence at your back, the road just beyond it, you glanced over your shoulder. You could hop the structure easily but more dead waited on the other side. Your mind was still scrambling for a resolution when you heard the familiar rumble and crunch of gravel beneath rubber. 

Daryl was there, calling your name. You cleared the fence and ran to him, legs burning and breaths unreliable. 

“C’mon! I ain’t got all day!” He was standing over the front edge of the seat so you could easily mount the bike behind him. Once both of you were seated, you wrapped your arms around his middle and buried your face into his back. 

“Go! Go!” Your shout was muffled against the leather vest but he heard you and soon you were moving, the wind carrying the smell of blood and smoke. You burrowed further against him, taking in his scent instead. Leather and pine, his natural musk, a hint of tobacco. You focused on it while he dodged walkers, the snarling growls and moans too close as you felt him slow and start to weave. 

“Not so tight.” His warm hand patted yours and disappeared just as quickly. 

“Daryl.” You whimpered. You pulled your hands back to rest on his sides, lightly curling your fingers into his vest. Any noise aside from the motorcycle began to fade as the wind picked up. You were going faster. Still, you didn’t let go, didn’t look up. You’d barely made it out. If Daryl hadn’t been there—

He was slowing again, to a crawl and eventually, a stop. When he cut the engine and began to move away, you could feel him taking your breath along behind him. You were clumsy bringing your leg over the seat, nearly toppling face first onto the gravel road. 

“Why—Daryl, why are we stopping?! We can’t be here! It’s not safe, Daryl!” You knew you looked like a wild animal, eyes wide and frantic, your hands protectively curled around your middle. “Daryl—Daryl, we—”

“Easy.” How long had he been standing that close? Your gaze focused on him, but you still couldn’t seem to catch your breath. 

Red. 

“Daddy!”

“I love you, Peanut.”

“Hey, we’re good.” His palms were warm against your face, blue eyes swimming with concern. He was trying to bring you out of the darkness you had wandered into, scared and vulnerable. “Gotta breathe, Y/N. C’mon, girl.” You hadn’t realized your own hands were grasping at his shoulders until he was releasing your face to gently pry them off. “Doin’ better. Can’t stay here long but ya can’t ride like this.” He lowered your hands to your lap and placed his palm back against your cheek. 

You ducked your head and swallowed back the bile inching up your throat, realization striking you like a freight train. “Oh god, I left the meds! All of Hershel’s supplies! Daryl, the baby—”

“Ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to either’a ya. Ya hear me?” The conviction in those eyes, the determination. He meant it. You hiccupped and nodded, the deep breath you finally willed yourself to take stuttering. “Are ya hurt? Bit?” You shook your head with more enthusiasm than necessary. “Need to getcha somewhere safe, try an’ find the others.”

He was still standing close to you and watched as you wiped your face, looking away when you tried to meet his eyes. You allowed your arms to fall back toward your lap, your right one hitting his foreman on the way down. His palm was on your belly. You hadn’t noticed he’d placed it there when he had moved your hands. Bringing attention to it was likely to embarrass or upset him. A repeat of the events from earlier was not something you could handle. 

“What if we’re the only ones?” You asked when his hand moved to run through his hair. He jutted his chin forward, wordlessly requesting you move so he could again straddle the bike. There was no hesitation, he stood with his boots on the ground to let you seat yourself behind him. 

“We ain’t.” 

“But if we are?” 

He didn’t look at you, but was still for a moment. You watched his fingers flex around the handlebars. 

“Then s’just the three’a us.”

You were careful to not squeeze too tightly this time when you wrapped your arms around his stomach. 

You gave a weak smile to Carl as you climbed off the bike. To your absolute shock, after the embrace with his mother and father, he hurried over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Hey, kid. Glad you’re okay.” You plucked his hat off, ruffled his hair, and sat the giant thing back down. He beamed up at you and then continued on his journey of relieved greetings. You spotted Daryl watching you and shrugged. Sometimes you thought Carl didn’t even realize you were around. There were few words spoken between you and the kid, even though you did talk quite a bit with Lori. 

You’d slept so much the day before but you found yourself exhausted, feeling slightly nauseous. You’d told Daryl about the medication. Had he mentioned it during the discussion of where to go next? Leaning against the bike, you watched him rationalize with the others on a plan.  

He seemed calmer around everyone, not so eager to gain distance. He glanced back at you now and again, looking away when he realized you were still watching him. You couldn’t seem to find it within you to be embarrassed. Maybe you could blame exhaustion or pregnancy. 

“Y/N?”

“Huh?” You stood up straight only to find everyone looking at you now. Did Daryl just smirk at you? “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“We just wanted to get your opinion.” Carol smiled, small and tired, but knowing. Everyone probably saw you gawking at your baby daddy. 

“Whatever Daryl says is fine by me.” The implications of your statement were lost on you until the second the last syllable crossed over your lips. Even the archer had the decency to look surprised. Now you were embarrassed. An oil stain on the pavement became ever so interesting when you needed to look away. Your gaze remained there for the rest of the conversation. 

Daryl offered to find Andrea but was quickly shot down by Rick, saving you the trouble. Once T-Dog suggested east, Daryl agreed that main roads should be avoided. He walked by you to grab the crossbow from the back of the bike and quickly took down a walker before strapping the weapon back in place. 

“Watch out.” The hunter carefully nudged you aside and climbed onto the bike. 

“Want me to ride with some of them?” You pulled your flannel tighter and hugged yourself against the chill. You were definitely not dressed for the weather. 

“Nah, you’re with me.” He replied from around his thumbnail. He was eyeing your attire, knowing for certain you weren’t dressed for how cold the nights would get. You knew it too. He said he wouldn’t let anything happen to you or the baby. That meant finding medication and clothing. “Don’t care what we’re doin’ or where we are, if we’re both there, you’re with me ‘less I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Okay.” You acquiesced with a nod and climbed on, grateful for the natural heat of the archer’s body. You would have sighed if it wouldn’t just raise other questions. When the bike began moving, you continued to keep your hold loose but buried your face again, not only shielding your skin from the cold air but also effectively hiding the small smile you wore. 

Daryl pulled the bike off at Rick’s signal, asking if he was out of gas. Your hold on him remained until he patted your interlocked fingers and waved for you to climb off. You tried to keep your teeth from chattering while everyone talked—argued, really—about staying or going. 

Rick had killed Shane. The deputy hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details but your lack of interest regarding the man’s death told you exactly where you stood. You were never a fan.

“Look, I don’t care who goes today or tomorrow, but m’goin’ cause Y/N needs that medicine.” 

“I can go with you.” You offered, following Daryl toward the selected camp area. When he stopped, you nearly collided with his back. He turned without looking at you, not at first. When he did, his expression was stern. The hand he brought up to grasp your chin was quite the opposite. 

“Remember what I said? You’re with me ‘less I say otherwise.” You nodded. “This one’s otherwise. Need ya to stay here tomorrow. You’re gonna be sick by then, I reckon. Distracted. Need ya safe.”

You kept your gaze locked with his. “Okay.” You conceded easily, almost smiling at the naked relief in his eyes. “Would—would you get me a jacket? Maybe some—some maternity clothes?”

The archer scrunched his nose, releasing his hold on you. “Tell Maggie ‘bout the clothes. I’ll find ya the meds an’ a jacket.” He turned away, but you called his name before he could make it far. You weren’t sure he’d accept the contact after yesterday’s fiasco, but you placed your arms around his neck, your face tucked against his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He hummed and nodded in response, quick to end the embrace and disappear past the treeline. He was likely gathering firewood. He wouldn’t be hunting. He was too adamant about you staying with him to go far. 

The archer was shaken by the events of the previous night, whether or not he cared to admit it. Maybe not the walkers or the loss of the farm; maybe not even the deaths. He was worried for you and his baby. It shone clear in the way he looked at you, the way he wanted to keep you close. The unwanted but familiar insecurities came creeping in, compounding on top of your already unsettled stomach. Was he just looking out for the baby?

“Maggie?” Your voice came out quiet and unsteady but you still managed to snag her attention. “Daryl said you’re going tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She stepped away from Glenn with a lingering touch on his arm, making sure he knew she was still there. “Don’t worry. I know what medications you need and we’ll find them. We’ll find something.”

You nodded without meeting her eyes. “Thank you but he told me to ask you about clothes. These,” you pulled at your t-shirt beneath the flannel, “won’t be warm enough. And I’ll get—bigger.” You made an awkward gesture around your abdomen with both hands. 

“You’re glowing, you know.” The look on your face must have been reason enough for her to giggle and place a hand on your bicep, squeezing ever so gently. “Pregnancy suits you. Don’t worry. I’ll find you some clothes. Shoes too, cause your feet are gonna swell. You’ll thank me later.”

“My feet?” You squeaked, looking down at your boots. “Thumper, be nice to mommy’s feet. I need those.”

You weren’t feeling well at all by the time the sun began to dip below the horizon. The night air was cold, even with your proximity to the fire Daryl continued to feed. Your stomach was a rolling mess of knots. You managed some water but even that threatened to make a reappearance. 

Daryl hadn’t hunted. He wouldn’t leave you behind, especially when you started feeling unwell. The group had not been happy, offering to sit with you and to not let you out of their sight. It wasn’t good enough for him. He knew anything he managed to bring back would be of no benefit to you. 

When you tried to send him off, he pinned you with the same look he’d given you at the farm before he had turned away and yelled for you to leave. You raised your hands in defeat and walked away.  

Now, a few hours later, you were glad he hadn’t left. Even with all the people around you, there was a suffocating tension around that campsite. Had you been left under their guard, you likely would have ended up in the middle of the venomous arguments and snarky jabs. You just didn’t have the energy. 

You were a silent spectator during Daryl’s conversation with Carol, his defense of Rick. The man in question came around the wall that sheltered the group, tense words once again shared. You couldn’t take part, couldn’t even begin to grasp what was being shared, crawling to a spot at the perimeter to empty the liquid contents of your stomach. The heaving was painful and left you gasping and spitting with a hand clutching the shirt over your belly, as if protecting the life inside you from your own body’s revolt. 

“Y’alright?” Daryl drawled from somewhere beside you. You nodded slowly, even if it was the furthest thing from the truth. The added stress seemed to have taken its toll. You somehow made it upright to your knees, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. One look at the archer’s face made it evident that he wasn’t buying it. “Let’s getcha settled for the night.” It wasn’t a question in need of answering. It wasn’t even a suggestion. 

“I’m not sure I can walk that far.” The longing for the warmth of the fire was substantial but not enough for you to even try to send the signals for your legs to cooperate. 

“Didn’t ask ya to.” Had you felt a little more human, you might have wallowed in the indignation of him gathering you up to relieve you of the bothersome, albeit short, walk to the fireside. You were deposited slightly closer than when you’d taken a seat on your own. The warmth was intense and welcome but still not enough to battle the cold that had taken root within your bones. 

“Thanks.” You muttered through a deep sigh. The group was now sitting in relative silence, all but Carl still awake. Your own eyes were heavy within moments. You chose to submit to it and laid over on your side. The ground was freezing but what could you do? It hardly mattered anyway, as your eyes closed and you drifted off almost immediately. 

You awoke with a deep breath that morphed into a yawn. It appeared everyone was asleep with the exception of Glenn and Maggie up on the wall. It was pleasantly warm, just the slightest bit of cold seeping in here and there. Maybe you could just coax your mind back into slumber. Stretching a leg to seek out a more comfortable position, you realized something was keeping you from moving. 

“Be still, woman. Jesus.” 

You froze, briefly holding your breath. Daryl was lying beside you with his back pressed against yours, acting as your own personal space heater. There was a part of you—a rather large part that you’d like to punch in the throat—that wanted to roll over and curl into the man. He was warm. You already knew he ran hot, you’d been pressed against him in more pleasurable ways than this. 

Violently beating down the urge to spoon with the archer, you cleared your throat, knowing your voice would be rough from sleep and vomiting. “Thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’. You were cold, saw ya shiverin’.” He shifted slightly. “Gotta take watch soon. Ya gonna be alright?” 

You nodded with a quiet mhm already missing his warmth though he had yet to move. You would be fine, of course. Nauseous with a headache the size of Montana but not dying. That qualified as alright, right? 

You let your eyes close, too exhausted to sleep any longer but the feeling of warmth and safety was enough for you to at least relax. All too soon, the cold air struck against your back, coaxing a quiet whine from your throat. Rolling to your back, your bottom lip jutted out into the most exaggerated pout you could possibly achieve. 

Daryl looked down as he strapped his crossbow onto his back. He snorted. Mission accomplished. 

Almost. 

“Can I go with you?” You sat up, scratching your lower belly. Damn, it had itched lately. Maybe you should ask for some lotion too. You could see the exact moment when automatic refusal died on his lips, his eyes flitting down to where your fingers grazed lightly over your abdomen. 

“Well, c’mon then.” Daryl needlessly adjusted the strap of the weapon, running his thumb over his bottom lip while he waited. The beaming smile you gave him spread across your face before you even gave it permission. You didn’t even ask before grabbing his arm to pull yourself up. He huffed but you caught the one corner of his mouth lifting before he looked away. 

“Lead the way, my good man.” You waved your arm forward and stepped aside so you could fall in behind him. He was shaking his head with a huff of air through his nose that really could have been a laugh. 

“Your good man, huh?”

You stumbled within the first three steps, his words catching you off guard. His large hand easily caught your upper arm, keeping you on your feet. You scowled in the face of his smirk. “I never liked you.” You jested with a light punch to his shoulder. 

Smirk still in place, he nodded toward your belly. “Ya liked me well ‘nough at one point.” You had no comeback, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. He gently squeezed your arm before letting go, walking away like he hadn’t just taken the upper hand and used it to drop the mic. 

Face scrunched, you fought back a smile before the battle was no longer necessary. Your eyes traveled from his shoulders, down his back, lingering on his ass before continuing the journey to his boots and back up again. Images of your first few encounters slammed into the forefront of your mind. You gasped quietly, the memories so vivid that you could almost feel him deep inside of you. Remembering how he grunted and panted, his large hands exploring every inch of you. 

“Gonna check the perimeter. You two good for now?” Daryl called up to the couple on the wall, snapping you out of your reverie. You paused behind him while the exchange took place, rubbing your thighs together to at least try and stifle the throbbing ache in your core. 

What the fuck,Y/N?! Get a grip! You followed on autopilot when he set off again, your mind racing. You were suddenly hot, nearly sweating; your mouth went dry. That damned throb at the apex of your thighs just would not relent. How could you go from sick and sleepy to depraved and horny? Oh, yeah. Pregnancy. 

“Stop lollygaggin’ an’ keep up.” Daryl snapped, thankfully not looking back at you. You could feel your skin heating, knew he’d find it flushed. A sense of shame attempted to overwhelm your sudden desire. You were ogling the archer like a piece of meat dangled over a lions’ den. “What’re ya starin’ at?” He asked absentmindedly, removing his crossbow to carry it at his side. 

“Nothing.” You replied a little too quickly, your voice low and breathy. That got his attention. He came to an abrupt halt and turned to eye you suspiciously. 

“Ya okay?”

You took a step back in tandem with his step forward, nodding vigorously even as your chest heaved. His head was tilted, eyes narrowed, looking as if he was solving a particularly complicated mathematical equation. 

“Ya sure?”

“Mhm!” Too enthusiastic, not very convincing. “I think,” you were nearly fucking panting as your back pressed against an inconveniently placed tree, “I’ll just head back.” You rolled against the bark to face the trail toward camp and your chest promptly collided with his arm when he blocked your exit. 

“Nuh-uh.” Daryl ducked his head, trying to catch your eye. “S’wrong with ya?” You didn’t answer; couldn’t really, what with trying to calm the lust flowing through your veins like molten lava. The taste of blood filled your mouth, the sting of your teeth piercing your lip was a welcome distraction. “Y/N.”

Stop talking. Stop looking at me. Where was this coming from? You had appreciated his handsome features and physical attributes plenty of times without the burning need to feel him pounding into you. Your eyes snapped toward him when the same hand that had met the tree to block you came to rest against your forehead. 

“You’re warm. Fever?”

“No.” Your voice trembled even more so than your body. You pushed his hand away as gently as you could manage, trying again to walk away. “I need to go back.” Fingers wrapped around your wrist. 

“Nah, not alone. I’ll ta—”

Your mouth was on his so fast that he staggered back. You heard his crossbow hit the ground, felt his muscles tense. He didn’t react for a moment that seemed to last forever but when he did, it wasn’t what you were hoping for, what your body was craving. You whined heatedly, attempting to pull him back to you by tugging his vest. 

“Th’fuck, woman?” Daryl didn’t sound angry. Far from it. He sounded confused. And unfortunately for you, the ache between your legs had chased away any semblance of dignity you might have once had. “You’re sick, exhausted. What the hell?”

“I need—” You whined, rubbing your thighs together while your hands pulled at his clothes. He wasn’t trying to stop you. He wasn’t doing much of anything actually. Just studying you with that stoic expression while you were about to all but beg him to fuck you senseless. “Daryl, I need—”

“Tell me whatcha need.” His tone was soft, like he was genuinely trying to understand.  

“You.” Your eyes were shining, wide and wet. “I don’t know—it just—I was fine and then—”

“S’hormones.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture delicate. You wanted to kiss him and slap him at the same time. 

“Damn you and your book.” You growled. You weren’t really sure what you were expected to do now, what you expected him to do. You were friends. It wasn’t like he’d just acquiesce and fuck you sideways. When he walked away, you thought you might curl up on the ground and cry. Since when did desire become borderline painful?

A deep breath did little to aid you. Maybe you could slink off into a corner at camp and take care of things yourself. It would be awkward and you could get cau—

“C’mere.” 

You blinked at him while still trying to get your breaths under control. His crossbow was leaning against a different tree now. He was standing in front of it, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip again. You approached hesitantly, hands wringing the front of your shirt. 

“Daryl?”

Once you were within reach, he grabbed the edge of your flannel and pulled you forward, spinning you just before your body met his. Your back against his chest, you could feel him breathing on your neck, a fresh wave of arousal seeping from your core. You were sure your pajama pants were soaked at this point. 

“Daryl, are you—”

He shushed you against your ear, allowing the lightest brush of his skin over yours. “See that?” He wrapped one strong arm around you with his palm resting on your belly, the other hand lifting to point low to the ground behind where you had previously stood. “Perimeter line. Cans an’ shit to make noise.” His stubbled cheek rubbed against your neck. “One behind us too. Anythin’ or anyone comes through, we’ll hear ‘em.”

“Okay?” You shivered when you heard him inhale against your hair, taking in your scent. You nearly came from the thought of him enjoying the way you smelled. Then again, even with your sensitive senses, you found his scent calming. 

The hand over your stomach pressed just the slightest bit harder while his other hand slid up your side to cover your breast. The ache when he squeezed brought a moan out of you so quickly that he flinched behind you before chuckling. No longer wearing a bra until you could one that fit, he could feel your nipple harden, immediately shifting his hand so he could pinch the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Ya sure s’me ya want takin’ care’a this for ya?” On the surface, he seemed ready and confident, already having knowledge of your body. His voice though, it was the most fragile, tiniest uncertainty filtering through. 

“Please.” You whined, feeling the evidence of his desire now pressing against your ass. 

“Say it then.” Daryl nipped at your pulse and soothed the skin with his lips and tongue. “Tell me ya want me.” 

You wanted him to keep talking, whispering against your skin in that gravelly rasp that was making your pussy clench and ache. Then again, you wanted him to shut the fuck up and get on with it already before you spontaneously combusted. 

“I want you. I need you, please.” Your body was so alive with need that you’d beg on your hands and knees if he asked. You groaned when he chuckled again, this time right against your ear. It wasn’t very long ago that you were shivering in front of a fire. Now you shivered while your skin burned for a completely different reason. Funny how that worked. 

“S’bout damn time.”

[painted-flag]

Little Red Riding Hood (Part 2/2) - Cregan Stark

Story 2 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ PART ONE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. main masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: cregan stark x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: 18+ MDNI. descriptions of violence/blood, period-specific misogyny, aegon, and smut (oral f!receiving, nipple play, and biting) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 7.5k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: this was going to be shorter than how it turned out, but then i got caught up in writing the smut at the end so... it is longer than originally planned.

That shriek of hell spurred you from your bed. You fought the imminent feeling of danger, of something lurking beyond the surface of your consciousness, to steel your emotions. The sound was almost inhuman, a cry reverberated from depths of eternal despair. Whatever fresh nightmare was outside demanded attention and your soul was calling out to it. 

Your bare feet thudded against the stone flooring as you rushed outside your room. The chill of the night was not felt as you rushed to the door to leave your grandmother’s house. Your nimble fingers gripped the steel doorknob with a fury of strength as you yanked it open. Wearing nothing but your nightclothes, you venture out into the night. The door closed and the final rush of air breezed passed your scarlet cloak - hung up and forgotten in your frantic movements. 

You weaved between the streets of the town, looking back and forth for any sign of life. There was nobody outside. No signs of anything. The pubs were oddly closed and no fool stumbled through the streets drunk on ale or wine. Your feet made crunching noises on the snow-laden ground. 

It was then that you saw a figure in the distance. The haze of darkness, only partially alleviated by the moon's light, shrouded the person. They moved like a hunter, impossibly fast and calculated. You stopped moving and watched in paralyzed fear as they came closer. Adrenaline pumped through your body more than blood. Fear clouded your judgement and incapacitated all means of movement; both physically and mentally. 

It was only then when the figure got closer that relief doused those flames of horror.

“Cregan?” Your voice, terribly quiet, floated through the cold chill of night. Cregan stood before you in nothing but a tunic, pants, and leather boots. His chest heaved and a sheen of sweat covered the exposed parts of his skin. 

You had never seen him so uncovered before, and the white tunic he wore had the sleeves cut up just below the elbow and showed the top of his chest. On his skin, you could see the presence of countless scars. They marred his flesh and you could not help but wonder what creature could make such marks on him. The veins in his forearms flexed as he brought his hands up to grip your biceps. 

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was deeper than usual, and the timbre sent vibrations through your bones. 

“I… I heard something…” You stuttered out. 

Cregan’s squeezed your flesh gently and looked down for a moment, “Fuck,” He lifted his gaze to look at you and that is when you noticed the unusual tint in his eyes - an odd glow, “You need to go back home. Lock all of the doors and windows and stay inside.” 

“I don’t understand. Cregan, what is going on?” You had not heard the unknown shriek in a while, but the calls of wolf howls sounded closer and closer. 

“Please just go inside.” His tone bordered on a plea, something completely out of character for him. 

You blinked at him as his face got closer to yours. It was then that you realized what little clothing you also possessed. Your thin white shift with silver embroidered details glowed in the moonlight, but the thinness of the fabric left little to the imagination. Cregan took notice of your hypervigilance and his gaze swept over you quickly. He flushed slightly and looked at your face, unwilling to compromise the situation any further. 

“Where is your cloak?” He questioned. 

“I left it… the screaming… what in the seven hells is going on?” You tore your vision from Cregan and scanned around the empty street. The pounding in your head came back and you winced in pain. 

You looked up at the full moon and the pain intensified. It felt like your skin was being peeled off. Tingling needles shot across your limbs. Your knees buckled and you lost your balance. Cregan cushioned your fall as the two of you reached the ground. His arms wrapped around your body and held your upper body off of the snow, resting it on his knees. 

You tried with all your might to not voice your pain, but with each second it was becoming increasingly harder to resist. Tears pooled in your eyes and a sob ripped from your throat. Your eyes were locked onto the moon, its light enchanting you. 

“Sweetheart, hey, look at me.” Cregan cupped one of your cheeks and patted it gently. You were not responding, completely unable to do so. 

“Darling, you’re okay. Just come back,” His thumb brushed a stray tear from your skin, “Come back to me.” 

The edges of your vision got dark, but the call of his voice drew you back, “What is happening to me? Why does this hurt so much?” 

Your questions elicited a broken look from Cregan and a defeated sigh, “It’s alright. You’re okay, I got you.” The warmth of his embrace shrouded you from the cold. He gave off an unusually high temperature, but its comfort eased the intensifying pain. The wolf hows got closer. 

Movement in the corner of your dimming vision caught your attention. Turning your head caused immense tension in your neck. Behind Cregan, in the distance, was a collection of a few wolves. They were larger than you had ever seen before and stared the two of you down. None of them moved forward, all watching carefully. 

You wanted to warn Cregan of the danger - to have him make a run for safety - but your body could not take the anguish anymore. You collapsed into blackness as snow fell around you, in the arms of your friend. 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅ 

There was no way any ounce of sanity remained in your body. It had been a few hours since you woke up; breathing heavily and stuck in a sweat. You had awoken in your room with your grandmother sleeping soundlessly in a chair next to your bed. It took a long time to get a grasp of your surroundings. Your grandmother helped you drink water and get your bearings. 

However, what little consciousness you acquired soon fled with the conversation that followed. 

It felt partly like a betrayal. Having information - vital information - about your past, family, and self withheld from you for so long was an unknown horror. Your grandmother explained it as calmly as she could, but truthfully there was little one could do in that situation. 

Learning that your family had a history of werewolf tendencies was never a possibility one could consider encountering in their lifetime. Your grandmother had informed you of it all. How it had been a part of her family and typically skips a generation. You had pieced it together after that. Her being one and your mother not had led you to conclude that you were one. 

In your grandmother’s words, you had been repressed. One typically knows if they inherited that trait when of age, but it had been purposefully hidden. The gift from your grandmother, that beloved scarlet cloak, had been the reason for your lack of transformation process. A simple enchantment that your grandmother had gotten passed down from her grandmother. 

It was an attempt to keep you safe but ended up hurting you more than you could truly grasp. 

Truthfully, you had not believed it. It took more convincing but you eventually relented. To your little gained knowledge, those who can transform are able to do it in the few days leading up to and after the full moon. Outside of that window, transformation is not possible. Though the person benefits from other skills. The possession of unusual strength, the ability to bear the cold, quick healing, and faster speed and agility.

It would have been a win if not for the fact that you were freaking out internally and had your entire worldview shattered. 

You and your grandmother sat in chairs by the fireplace when a knock sounded at the door. Cregan walked in with a nervous look. It felt all too familiar to the first day you arrived in Winterfell. Yet, in just a week, the circumstances of the situation had changed drastically. Your grandmother, ever the peacekeeper, stepped away to allow privacy. Cregan did not sit in her seat but chose to kneel in front of you. He made no attempt to reach out to you and kept his hands on his knees. His eyes were kind and understanding, and his hair was put up in his signature knot.

You wanted to curse him out for looking so perfect in a situation where your trust was strained. For if he asked, you would fall into his arms. 

“I know you may have a lot of questions, all of which you are entitled to. I promise that.” Cregan spoke, his voice soft and caring. 

“Questions?” You huffed out with a hint of a laugh before channelling your frustration, “I have more than just questions.” 

Cregan nodded, “Hit me, if you feel like it, just don’t be angry with me. I can’t take that.” 

You were looking at your hands placed in your lap, “I am not angry at you. I couldn’t if I tried.” You heard a relieved sigh escape his lips before you spoke up again, “Are you… one too?” 

“Yes,” Cregan answered. You looked at him and he continued, “Many people in Winterfell are. I am the leader.” 

“I am just trying to wrap my head around all this.” You explained. 

Cregan gave you a ghost of a smile, “Take all the time you need. But, now that you know, I need to warn you.” Cregan leaned forward and took your hands in his. His fingers swiped along your knuckles and he prepared to speak. 

“Aegon is not who you think he is,” He spoke, “Darling, he is one of us and he is not a good man.” 

You almost scoffed at his words, “Aegon isn’t one of us. He has also been nothing but kind and treated me with respect.” You were curious as to what angle Cregan was getting at. What gain did he get by undermining the man you were with? 

“Be honest with yourself. Have you noticed anything unusual about him?” Cregan pressed further. 

You leaned back in your chair as Cregan stopped rubbing your hands, but still grasped them. Your back hit the chair and you looked at the crackling fire. You could not curse your past self for being so oblivious, for you had no knowledge that such a world existed. 

All of the quirks Aegon possessed seemed to compound; adding to another startling realization. It was curious how often a person could experience such amount of life-changing realizations in a short period. His unnatural strength for such a lean figure and how he never seemed cold. There was also a time he had injured himself - a long cut down his forearm - that healed within the week and left an almost indecipherable scar. Aegon claimed it was a good balm, but now you knew the truth. 

“Seven hells,” You whispered. You were not fully satisfied with getting caught up with the events from last night. “What happened last night? What was that shrieking?” 

Cregan hung his head in shame, “Someone from Winterfell was found outside of the walls… murdered. All signs point to it being a wolf.” You did not think of doing so, but your fingers instinctively traced his hairline down to his chin and he lifted his head at your touch. 

“Is Winterfell safe?” You asked. 

“As safe as it can be. Constant watch around the wall. I truly don’t know how this happened.” He seemed to get lost in thought and began to rant, “I am the Lord of Winterfell and I cannot even keep my people safe. For all I know, it could have been one of my men and I have no way of knowing.” He had got off his knees by you and moved to face the fireplace. His right arm rested against the stone mantel. 

You got out of your seat and approached him. Cregan, in your time at Winterfell, managed to seize your heart. A feat not yet achieved by any man in your life. It drove you mad, how easily his mere presence made nerves harbour your stomach. While he had spent so much time ensuring your comfort, you felt as though you had failed to do so for him. 

You rested your hand on the spot between his shoulder blades on his back. His muscles tensed for a moment before relaxing into your touch. You brushed that spot gently. Cregan slightly turned to you behind him. Your other hand cupped his cheek. He leaned into your warmth like flowers to the sun drinking in its light; their life depending on its radiance. You moved your hand to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair. You pulled him in to duck down and rest his head on your shoulder. His nose brushed the crook of your neck and his breath tickled your skin. Cregan’s arms circled your waist.

You knew he was often a man of little words and action. A large part of you wished to fill that wordless void in his life. 

“You are a good lord, Cregan. Most importantly, you are a fine man. There are times when you will be challenged when events beyond your control transpire. It is not how they come about that is of importance. It is how you act afterward that dictates who you are.” Your words seemed to strike a chord in him and his hold tightened. He did not say anything, but his breaths seemed to ease. You stroked his back in comfort and gently swayed side to side. 

It was there, in front of the cracking fire, that you felt your relationship with Cregan had begun to expand past the bonds of friendship. 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

“Do you get fleas?” The question you voiced as you sat on a wooden fence outside of the blacksmith building in Winterfell was met with laughs from both Cregan and Ser Dustin. 

It had been a while since your morning conversation with Cregan and the tension between you two was palpable. You had followed him around for the day, asking countless questions regarding any detail of being a wolf. Cregan took your questions with grace and answered them all with no hesitation. 

You had ended up at the blacksmith, where Cregan liked to help when he could as it was a skill he preferred. Normally, had it been Aegon, you would have excused yourself to be spared from the boring process of smithing. However, the image of Cregan in a thin white shirt, covered in a sheen of sweat, and with exposed forearms as he showcased his strength was not a view you wished to part from so easily. 

You acted rather nonchalant for the view in front of you. Each time he hammered down on some fiery sword, you had to avert your gaze afterwards as he had a habit of looking at you. You know he knew you were looking, and you knew he did it on purpose. That damned man sure knew how to infuriate you, as stoically as he portrayed himself to others. 

Ser Dustin placed down a tool he was wielding, “No we do not have fleas. I must leave for my shift of wall patrol. I’ll see you both later.” While Cregan was focused on his hammering, Ser Dustin sent you a teasing wink and gestured to his friend. You returned his glance with a look of disbelief. Once you and Cregan were alone, that tension that had been building only intensified. 

Cregan grabbed the heavy sword and picked it up with one hand, his bicep flexing, and dunked it into water. He glanced at you briefly before looking back down on his task, “If you could tell ten-year-old me what would happen in the last week, he would not believe it.” 

“It's a big thing, all of this stress.” You replied as you munched on a piece of bread. Your feet swung back and forth. 

“I don’t mean that,” Cregan spoke before letting out a laugh of disbelief, “I spent most of my years as a child waiting for your summer visits and all of my summers competing for your attention.” He seemed focused on his task, but there was trepidation behind his actions. 

You finally understood his actions towards you. How he was so quick to welcome you to Winterfell and spend every available moment around you. In your family’s absence, he took it upon himself to look after your grandmother. Cregan displayed a heartfelt dedication all these years since he was but a boy, just for the possibility of seeing you again. 

Nobody had ever dedicated themselves to you with such fervour before. That fact alone had you stuck in shock upon the fence. 

After a moment of your heartbeat skipping, you spoke up, “You’re rather bold to say such things.” 

Cregan moved to you, his figure towering over yours. The tops of his thighs brushed your knees as he leaned in towards your right ear, “I am,” he declared, “Do you think I would be a fool and let this opportunity pass?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and let his touch linger. By now your faces were close and breathes intermingled. If you could just lean in… 

“And what is this opportunity that you speak of?” You whispered. 

“Do not dance around the subject. Must I cut my heart out and show it to you? Show you the lines in it which spell out your name?” Cregan matched your whispered voice, “Or will you continue to torture me so? Please give me an answer, for in both sleep and awake I am plagued by you. This is the closest you have been to me in years, yet you are impossibly far away.” 

His nose brushed over your cheek and you saw him close his eyes and inhale your scent, “Tell me now if you do not feel the same and I will leave you alone. I will cast myself out as lord if you simply wish to never see me again. But please, do not leave me with no answer, for I fear that is worse than death. Do you share, to any degree, the familiarity I feel for you?” 

Cregan opened his eyes to look into yours. You were stuck by their intensity, the sheer volume of care confined into such a small area. You remember your mother saying they were windows to the soul and as a child, you thought it silly. Now, you understood. You truly understood the gravity of such words and relished in it. 

He showed you, at that moment, that he could be a man of words if he willed it - if it was worth it. You saw that you were worth it to him. You nodded to his question, unable to form words other than some shaken breaths. 

“Words, sweetheart, I need to hear you say it,” Cregan responded. 

You swallowed before answering, “Yes, Cregan, I do.” 

He pushed his body closer to yours - erasing what little room was left. Cregan’s forehead rested against yours and his nose brushed across your cheek as he leaned in. He paused, staring at your lips with intensity before coming to look into your eyes. He did not move but rather waited. You leaned towards him and brushed his lips with your own. The moment contact was made, it opened a floodgate. Cregan’s lips were soft and warm and he kissed you with an intensity not felt before. 

He took it upon himself to slot his body between your legs with one hand splayed on your lower back and the other at the base of your neck; his thumb brushing your skin just above the collar of the pelt that rested on your shoulders. Your hands moved to his chest, feeling the small scars that marked his skin and his thumping heartbeat. His lips melded against yours, moving to express his feelings beyond words. 

You were lost in the comfort of it all. His scent, pine and firewood, engulfed you and sent a tickling feeling to your stomach. It all dulled your senses to everything around you. Each moment you two slightly parted to breathe would quickly come to an end as you found each other’s lips again. Cregan drank you in like a man poisoned and given an antidote; his life just grasping for that reprieve. 

His ability to drive you crazy no longer angered you. If Cregan could hold and kiss you like this again, you would forsake your mind and drown in madness. 

He pulled away only slightly with his forehead resting on yours. The two of you breathed in and out erratically. You finally opened your eyes to meet Cregan’s already looking at you. His gaze never wavered. It was then when he gave you a full smile, the first one you ever saw on him. It almost left you as breathless as the kiss you shared. One of his hands cupped your cheek, its size engulfing a portion of your face. 

“You need not make a final decision now. I have no doubt this last day alone has drained you. Know that I will wait for your answer, and I will obey your wishes.” Cregan left a searing kiss on your cheek and squeezed you in his hold a final time before pulling away. The sudden increase of cold as his warm body parted from yours could have sent you into shock if not for the fact that you too possessed that strange ability. He nodded his head to you, “Sleep well, my love.” 

You stayed sitting on that wooden fence, replaying the last few minutes in your mind. Cregan had been waiting for you, waiting since your shared childhood. Those days of running through flower fields hand in hand as children were behind you. Childhood innocence melted away into devotion. You felt hurt, just slightly, for having forgotten about him but him still thinking of you for all that time. 

You shuffled off of the fence and walked home slowly. Snow began to fall once again. The silence that came with snowfall muffled the world around you. The people of Winterfell were in their homes, each chimney erupting smoke into the air. You could not leave Winterfell to go back home, for the concept of home shifted more and more in favour of wherever Cregan happened to be. 

When you arrived at the house, the fluttering in your stomach had yet to go away. You shrugged your cloak and furs off and hung them up by the door. “Grandmother, I’m home!” 

Your grandmother had her back to you as she fussed over something in the kitchen. She was dressed up in her cloak with the hood up, a detail that made you halt in your steps. She did not greet you back. You looked at her figure and felt off. She was taller than you recalled. You walked closer, each step taken slowly as if approaching a wounded animal. Uncertainty plagued your features.

“Grandmother?” You questioned. 

The figure turned and the hood slipped off their head. You were met with a flash of silver hair and a wicked grin belonging to Aegon. The enchanted smile you once held after your moment with Cregan morphed into fear. 

“Welcome home,” Aegon spoke, “Why the sad face? Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

You knew you had to act like everything was okay. You needed to pretend you had no knowledge of who he was and plastered on a fake smile, “I am just so shocked to see you, my love.” 

You forced yourself from gagging at those sugar-coated words and moved to wrap him in a hug. He accepted it and buried his head in your hair. He sniffed you and his hold strengthened. 

“You think I would not smell that foul man on you?” Aegon’s tone was sharp and laced with venom. You pulled away and gave him a puzzled look. 

“What are you talking about?” You left his hold. Aegon looked down on the ground, nodding his head and laughing sardonically. This moment of distraction is all you need to rush towards the door. You pulled it open. Just as you were about to call out, a hand covered your mouth and an arm wrapped around your waist. Aegon pulled you back into the house and threw you on the ground, his strength causing you to tumble into the nearby table and to the ground. 

Aegon locked the deadbolt on the door and sighed in disappointment, “A man can give, and give, and give… Yet all women seem to do is take.” He stalked towards you and kneeled to where you were. His hand stretched out and stroked your cheek with his index finger. 

Without thinking, you spat in his face. His head turned away from you as he used his sleeve to wipe it from his skin when he turned to you with a fire in his eyes. You took that momentary lapse of awareness he had to land a punch to his nose. It was the first time you exerted that super strength you had inherited recently, and it shocked you to see his body move back with force. 

“You fucking whore!” Aegoin shouted as he pulled back his hand to show a flood of blood dribbling over his mouth and down his chin. 

The front door pounded once. Both you and Aegon looked towards it. The deadbolt rattled against the wood. One final push was given and the door swung open and hit the wall. Your tense body eased slightly on the ground having seen Cregan enter. The man stepped forward to move towards you, but Aegon was faster. 

He moved towards you and picked you off the floor. Aegon pulled a knife that had fallen from the table and wrapped his arms around your neck, holding the blade against your throat. Cregan immediately halted his steps. 

“One move at all and I’ll gut you,” Cregan spoke. His face was not one morphed into anger. The expression he held was calm and neutral. No twitch of the brow or bead of sweat - despite pummeling down a heavy oak door just seconds prior. There was an air around him as if he knew who held the real power. The only indicator of his grievance, besides his voice, was the unadulterated malice in his eyes. It was a look that chilled the bone yet set the soul ablaze with animosity. 

Cregan was, if anything, a calculating man. 

“We are leaving,” Aegon spoke, “I am taking my woman back.” His grip on the knife tightened. 

“You are threatening the life of the very person you wish to seize… Not exactly a wise move.” Cregan looked Aegon up and down with silent judgement. 

“She means nothing to me, but she has wronged me and will pay for it. So tell me, Lord Stark, will you let anything happen to her?” Aegon sent him a taunting smile. 

“If you so much as make one more wrong move towards her, do you think there is a corner of the continent that you could hide from me?” Cregan’s voice was steeled and calm. Your fear spiked at the feeling of cool metal against your throat. 

Aegon cackled, “Oh, I am positively frightened,” sarcasm dripped from his mouth, “If I do not make it back to this little one’s hometown in two days, I made sure her mother and brother will not live to see a moment longer.” He then held out the knife towards Cregan, “We will go now.” 

He pulled you along with him, past Cregan and out the door towards the gates of Winterfell. Tears stung your cheeks as the monster of a man paraded you down the streets you came to love. You knew Cregan stalked closely behind, unable to interfere for risk of your safety. Once outside the gates, Aegon turned around. 

“Not so close, Lord Stark,” Aegon moved the knife to rest under your chin, the blade cradling your face, “You will stay here in your shit home.” 

Aegon seemed lost in whatever high he achieved through his perceived victory. The blade moved and nicked your skin. It did not cut deep, but enough to draw blood. The once neutral expression on Cregan crumbled. His eyebrows twitched and his nose flared. An almost thundering-like growl emitted from his throat. 

Cregan’s gaze moved behind Aegon and suddenly that anger cooled down a bit. You sent him a questioning look. His eyes communicated to you then - a message of safety and assurance. 

Cregan feigned defeat and raised his arms in surrounder, “You’ve won, Aegon.” While the words sounded pleasing to the silver-haired man, you could sense the falsity of them. 

A quick whiz sound shot through the air behind you. It was fast and ended with a thunk. The force of whatever it was pushed Aegon forward and released you from his grip. You tumbled down to the ground with him but used the momentum to push yourself back up and run to Cregan. You slammed into his chest and wrapped your head around his neck. Your neck arched behind to see Aegon, splayed on the ground, with an arrow lodged into the back of his shoulder. 

Ser Dustin came out of the woods with a bow in his grip. You sighed in relief knowing it was someone you trusted. The man came up to you and Cregan while Aegon laughed hysterically on the ground, rolling in the snow while clutching his wound. 

Cregan looked to his friend, “Take her to my home and see to it she is guarded well. Wrangle up a group to go to the town over and find her mother and brother - bring them straight back here and get there fast. Instruct other guards to patrol for her grandmother.” 

“Yes, lord.” Ser Dustin nodded to him. Cregan unwrapped his arms around you and nudged you over to his friend. Ser Dustin reached his hand out and offered it to you, “My lady?” 

“Your whore is not worth the trouble,” Aegon coughed as he lay on the ground. His body began to shake and you could hear the sounds of bones cracking.

Cregan kissed your temple hastily and spoke to his friend, “Get her out of here, quickly.” 

“No, I am not leaving you.” You responded. Cregan did not listen to you and nodded to Ser Dustin.

“Apologies, my lady,” Ser Dustin spoke before he lifted you by the waist, your head and torso hanging over his back. You fought back against his hold, but it was futile. The man moved back and you lifted your head to watch as you were carried away from Cregan. His back was to you, but you could see his muscles flex under the fabric. 

Once inside the walls of Winterfell and a street down, you could hear the animalistic growls and shouts of two wolves mixed with the slashing of flesh. 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

You had been pacing Cregan’s chambers for longer than you would like to admit. Ser Dustin took you here, posted guards outside, and left with a group to save your family. You were given a bowl and salve for your cut, but it did not matter to you. All of your thoughts were scrambled. Your mother and brothers' safety was at risk, your grandmother was nowhere to be found, and Cregan was fighting Aegon. Yet here you were, cooped into a room and unable to do anything. The powerlessness was crippling. 

Shuffling sounded outside the door to Cregan’s chambers. The wooden door opened and Cregan walked in. You did not think before flying into his arms. He winced but wrapped his arms around you. His face nuzzled into your shoulder and he breathed heavily. His shoulders sank and exhaustion caused him to lean against you. 

You helped him move to the couch by the hearth and set him down. Now that you were looking at him, you could see the dried blood that covered his shirt. Cregan’s white shirt had been torn to almost shreds and newer cuts adorned his old scars. His eyes were closed as he struggled to stay alert. When you sat next to him with supplies to clean his wounds, he reached forward. 

Cregan lifted your chin gently to see the cut you had received. His thumb brushed over it, “I should have killed him all those years ago. Exile was not good enough.” His voice was scratchy and the timbre reverberated through the room. 

“Is he…?” Your voice trailed off.

“Dead? Almost. He is in a cell,” Cregan spoke, “It is your justice that needs to be met, not mine.” 

You nodded at his words and made quick work of your movements. A wash basin with a cloth was on your lap. Your fingers gripped the cloth and soaked it through the water. Only the sounds of sloshing water and crack of firewood as it burned filled the room. Candles littered the space, giving you enough vision to assess the marks on his skin. Cregan used what little energy he had left to shrug off the tattered shirt. You started with one of his arms, the one closest to you. 

It was when you moved to the other arm that Cregan talked, “Your grandmother is okay. She was found outside the walls. No injuries except a bump on her head - from Aegon knocking her out and taking her cloak. She is home and being tended by healers with guards posted both in and outside the house.”

You leaned in to place comforting kisses on his shoulder, slow and meaningful. You moved from there to his collarbone while staying careful to not brush over any of his wounds. 

“Thank you.” You whispered. It was then that you moved to his back. Cregan turned so you could clean the blood and put a salve on the cuts without any trouble. With every few swipes of the cloth, you would place a kiss on his back. He would sigh with each one. 

When you reached his front, it was hard for you not to be distracted by his muscles. You cursed your brain for focusing on that when he was injured. Your hands mended the cuts, trailing down further and to the muscles over his stomach. The cloth in your hands brushed over one of the v-lines peaking out from  his pants. You blush under his gaze.

Once finished with your task, you got up and placed the supplies on a small round table by a chair next to the fire. You spotted what appeared to be a wardrobe and opened it. Shuffling through the shirt you found a nightshirt similar to the one he wore previously. You went back to him and helped him put it on as he winced to the movements. 

Your hands went to adjust the collar. Cregan grabbed your right wrist and held it up, kissing the pulse point a few times with his eyes closed and brows furrowed. You wordlessly guided him to lie down on the couch with you. Your back hit the plush cushions as he rested his body partly over yours with his head on your shoulder. His arms encircled you and yours wrapped around his back. Mindful of the wounds, you rubbed his back gently. It was not much long after that he fell into slumber. 

You waited a while before allowing yourself to sleep, for you wanted to make sure Cregan would rest. 

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

The days following had been more eventful, but less chaotic. That next morning you had rushed to your grandmother to check on her. She was in good condition and more worried over your state, but when she saw the cuts and bruises across Cregan that peaked from his clothing, she fussed over his state. You remembered the words she uttered when Cregan told her he was alright. 

“Do you think I was born yesterday, boy? Sit down and I’ll make some food.” 

That day was spent drenched in worry for your mother and brother. However, Ser Dustin came back with his company of men and your family; completely safe and out of harm. That day you had cried in Cregan’s arms from relief. The stress of your trip, from your sick grandmother to discovering everything about your heritage, and Aegon had finally come down on you. 

Aegon was executed after five days in a cell. Not an ounce of care was to be found in your heart. The trial he had was quick. Evidence collected by Ser Dustin caught him guilty to the murder of a resident of Winterfell, the one you heard screaming the night of the full moon. Cregan cut Aegon’s head from his body, and the remains were burned and discarded in the woods. All that was left of Aegon were memories - which would fade through the years to come.  

Everything got easier as winter melted into spring. Your relationship with your mother healed over time, as you both got into a fight regarding her keeping such a secret from you for so long. To rectify this, you and her sat your brother down to tell him - to avoid every keeping secrets in your family from then on. Of course, that had quickly become a mistake as he began to hang around Cregan and his other friends who were wolves as well, asking an insurmountable amount of questions and counting down the days until he could become one. Cregan did not mind and reminded you of all the questions you had when you found out, to which you whacked his shoulder. 

Over time, you and Cregan got into a routine. You continued to teach the children of Winterfell while taking on more duties to ease the stress off of Cregan. He welcomed your help and in exchange would visit the children often to give you breaks. You quickly found yourself spending more nights at his home than your grandmother's. 

It was here, during one of your many nights together, that you found yourself under the furs of his bed. Both of your bodies were exposed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Cregan was on his back with your head resting on his chest. Your fingers traced the scars across his skin as one of his hands stroked your arm gently. His hand moved to cover yours and still its movements. 

“My offer still stands for your family. There is plenty of room for them in this house.” Cregan brought your hand up to kiss the palm. 

“I’ve been trying to convince them, but they feel you have already done enough to help.” You responded. 

Cregan squeezed you closer to his body. “How bad would it look for the Lord of Winterfell to let his betrothed’s family stay in such a small cottage?” His tone bordered on teasing.

“Almost as bad as taking her virtue before the wedding.” You jested. You had lifted your head to look at him and Cregan feigned a look of offence. 

“How dare you question the sanctity of my bride?” He began and then lowered his voice to an almost threatening tone, “That is a punishable offence.” 

The two of you both laughed gently. You rested your head back onto his chest and sighed. Cregan adjusted his body to be turned and your back was lowered onto the bed. He sat up for a moment before trapping your head between his forearms, his body hovering over yours. Cregan lowered his face to be just inches above yours. You stifled a yawn and he raised one of his eyebrows. 

“Why is my lady so tired?” He questioned. 

You moved your hands up to push lightly on his bare chest, “Well, if you were not so insatiable with your appetite, I may have time to rest.” 

A cheeky grin formed on his face, “And are you rested?” 

“I could stay awake for a little while…” You answered. Cregan nodded at your words. 

“That is good.” He lowered his face and captured your lips in a kiss. His lips were soft and pillowy against your own. It was slow and searing. Some of Cregan’s hair tickled your face. His mouth parted slightly with yours as he used his tongue to explore your mouth. You let out a whine and he responded with a low, almost indecipherable grumble from his chest. 

His mouth moved to the side of yours, down your jaw, and to your collar bone; leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake. There were newly formed marks on your neck created just minutes prior and others over the past few days. He kissed each one again, marking his pride. His mouth would clamp down on the skin, biting and sucking ever so gently. Your eyes closed as you entered a state of relaxation. 

You craved him more and more. Each day was a newly discovered ache of want, of need. Your attitude matched his own, though his unquenchable hunger for you had been undefeatable.

Cregan moved down further and further. One of his hands cupped your breast and began to massage it gently while his mouth went to the other. His finger teased your nipple, flicking it gently. He dedicated slow movements that made you suck in a breath and arch your back up closer to his touch. Cregan’s favourite activity in recent weeks was discovering every little thing that made you tick. Every inch of skin surveyed, most times more than once. 

Keeping a hand on your breast, he shuffled down further to your stomach. His lips brushed across the smooth skin. The pelts were on his back but moved down with him, exposing your body to the cool air of the stone bedchamber. He kissed your hipbone, eliciting a sharp inhale of breath from you. You bit your lip as his hot breath brushed over your sensitive core. What exhaustion you previously had was completely abandoned as you felt your body come alive with an unrivalled energy. 

Cregan could sense your newfound energy and chuckled lightly. Both of his hands gripped the sides of your thighs, parting your legs just enough for him. His fingers dug into the pillowy flesh and his thumbs rubbed hypnotic swipes back and forth. His mouth hovered just above your core when he stopped. 

“Cregan,” you whined, “Please.” Your hips bucked up in desperation. He gave a quick swipe of his tongue along your core and pulled back. The single action made your head dizzy and your body thrum. You wriggled under his touch and intense stare, body shuddering in anticipation. 

Cregan wasted no time in burying his face in you, ravishing every inch possible. His nose brushed your bud. The lewd moans that slipped from your mouth egged him on, encouraging him more. He groaned into your skin, sending a rumble throughout your core area. Your hands could not bear gripping the sheet below you so they moved to tangle in his dark locks. 

When you tuged on the strands, Cregan growled lowly and picked up the pace of his movements. His tongue moved to your bud and sucked as one of his fingers moved up to rub your core, gently sinking into you. Your back shot off the bed and you let out a startled gasp. Your reaction only sparked more from Cregan. 

His actions became feverish rather than carefully planned. His tongue worked in circular motions as he inserted another finger. His hand moved with reckless abandon, set on making you reach your peak. Your breaths became more erratic and lewd noises escaped your lips; each word encouraging Cregan more. 

You were quickly reaching your peak when Cregan pushed another finger in, making your walls clench. The familiar pressure that coiled in your lower stomach built up. His tongue began making circular motions on your bud, speeding up intensity and pressure. Your body squirmed while it trembled under Cregan’s care. 

In a moment of white-hot light, you reached your climax. It washed over you in waves, spreading out from your stomach. Cregan’s hands gripped your thighs and held your lower body down as you huffed and writhed on the bed. He pulled his fingers out but continued giving your core attention with his mouth. By then you were lost in the throes of ecstasy as he pushed you to overstimulation. 

“Cregan!” Your shout was high-pitched as your lungs sucked in air. Cregan lifted his face and made eye contact with you. He smirked before kissing his way up your body again, similar to his trip down only minutes ago. 

Cregan, now hovering above you, leaned down to give you a soft kiss. It was not feverish and rushed, but wrapped in care and devotion. You moaned into his mouth as his hands grabbed your hips and flipped you over suddenly. You let out a startled shout that melded into a joint laugh with him. Your thighs wrapped around his hips and it was then when you noticed the feel of him against your core. 

You leaned down to kiss him and sighed knowing you would not get much rest that night.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ if you want to be added to any taglist, click here.

___________

This was my second time writing smut and I think I'm starting to get the hang of it!

Thank you all for your continued support!

series taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @dracaryxzs @beebeechaos @libdarkheart @aisselasstuff @whodis? @void21 @l-uminescent @idontlikelizards @poppinspops @nixtape-foryou @bluryar14 @mynameisjxlia @asteria33

[atinyslittleworld]

A Flicker of Ink

tattoo artist!san x assistant!reader

Summary: Tattoo artist Choi San and his assistant Y/N find unexpected romance during a blackout

Genre: romance, fluff

Warnings: mention of darkness and rain

.

San was a renowned tattoo artist in the heart of the city. His intricate designs and meticulous attention to detail had earned him a loyal clientele. His shop, Inked Impressions, was a haven for those seeking to express their stories through art etched into their skin. The walls were adorned with framed sketches, vibrant tattoos, and pictures of satisfied customers, each one a testament to San's skill.

Y/N, his assistant, was a paradox wrapped in a tough exterior. She handled appointments, managed supplies, and kept the shop running smoothly. With her leather jacket, combat boots, and an air of indifference, she was often mistaken for someone who didn’t care much about anything. Yet, beneath her tough exterior, there was a deep-seated passion for the art of tattooing and a respect for San's talent, even if it was rarely expressed openly.

Their days were filled with constant bickering. Y/N would scoff at San's meticulous nature, calling him a perfectionist, while he would retort that she was too reckless and needed to take her responsibilities more seriously. Despite the friction, their dynamic worked, and the shop thrived.

One late evening, after a particularly heated argument about the organization of the ink bottles, the shop was eerily quiet. The last customer had left, and the two were closing up. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights was the only sound, a reminder of the long hours they had put in.

"Why can't you just admit that I was right for once?" San grumbled, locking the cash register.

"Because you're never right," Y/N shot back, stacking the remaining ink bottles on the shelf. "You're just lucky I'm here to keep you from making a mess of things."

San was about to retort when suddenly, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the shop into darkness. The hum of the lights ceased, leaving a void of silence that was almost deafening.

San, trying to lighten the mood, chuckled. "Guess we forgot to pay the electric bill, huh?"

Y/N didn’t respond with her usual snark. Instead, she stood frozen. "San?" Her voice, usually so confident, was now small and vulnerable.

San's joking demeanor evaporated instantly. "Y/N, are you okay?"

"I... I don't like the dark," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I'm scared of it."

San's heart ached at her admission. He reached out, finding her arm in the pitch black and pulling her close. "It's okay," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm here. It's just a power outage. The storm outside must have knocked something out."

They stood there for a moment, their breaths mingling in the darkness. The proximity, combined with the silence, made the air thick with an unspoken tension. San could feel the warmth of Y/N's breath against his cheek, and he turned slightly, just enough to catch the outline of her face in the faint light from the streetlamp outside.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible. She turned towards him, their noses almost touching. Her fear had drawn her to him, but now something else kept her there. The silence stretched, and San’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, not from fear, but from the intensity of the moment. The arguments, the bickering, it all seemed to dissolve in the darkness. She could feel his breath, warm and steady, and it calmed her. Without thinking, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his.

The kiss was tentative, a question rather than an answer. San responded, his other arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. The darkness that had seemed so menacing a moment ago now provided a cloak of intimacy, shielding them from the world outside.

San could feel Y/N’s hesitation melting away as she pressed closer. The tension that had always simmered between them now surged to the surface, manifesting in a soft, shared breath as their lips met again, more firmly this time. San’s hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss.

San pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion, "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

Y/N's breath hitched. "Me too," she admitted softly, her hands still gripping his shirt. "I just didn't know how to say it."

San smiled in the darkness, his thumb caressing her cheek. "We don't have to say anything," he whispered. "We just have to feel it."

As the storm raged outside, the small shop became their own world, a bubble of safety and intimacy. San could feel Y/N's body trembling slightly against his, and he held her tighter, reassuring her with his touch. The vulnerability she showed in that moment made him see her in a new light, one that was softer and more profound.

When they finally broke apart, the lights flickered back on, casting a harsh fluorescent glow over their faces. They stood there, breathless and wide-eyed, the reality of what had just happened settling in.

Y/N was the first to speak, her voice a mix of surprise and uncertainty. "Well, that was... unexpected."

San chuckled, the sound breaking the tension. "Yeah, you could say that.

They stood there for a moment longer, the familiar bickering a distant memory, replaced by something new and fragile. The shop, once a battleground for their arguments, now felt like a sanctuary for this newfound connection.

"Maybe," Y/N said slowly, "we should argue in the dark more often."

San laughed, the sound filling the shop with warmth. "Maybe we should."

As they turned to finish closing up, San glanced at Y/N, his gaze softer, more tender. She noticed the change, a subtle shift in how he looked at her, and it made her heart skip a beat. The arguments might continue, but beneath the surface, there was an unspoken understanding, a bond forged in the dark and brought to light.

[the-fiction-witch]

By The Fire

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 12 Word Count -1250

Fictional Advent Day Twenty Five

Elrond stood before the ornate mirror, carefully finishing his preparations for the evening. He slipped into his fine garments, the rich fabric of his deep blue robes shimmering slightly in the light. The white accents along the edges of his attire, highlighting the intricate patterns woven into the cloth. As he pulled on his tall, polished boots, the soft leather hugged his calves snugly.

Once properly dressed, he moved to the dresser, where he selected his prized pin brooch. It glinted in the firelight, and he attached it to his robes with a steady hand. Next, he turned his attention to the bedside table, where several rings lay waiting. Each ring was unique, adorned with different gemstones that caught the light and sparkled as he slipped them onto his fingers. With a final glance in the mirror, he ensured his hair was perfectly arranged.

“Are you almost ready, my love?” He called out,

Elrond turned and found himself unable to hold back his wide smile,

The chambers were enveloped in a warm and inviting ambience, thanks to the multitude of sweetly flickering candles that adorned every surface. Their soft glow danced across the room, casting gentle shadows that wavered like whispers against the intricately carved walls. The fire in the grand hearth crackled with vigour, sending sparks into the air as it devoured the seasoned logs, its warmth spreading throughout the space and wrapping it in a comfortable embrace.

Beyond the leaded glass windows, the enchanting elven city lay cloaked in midwinter snow, a blanket of glistening white that softened the edges of the towering spires and delicate rooftops. The snowflakes twirled and swirled gracefully as they descended, creating a delicate ballet against the backdrop of the city's majestic architecture. Icy tendrils of frost framed the stained glass windows, where vibrant depictions of the sea and sky came to life, the colours glowing like jewels under the ethereal candlelight within the chamber.

Y/n settled comfortably on the plush couch, her shoes elegantly set aside, her flowing gown that cascaded around her. The fabric, a beautiful blend of deep blue and pure white, mirrored the attire worn by Elrond. Adorning her neck and wrists was an array of silver jewellery, each piece delicately crafted, glimmering softly against her skin,

Her hair was a masterpiece in itself, styled into luxurious curls and intricate braids that framed her face. A stunning golden branch hairpin held the tresses away from her features. With gentle hands, Y/n cradled her swollen baby bump, her fingers moving in soothing circles, instinctively comforting the little ones nestled within her.

Elrond scoffed as he went over kneeling in front of her and resting his hands on her own to feel her bump’s movements. “Why must you do this?”

“Do what?” Y/n laughed,

“Look so distractingly gorgeous.” He chuckled kissing her nose,

“I cannot help it,”

“I know you can’t,” he smiled, “But with your sweet bump you’re utterly irresistible.”

Y/n chuckled and allowed him to savour his time stroking the bump, “Must we go?”

“What?” he chuckled,

“Must we go today? I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind if we didn’t attend, just say the baby is too tired.”

“As adorable as that would be, you know we can’t my love.” He cooed, “Come, you know you’ll enjoy yourself.” He smiled taking her hands and helping her to her feet, “And you know how they love the snow.” he chuckled giving her bump a kiss,

Elrond smiled and helped her into her warm boots and wrapped the thick robes around her,

“Elrond! We’ll be fine.” she laughs,

“I still worry,” he cooed kissing her forehead, “Shall we my love?”

“We shall,” she nodded as she wrapped her hands around his bicep, laying her head on his shoulder and snuggled up,

Elrond grasped her hand firmly, their fingers entwined as they stepped out of their chambers. Together, they meandered through the serene, snow-covered city, the world transformed into a winter wonderland. The towers rose majestically, their spires resembling the peaks of an elaborate cake, each adorned with a delicate blanket of powdered sugar-like snow. Fluffy flakes danced gently from the sky, settling softly on the vibrant plants, ancient buildings, and the wise, weathered elven statues that stood sentinel, their features softened by the snow's embrace.

As they walked, warmth glowed from within the cosy windows of nearby homes, casting flickering shadows that played upon the pristine landscape outside. The air was filled with a tranquil hush broken only by the sound of their footsteps crunching softly on the thick carpet of snow. Together, they savoured the quiet beauty of their surroundings, a perfect reflection of the peacefulness in their hearts.

Finally, they arrived at the grand gardens where many high elves gathered savouring the traditional midwinter wines as they prepared for the feast. Musicians plaid the soft and knelt yule songs as the snow fluttered down.

Many lords and ladies came to greet them wishing sweet futures and cooing at Y/n’s bump. Many of these lords and ladies had never spoken of much less to Elrond on account of his birth and social status but all now flocked to them with warmth and joy to hear tales of her pregnancy and any news of names, kicks and arrival dates for their children.

But Y/n and Elrond staid close never leaving each others arms happy to discuss their children till dawn if needed.

The feast was soon called,

“My Daughter,” Gil-galad called opening his arms to pull Y/n into a strong hug,

“Father,” she cooed,

“How are you fairing?”

“Just fine Father, they're very happy and excited.” she cooed stroking her bump, “And Elrond is taking very good care of us,” she smiled clutching Elrond’s arm once more,

“I do my best, my love.” He smiled giving her forehead a soft kiss,

“I admit I have concerns, how well a half-elf can aid such a-”

“Father.” She warned, “He aids us perfectly,”

“That brings me peace.” He nodded,

Everyone sat at the large carved table enjoying the treats and rich meats ceremonial for this time of year. All engaging in idle chat about the festivities for the whole of the long and slow meal.

When darkness truly came to fall, all the high lords and ladies gathered in the garden before the large tree that had been growing since last yule, Elrond wrapped his arms around Y/n and set his chin on her shoulder, his hands on hers as they sat on her bump as they stood by the fire. 

They shared some tender kisses watching as the tree was set aflame and the high lords and ladies began to celebrate, they watched as the flames engulfed the tree sending the bright light into the sky and causing the snow to sparkle and glitter like diamonds, 

“Y/n, My love?” He cooed,

“Yes, Elrond darling?” she smiled,

“The next yule we have, they will be with us.” He whispered into her ear, giving her bump a soft stroke,

“They will,” she nodded, “next yule we’ll get to hold them up to see the yule tree.”

“We will. I’ll happily sit them both on my shoulders every yule for the rest of my life if I must.”

“You will?”

“I will, my love.” He nodded, “And perhaps in a few more yules I’ll get to hold your sweet bum again?”

Y/n scoffed, “We’ll see, at least let me get these two out first!” She chuckled,

“Of course,” He cooed, “Happy Yule my Love,”

“Happy Yule darling,” she smiled

The two shared, a soft and tender kiss, and a warming stroke to her bump. 

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden. Pt3

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Jaime Lannister: SMUT threesome, voyerism, praise kink, oral (Male receiving) )

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

After the event with the mare, the queen saw fit that you would be given basic riding lessons.

"Right, now just do exactly as he says" Cersei emphasized. "No second guessing or backtalk. Treat him as you would me."

"Of course, Your Grace" You were wrapped in a thin wool cloak and worn leather boots, bracing against the chill of the coming autumn. The summer had to end sometime, you supposed.

"My brother is being very generous, offering to teach you." Cersei reminded you.

"I am very grateful for the help" You kept your eyes trained ahead, not wanted to see presumptuous by looking at the queen too much or talking too much.

It was bizarre, two high-borns taking such an interest in someone like you. It made you uneasy, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I certainly don't to embarrass myself more than I already have."

Jaime was waiting for you by the stables, dressed in sturdy riding leather. His blonde hair flopped into his eyes and was brushed back with a gloved hand before he spotted your approach and smiled charmingly.

"Sweet sister" he greeted Cersei before resting his pale green eyes on you "And your new plaything."

"Now Jaime" Cersei chided him, "Be nice, Y/N isn't used to your teasing like I am."

"She will be" Jaime smirked at you, watching the blush creep up your neck and across your face. "Come, let's get started."

"I'll be waiting with the party, my dear." Cersei touched your shoulder, quickening your pulse as you whipped around.

"Your Grace, you're leaving?"

"Rest assured, you are in good hands" The queen insisted, flashing you a cryptic smile. "Good luck"

"Charming, isn't she?" Jaime came from behind you, watching as his sister left you to your own devices. "Come now, the faster we start, the faster you can stop being bullied by Clegane and that rabid stallion of his."

Eager to stand (er, ride) on your own two feet, you followed him before realizing there was only one horse readied.

"Uh, Ser?"

"You didn't think I'd jump to letting you ride on your own that quickly, did you?" Jaime practically laughed in your face. "Here, you first."

"I..." you gawked at the saddle the horse was set with. "You mean riding astride?"

"Something wrong with it?"

You thought for a moment before embracing your mistress's request to trust the knight.

"No, not at all"

He hoisted you up onto the back of his sturdy mount before swinging his legs up behind you. You swallowed a gasp, suddenly finding yourself pressed between the pommel of the saddle and Ser Jaime's chest.

"Let's get into some open terrain so you have space to learn"

Before you could protest, the knight had set the beast off at a quick gallop, one hand gripping the reigns and the other arm wrapped firmly around your waist to keep you from falling off.

Once you were well away from the party and in a broad scope of field, Jaime stopped the horse.

"Now," He handed you the reigns and without preamble place two solid hands on your shoulders. "The first thing to know about proper horse riding is your posture. You want to guide the beast properly? You have to sit it properly."

He gently guided your shoulder back, straightening your spine in the process.

"Now there's a saying my riding master taught me as a boy. And while it may seem forward, I need you to trust me."

Your skin prickled at the near constant contact between your bodies but tried to push it down and focus on the lesson. "Her Grace insisted you were the best. You have my full trust, Ser."

"Good Girl" Jaime praised in a tone that almost melted into a purr. "Now the first thing you want to remember about riding a horse is; Shoulders like a Soldier..."His hands slid from your shoulders, down your arms, before coming to rest on your hips. "and Hips like a Whore."

"Ser!" You gasped but Jaime tutted you into submission.

"I warned you it was forward, but just trust me." He soothed, "Now I am going to drive the horse forward slowly, and I want you to just-" His grip on your hips tightened "Follow the motion."

The beast began to move forward at a gentle walk and as the they went; Jaime's hands slowly guided your hips to match the motion of the horse's gait.

"A little faster?" He asked and you nodded, growing in confidence.

The walk turned to a trot, and the trot to a brisk cantor, and finally to a full gallop which left you breathless, clinging to the horse with your thighs as if you might fall off at any moment.

"Very good" Jaime practically cooed in your ear, slowing the beast back down to a peaceful trop. "You are everything my sister promised."

You beamed at that, proud to have lived up to your mistress's praises.

As your breath returned to you, you began to notice something different. Something that hadn't been there when you started your ride.

A hardness pressed against your ass, brushing up against you with the motion of the beast below you.

"S-ser Jaime." You swallowed. "We should go-"

"Go back, so soon?" Jaime crooned, pulling you closer to him in the saddle and bringing the horse back to a quick trot. "It's a lovely day, we should take advantage of it"

The hardness grew, and you tried not to notice until you felt it twitch slightly and Jaime muffled a moan in his throat.

"I don't think Her Grace would-"

"Would what?" Jaime grinned knowingly at your confused tone. "Sweetling, why do you think she left you out here all alone with me?"

"Because she trusts you, you're her brother."

"Hm" Jaime's hands massaged your hips slowly, running over your soft thighs and even venturing around to the front to cup your sex through your skirt.

You gasped at the sudden touch, pulse pounding as his two fingers skillfully located your slit and began to rub gently through the fabric of your dress.

"Ser" You breathed, trying to organize your thoughts as Jaime pulled your hips back to him, your back flush against his chest, rubbing slow circles through your skirt with the tips of his fingers.

"Just relax, sweetling" He breathed into your ear, "If you get too excited, the horse will sense it. Then we're both in trouble."

"We shouldn't..."

"I don't see you stopping me." He pointed out, hips continuing to brush the length of his cock against your ass. "All I feel is your body heating up against mine. Are you getting excited?"

"Oh Gods." Without thinking, you scrambled off the horse, falling onto your back as you did so.

Jaime laughed out loud, dismounting skillfully and grabbing you by the ankle before you could run for camp.

"Easy, easy girl" He chuckled, batting off you attempts to kick him like they were nothing. "Just calm down."

"The Queen will know." You gasped, heart suddenly pounding. "Her Grace, she trusted me, she's done so much for me, and now I'm here with you and she'll be so angry."

Hot tears began to stream down your face as you began to panic. Jaime paled, not expecting this to go this badly as he attempted to shush your sobs.

"No, no, no, Darling. Just listen, just listen" He tried to grab your attention. "Look, we'll go back to camp. We'll see my sister. Everything will be okay; I swear to you."

Not quite believing him and half convinced your mistress would abandon you here in the wilderness as soon as she heard, you wiped your tears and nodded.

Jaime gathered you in his arms and guided you back to the horse and ferried you both back to the party. He did his best to hide your distress from everyone else as you approached the queen's royal caravan.

"Enter." Cersei turned eagerly as her brother entered, giddy to see how her plan unfolded before her face fell. "What happened?"

Jaime opened his mouth to explain but before he could, you fell to your knees and bowed lowly.

"Your Grace," You sobbed into the ground. "I'm so sorry, I have failed you and betrayed you. I am not worthy of your mercy, but I beg for it all the same."

"I-" Cersei starred at Jaime who shook his head, shrugging in a helpless fashion. "Jaime, what did you do?"

"Exactly what you told me to do, I swear." Jaime insisted,

"Oh" Cersei's mind clicked with understanding and an amused smile crept across her face. "Oh, Y/N. You stupid little thing. Get up."

You obeyed, wiping your tears as the Queen knelt down to look at you.

"Y/N, I sent you out with Jaime *hoping* he would seduce you."

"What?"

"Yes, sweetling." She laughed, "You've been so good for me these last few weeks, and I wanted to reward you. You foolish girl, look at you worked up over nothing. Don't you feel ridiculous?"

You did, ridiculous and embarrassed and ashamed.

"Ser Jaime, I owe you an apology." You couldn't meet his eye, "Her Grace told me to trust you and instead I took you for a villain. Please forgive me?"

"I suppose I can." The knight nodded. "Though you did leave me in quite the uncomfortable position."

"Oh" a blush flooded your face again. "I'm sorry."

"Sweetling" Cersei placed a hand on the top of your head, "You aren't thinking of denying my reward for you, are you?"

"I-" The words caught in your throated. "Your Grace, I-. But-"

"Jaime, come here." Cersei beckoned her brother closer, leaning in to whisper in your ear, "You haven't quite earned the privilege of my bed yet. Treat Ser Jaime as you would me."

Your instructions were clear, and if it pleased your mistress, you were more than happy to comply.

Cersei's nimble hands reached forward to undo the laces of Jaime's trousers, pushing you forward to do the rest as she returned to the chaise with an eager gleam in her eye.

"Have you ever bedded a man before?" Jaime asked and you nodded. It had only been once, but you remembered how everything worked.

Peeling through layers of fabric, you freed the knight's semi-hard cock from his small clothes and scooted closer to him on your knees. A deep rumble of a groan filled the caravan as you took the tip in your mouth, sucking gently before taking more and more length down your throat. Before long, the tip of your nose was buried in the patch of fine blond hair at the base.

"Gods" Jaime breathed, a hand reaching down to grasp at your hair. "Gently, darling gent-" His words caught in his throat as you drew your tongue up the length of him before swiftly taking it whole, gagging slightly to accommodate it. The taste of salty pre-cum coated your taste buds and you hummed with satisfaction.

"That's enough."

You paused your ministrations when your mistress cut in sharply.

"Jaime," she crooned lowly, "Don't be greedy."

Jaime sighed, his brow already shining with perspiration as he withdrew his cock from your throat, a thin strand of saliva hanging from your lips as you gazed up at him.

"The queen is right, sweetling." He sighed, guiding you up by the tip of your chin. "This is supposed to be your reward, not mine."

Eagerly, you allowed him to unlace your bodice and aided him in removing your skirt and small clothes.

"Excited little thing, aren't you?" He chuckled, pulling you in for a deep kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips pleadingly until you parted them, making sure to explore his mouth as much as he did yours. He growled at this, unaccustomed to not being the dominant one, but you responded by sharply nipping his lower lip and grinning. He pulled away with a challenged look, as if calculating his next move.

"Come here" He spat, spinning you around and pulling your back flush against his chest, one hand snaked to your throat as the other danced across your chest. His calloused fingers grazed over your nipples, which responded eagerly as he palmed the softness of your breasts.

"Look" He breathed in your ear, rubbing his hips against your ass as he had in the field. "If you'd been a good girl, we'd have had privacy. Now look at you, about to be fucked in front of your queen."

You moaned at this, biting your lower lip and closing your eyes as he chuckled against your shoulder.

"Or maybe you like this better? Tell me, how long has it been since you've been properly fucked, hm? Years, perhaps?" His hand wondered between your legs once more, locating the sensitive bundle of nerves he knew drove women wild.

"That's right sweet girl," He breathed, firmly pressing his fingers against your clit. Your body tensed and your hips didn't know if they should chase the pleasure of his fingers or flee the intensity of the electricity building between your legs. "Now now, you stay right there."

One hand tweaking your hard nipples and the other pressing your ass against the knight's cock as it circled your clit, you knew you wouldn't last long like this. Your thighs trembled and tried to tighten around his hand, which only made him tease you more.

"Look at this sister, only a few minutes and her body is begging for release. Is that what you want, sweetling? To cum in front of your mistress?"

"Gods, yes! Please, please, please." You begged, skin slick with sweat.

"What a sweet girl, begging so nicely for us." Jaime cooed, sucking on the crook of your neck with a humming laugh. "What do you think, sister?"

You looked up and saw your mistress's face alight with excitement, her own thighs squeezing together as she watched the show her brother put on for her.

"I think....not"

You whined when Jaime all at once withdrew his touch from your body.

"Take her to the bed. I want to watch her cum around you." Cersei requested and Jaime gladly obliged.

"Tell me, sweet sister," Jaime hummed, watching Cersei leave her chaise to meet him at the bed where he deposited your aching, desperate body. "How would you like your little slave fucked?"

"Bend her over" Cersei demanded without hesitation, cupping your face almost gently as Jaime flipped you on your stomach. "I want to watch your face when he fucks you."

Her words drove another spike of need between your legs as Jaime spread your thighs and thrust into your dripping cunt without preamble. The sudden intrusion made you instantly clench around him and claw at the bedding desperately as he drove into you over and over.

"Look at me." Cersei cooed, watching your eyes dart rapidly trying to find her, "Gods, you look so pretty like this. How does he feel inside of you? What I would give to fuck you like this." Her hands petted your hair, damp and clinging to your neck and forehead with sweat. When she spoke to you like this, it was like the whole world melted away and became an extension of her. Even Jaime, especially Jaime, was just an extension of her and her will. She was the one who was fucking you right now, and it was her who made the muscles in your core snap as waves of pleasure washed over you.

When your body began to spasm under him, Jaime could only hold back long enough to pull out as quickly as he possibly could, coating your ass and back with ropes of cum. His weight collapsed on top of you for a moment, both of you breathing heavy. Both of you feeling like you'd been fucked by someone who hadn't even touched you.

Cersei rose up off the bed and tossed a rag at Jaime before leaning over you again, peppering soft kisses over your still sensitive skin.

"Good girl, sweet girl, how wonderful you've been for me." she purred.

[zagreuses-art]

The fine Rank and File (or at least the rank) of the Ankh Morpork city watch! I've been figuring out my designs for them, and I wanted to put them in a lineup to see how they look beside one another. makes you realize how ridiculous the height difference between some of them is

[ID: three digital drawings of the Watch members, against a police lineup background with height marks and an ankh morpork city watch watermark and logo. The featured members are in order of height: Detritus, Dorfl, Carrot, Angua. then Reg Shoe, Visit, Colon, and Vimes. finally, Nobby, Cheery, Buggy Swires and Wee Mad Arthur. they are all wearing variations on the watch uniform of brass colored armor, chainmaille, leather boots or sandals, and a skirt of studded leather straps. end ID]

more detailed description of the designs under the cut

First drawing: standing at over 8 feet is Dorfl. He is a grey-green troll with a very muscled top heavy build, patches of moss on his skin, and angular features. He is wearing oversized armor with pauldrons, one with sergeant's stripes painted on it, and scale mail underneath. the Piece Maker (a siege weapon crossbow) is strapped to his back. second, standing at 7 foot 4 inches is Dorfl, a reddish Golem made out of patchwork clay, with a overall gingerbread man look, and glowing red eyes. he is only wearing a breastplate, and he has his sergeant's stripes painted on his arm. Third at 6 foot 6 inches is Carrot. He is a redheaded white human, with a sturdy build, round face, and a cheerful smile. he has a captains pip pin in the collar of his shirt and his armor is visibly shinier than all the other's. fourth at 6 foot 2 inches is Angua. she is a white human with lots of very light blonde hair and slightly pointed ears. Her armor has straps at the shoulder rather than being one piece, and she is wearing her badge on a collar. (end of first drawing)

Second drawing: first, standing at 6 ish feet is Reg Shoe. He is a green zombie with a hunched posture and several missing chunks and lines of stitching visible, most noticeably the right half of his mouth has no lips, exposing his teeth. he wearing a tattered and patched flow-y white shirt under his armor, which is also the strap style, and there is a red ribbon in his long-ish dirty blonde hair. second at 5 foot 9 inches is constable Visit. He is a brown skinned human, with slicked back 80's business guy hair and a slightly strained smile. He is wearing a very crisp white shirt under his armor as well as khaki pants and a Omnian turtle necklace. he is clutching a bundle of pamphlets. Third at 5 foot 6 inches is Colon. He is a white human with a heavy-set build, a mustache, and a large bald spot. his armor has sculpted muscles in it and he is wearing sandals. Fourth at barely 5 foot 4 inches is Vimes. He is a white human with messy greying brown hair, and a five o-clock shadow, he looks a bit like house era Hugh Laurie. along with his armor he is wearing a red cloak and a sword. (end of second drawing)

Third Drawing: First, standing at 4 foot nothing, is Nobby Nobbs. he is a white-ish human with vitiligo spots, several suspiciously red or green patches of skin, and very scruffy black hair and a five o-clock shadow. he is smoking a cigarette and has several dog ends behind his ear. he has managed to tarnish his armor. second, at 3 foot 4 inches is Cheery. She is a white dwarf with a stocky build, blonde hair and a blond, braided beard. she has some burns on her arms, ears, and forehead, and is missing her eyebrows. she has a full lentgh leather skirt rather than pants. third, at 7 inches is Buggy Swires. he is a brown skinned Gnome, with grey hair and pointed ears. he is not wearing armor, but instead a rain cloak. next to him is his pigeon, which carries his badge and is a foot tall. Finally, at 4 inches, is Wee Mad Arthur. he is a blue nac mac feegle with red hair. he is in a watch uniform with a kilt, and is carrying his badge like a shield on his back, unlike the others he has a dynamic aggressive stance, rather than standing straight up. (end of third picture)

background of all drawings: a lineup height marker background, with the initials AM (ankh) CW and the city seal in the top right corner. the city seal is two hippos on a shield, with a tower between them. they are in shades of copper or bronze, as is the overall color palate of the drawings. (end of ID)

[brunchable]

POV: You're sucked into your fanfic - Part One

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fanfic Writer Reader.

Themes: Comedy - Chaotic Reader. Action scenes.

Summary: Waking up in a forest straight out of her own fanfic was not on Y/N's to-do list, especially not when she’s suddenly the villain about to fight Bucky Barnes. Decked out in an impractical gothic outfit, complete with a corset she can barely breathe in, Y/N realizes she’s written herself into a showdown she’s destined to lose. But instead of following the plot, she’s fangirling while getting her butt kicked by her fictional crush—and making things even worse with every sarcastic comment. Bucky thinks she’s insane. Y/N thinks she’s in heaven. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Isn't this anyone's dream? LOL to live your favorite fanfic LMAO.

You yawn as you type away on your laptop, the dim light of your screen the only illumination in the room. It’s late—way too late—and your bed calls to you, but you’re deep in the middle of a new scene for your latest Bucky Barnes fanfic. This one is different. This one is more intense, more dramatic. You smirk at the screen as you write your villainess character, who’s about to have a showdown with none other than Bucky.

“I’ll finish this tomorrow,” you tell yourself, half-heartedly knowing that you won’t. You glance at the clock and wince at the time. Ugh, work in the morning... okay, just five more minutes.

But even as you type that last line, exhaustion takes over, and your eyelids droop heavily. Before you know it, your fingers still on the keyboard, your head hits the pillow, and the world fades to black.

× × × ×

You wake up with a start, a cold breeze biting at your skin. Sitting up abruptly, you blink against the sudden brightness of your surroundings. Trees? The smell of wet earth? Slowly, you stand, your heart racing as you take in the unfamiliar scene around you.

Wait... This looks familiar. Too familiar.

The clearing. The night. The ominous, misty forest that surrounds you. No way...

The scene clicks in your head. This is the exact setting of your fanfic. The one where your villainess has her big moment—where she’s supposed to face Bucky in an epic, final showdown.

“Okay... maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m still asleep,” you mumble to yourself, rubbing your eyes. But the cold wind is sharp, the sounds of the forest too real. You frown and glance down at yourself.

Your stomach drops.

You’re not wearing your usual pajamas. Instead, you’re decked out in a gothic nightmare of an outfit. Long black cloak, intricately laced corset, and leather boots that look cool in theory but are so tight you can barely walk. You tug at the uncomfortable collar of your dress, feeling more like a cosplayer gone wrong than a terrifying villain.

“Oh no. No, no, no...” You spin around, trying to figure out what’s happening. “This can’t be happening. I did not just wake up in my own fanfic!”

But before you can even begin to comprehend your situation, a voice cuts through the trees. A voice you know all too well.

“Give it up, villain. You’re not going to win.”

Your breath hitches, and you freeze. Slowly, you turn around to see none other than Bucky Barnes, in all his intimidating glory, walking out from the shadows, his metal arm gleaming under the moonlight.

Holy crap, he’s real. He’s actually real.

But there’s one problem. He’s looking at you like you’re his enemy.

“Well?” Bucky’s deep voice breaks through your panicked thoughts. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Your mind goes blank. All those hours spent imagining this very moment, and now that it’s happening, all you can do is stand there, gawking like an idiot.

“I, uh... look, Bucky—” you start, but then it hits you. You’re the villain in this story. The bad guy. He has no idea you’re just a fanfic writer who’s been plopped into this nightmare.

You quickly glance around for an escape route. But there’s nothing except more trees, mist, and darkness. No way out. And then you remember what comes next in the story. The fight scene. A scene you wrote yourself... with the villain—you—losing.

Oh god. I am so screwed.

Trying to think fast, you wave your hands in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! We don’t have to do this. Can we just, like, talk about this?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, suspicion clear on his face. He takes a step closer, hand twitching toward his gun. “Nice try. I know your tricks.”

You cringe. Of course he wouldn’t believe you—you wrote him to be suspicious of every word the villain said!

“I’m serious!” you squeak, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. “You don’t want to fight me. I, uh... I surrender! Yeah, I totally surrender.”

But Bucky doesn’t back down. In fact, he steps even closer, and now you can see the lethal determination in his eyes. “Surrender, huh? Sounds like a trap.”

You mentally slap yourself for writing him to be this distrustful. Why did I make him so paranoid?!

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you ramble, desperately searching for a way out. “You’re probably thinking I’m trying to pull a fast one on you, but I swear, I’m not evil. Not really. It’s... complicated.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, you wouldn’t be either if you were him. He raises his metal arm threateningly, ready to fight, and you know you’re out of time.

In one last-ditch effort, you blurt out, “Wait! I love you!”

That stops him in his tracks. His brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. Did I just say that out loud?

“Yes! I mean—no! I mean...” You fumble for words, feeling your face flush. “What I meant was, you’re amazing. You’re... everything. I’ve, um, admired you for so long, and I really don’t want to fight you. I’m just... a huge fan?”

Bucky stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “A fan?”

You nod furiously, praying this works. “Yes! A huge fan. Of your work. Uh, your missions? And, you know, your... metal arm? It’s so shiny and, uh... powerful.”

He stares at you for a long moment, clearly baffled by your bizarre behavior. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

You groan internally. Of course he’d think that. You wrote him to be impossible to convince!

Meanwhile, Bucky’s stance shifts, preparing for a fight. You realize with growing dread that if you don’t come up with something fast, you’re going to get your butt kicked by your fictional crush.

And it’s all your fault.

× × × × 

Without warning, Bucky lunges forward, and you yelp, instinctively trying to duck, but the heavy corset makes it hard to move.

“Wait! I’m serious! We can talk this out—oof!” You squeak as Bucky’s metal arm knocks you flat on your back.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, lying on the ground, staring up at the stars. I’m getting my butt kicked by Bucky Barnes. This is the best and worst day of my life.

Before you can even get your bearings, Bucky grabs you by the arm and flips you up like you weigh nothing. You manage to stand, but just barely, wobbling in your ridiculous boots.

“Oh my God, he’s strong,” you whisper in awe, dazed. “This is like, the hottest thing ever—wait, no, focus!”

Bucky, looking at you with complete disbelief, narrows his eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

You try to explain, but then he sweeps your legs out from under you, and down you go again. This time you land face-first in the dirt.

“Hnggh... I deserved that,” you mumble into the ground. “I wrote this. I brought this on myself.”

You roll over, still fangirling, despite the pain. “Wow, even in pain, you’re gorgeous.”

Bucky looms over you, looking more confused than ever. “Are you hitting on me while I’m kicking your ass?”

“Yes,” you wheeze, still on the ground, clutching your ribs. “I regret nothing.”

Bucky sighs heavily, and for a split second, you think you catch a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You’re insane.”

You grin up at him, despite the dirt smeared across your face and the throbbing ache in your back. “I’ve been told that before.”

He shakes his head, clearly still trying to make sense of the situation, but you can tell he’s holding back laughter now. You’ve confused him, at least. That’s something.

“So... are you gonna help me up?” you ask hopefully, extending a hand.

Bucky stares down at you for a long moment, then mutters, “You’re not even a good villain.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groan dramatically. “It’s harder than it looks.”

With a roll of his eyes, he finally relents and pulls you to your feet again—though not without a little extra force that nearly sends you stumbling again.

You clutch your chest, still a bit winded, but can’t help the goofy smile on your face. I just got beat up by Bucky Barnes. And it was glorious.

× × × ×

You’re still catching your breath from being unceremoniously flipped, kicked, and restrained when Bucky wraps his metal arm around your waist and hauls you up against him, keeping a firm grip on you. He pulls out a pair of cuffs—the same cuffs you wrote about, of course—and slaps them onto your wrists.

“W-What are you doing?” you sputter, still in awe at how close you are to him now. You stare at his arm holding you in place, feeling your heart race like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Oh my god, am I being arrested? By Bucky Barnes? This is... this is a dream come true.”

Bucky looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Stop talking.”

“No, seriously. Where are you taking me?” you ask, wiggling in his grip but mostly just to make yourself more comfortable because—holy hell, his muscles are everywhere. You’re about to pass out from sheer fangirl euphoria. “Is it to a secret Hydra base? Are you throwing me in the trunk of a car? Wait, is there gonna be an interrogation? Do you have a secret lair? Because if there’s a lair, I’d love a tour.”

He tightens his grip, hoisting you up with one hand as if you’re nothing more than a grocery bag. You flail your legs a bit but quickly stop, realizing how cool this actually is.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Bucky says gruffly, dragging you through the trees.

“Oh! Is this like one of those slow-burn captor-captive situations?” you say, eyes wide with excitement. “Are we going to have a moment of shared vulnerability? Will we bond over our tragic backstories? Because, listen, I wrote an entire chapter about this, and let me tell you, it’s steamy.”

Bucky stops dead in his tracks, clearly regretting every life decision that brought him here. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You grin, too giddy to care about the situation. “Oh, you’re gonna find out. I’m a lot.”

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh and continues dragging you through the forest like you’re a troublesome cat being hauled to the vet. You stumble along behind him, your boots still making it difficult to walk, but you’re too caught up in your own fantasies to care.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you gasp, pretending to be serious for a second. “Are you taking me to the Avengers? Am I about to meet Steve Rogers? Oh my god, if this is a prison transfer situation, I’ll take it. Honestly, throw me in a cell, just tell me Captain America’s on the other side of the bars.”

Bucky groans audibly, muttering under his breath. “You’re literally the worst villain I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, thank you!” You beam, still being pulled along like a rag doll. “I tried to make my villain complex, you know? With layers. You’ll see. There’s more to me than just an evil laugh and a cool outfit. I have depth! Trauma! A tragic backstory, even!”

Bucky finally stops and spins you around, looking you dead in the eyes. “Shut. Up.”

You blink up at him, biting your lip to suppress a fangirl squeal. “Wow, even when you’re angry, you’re hot.”

For a second, you think Bucky might actually lose his patience with you, but instead, he just rolls his eyes and resumes dragging you through the forest.

“You’re taking me to the Avengers, aren’t you? You can tell me! I won’t spoil it for anyone,” you whisper conspiratorially. “I mean, you know, since I’m totally going to escape and wreak havoc... right after I meet everyone and maybe take a group photo.”

Bucky doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he hoists you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking faster. Your head bounces a little with each step, but you can’t help but notice how strong he is.

“Is this the part where I pretend to hate being manhandled, or...?”

Another groan from Bucky. He’s definitely considering just leaving you tied to a tree at this point.

You sigh dramatically as you dangle over his shoulder. “You know, I could help you with your characterization. Maybe throw in some emotional depth, give you some really meaningful dialogue in your next big scene. Maybe a nice brooding monologue... You’re into those, right?”

“Where I’m taking you,” Bucky says, his tone clipped, “there won’t be any brooding. Or talking.”

You perk up. “Oh! Silent treatment? Broody captor vibes? I love it.”

You can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off him as he mutters, “I need a vacation.”

With a smirk, you reply, “I’m free this weekend.”

[6azia]

Tentacles| Kakuzu x m!reader

—summary. gathering his courage, (Y/N) stepped forward, his boots tapping against the cold stone. kakuzu's green eyes flicked up from his work, his gaze as sharp as a blade. Or (Y/N) is really desperate for money

—content warning. tentacles, bottom yn, top kakuzu, s** for money

—word count. ~1.7k

—azia’s note's -

𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯-𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱

The rain drizzled steadily outside the cavern, casting a low hum that echoed through the hollow space. The hideout was quieter than usual, most of the Akatsuki members having dispersed on their various missions. Only Kakuzu remained seated by a stone table, counting a pile of Ryo with the precision and focus of someone who took his finances very seriously. (Y/N) watched from the corner, arms crossed, his thoughts circling around a problem he'd been trying to solve for weeks.

He needed more money.

Not just for survival, but to live comfortably. Even with the Akatsuki, his cut from missions barely covered the essentials, and he craved a little luxury. (Y/N) shifted uneasily as he debated the only solution they'd thought of; approaching Kakuzu for extra work. The man had his own side jobs and illicit deals; surely he could offer him something, especially considering his own capabilities.

Gathering his courage, (Y/N) stepped forward, his boots tapping against the cold stone. Kakuzu's green eyes flicked up from his work, his gaze as sharp as a blade.

"Need something?" Kakuzu's voice was gravelly, and though he didn't sound annoyed, his focus remained on his money, as if everything else was secondary, which was probably for him

"Yeah," (Y/N) started, his voice steady despite their racing heart. "I need some extra cash. I was thinking… Maybe you have a few jobs I could help with. You know, on the side."

Kakuzu's hands stilled, his long fingers briefly hovering over a stack of coins before he leaned back in his chair. The leather cords that stitched his body together twitched, faintly shifting beneath his cloak.

"You’re already getting paid for Akatsuki work," Kakuzu replied, his tone unreadable. "If you're looking for more, you’ll have to offer me something worth my time."

(Y/N) swallowed, knowing this was the moment they had to sell himself. "I can do anything," he said firmly. "Whatever you need—anything."

Kakuzu’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing (Y|N)’s words, calculating what exactly "anything" meant. Slowly, he stood, towering over (Y/N), the shift of his muscles visible beneath his cloak. The dim light of the hideout cast shadows over his face, making him look even more imposing.

"Anything, huh?" Kakuzu’s voice was low, and the air around them seemed to thicken as the tension grew. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something (Y/N) hadn't quite anticipated. "You'd better mean that."

Before (Y/N) could respond, Kakuzu’s stitches came to life, the black threads unraveling from his arms like serpents. In a swift motion, the tendrils wrapped around (Y/N)'s wrists and ankles, binding them in place. The sudden restraint sent a shiver down his spine, his heart pounding faster as he was pulled closer to Kakuzu.

"Is this what you expected?" Kakuzu asked, his voice almost mocking as he tightened the grip of the threads, holding (Y/N) firmly in place. His breath was warm against his ear as he leaned in. "Because if you’re offering yourself to me, I don’t do things halfway."

(Y/N)’s pulse quickened, and his breath hitched, heat rising to his face as he realized the weight of the situation. Kakuzu’s threads wound tighter, pulling them closer until his body was pressed against the other's chest completely. The smell of leather and metal surrounded them, his presence overwhelming in a way that stirred something unexpected within him.

Then, without warning, Kakuzu’s lips crashed into theirs. The kiss was heated, rough, and demanding, his control absolute. His threads snaked around the subordinate's waist and neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him that Kakuzu held all the power in this moment.

(Y/N) gasped into the kiss, his body tensing as Kakuzu’s free hand gripped his chin, forcing them to meet his intense gaze. His lips moved against (Y|N) with an urgency that set his blood on fire, the sensation of the tentacles keeping them immobilized only heightening the heat coursing through their veins.

Kakuzu pulled back for a moment, his breath ragged. “You wanted money,” he muttered, his thumb brushing along their lower lip. “You’re going to earn it.”

(Y/N) could barely think, his body responding to the mix of fear and desire that Kakuzu's dominant presence invoked. The cords tightened around his body, holding him even more firmly in place as Kakuzu kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savouring the way (Y/N) yielded to him.

Every part of them was bound, their body pinned and powerless beneath his control. And yet, in that vulnerability, (Y/N) felt an undeniable heat building inside them, something raw and primal as Kakuzu's lips and touch became more intense, more consuming.

When he finally pulled away, (Y/N) was left breathless, their body trembling in his hold. Kakuzu's eyes were dark, filled with something dangerous and unspoken.

"You'll get your money," Kakuzu said, his voice rough, almost predatory. "But don't forget this is the price you're paying."

(Y/N) nodded, unable to find the words as the cords slowly loosened around them, leaving them standing unsteadily in front of him. He had come looking for extra money, but he had found something far more intense—something that left him wanting more despite the danger.

One slim tentacle creeped itself into his pants, while Kakuzu distracted him with a cold hand against his chest. The icy hand distracted him enough that he was coughing off guard when the slightly slimy digit wrapped itself snuggly on his base.

Kakuzu put down (Y/N) on the table where he was counting his Ryo and he looked at the other man with the same intensity as the money before, which was a foreigner thought to the other. However he promptly forgot it when he felt the tentacle lightly squeezed him. A deep moan got pulled from (Y/N) as he threw his head back and arched his back slightly, trying to chase that delicious feeling.

The deep chuckle from Kakuzu pulled (Y/N) back into the present, registering that the tentacle now are roaming his body while Kakuzu only watched as if that’s the best show and if (Y/N) was a bit more clear headed he would have noticed the growing tent on the other’s pants.

One of them brushed over his ribs, its smooth, slick surface pressing against his skin. He shivered, the sensation alien and almost mesmerising, like thousands of tiny nerve endings coming alive all at once. They start to coil on the laying man’s chest.

A thicker one started to slither up to his throat and his heart had nearly stopped. In all his life (Y/N) never felt more panic and turned on. The primal fear that Kakuzu would eventually get bored of him and dispose of him, which can happen pretty fast.

“Breathe,” Kakuzu grunted out, on palming his now fully erected cock. (Y/N) eyes darted down and gulped. At that Kakuzu chuckled and looked at the other with a feral glint in his green eyes, with an unsaid promise that the other was going to regret his decision by the next morning.

One curled around his ankle, its cool suckers pressing against his skin, while another wound itself over his arm, creeping toward his shoulder and near his face. At first (Y/N) hesitated, almost like he was considering sucking on it. Y/N closed his eyes, trying to relax, trying to let go of the urge to do some things to them.

“What is it now?” Kakuzu muttered, voice barely above a whisper. Kakuzu wasn't expecting an answer. The frowning expression really didn’t suit (Y/N), he noted.

“Something... feels off.” Murmured the other. Y/N frowned and opened his apparently closed eyes, glancing around his room. It looked the same—dimly lit, cluttered with old books and clothes piled in the corner. Nothing seemed unusual.

“What do you mean?” Kakuzu asked and the tentacle around (Y/N)’s arm only tightened slightly, in what felt like a worried grip. The feeling inside his chest grew heavy, a strange mix of anxiety and pleasure mixed in the pit of (Y/N)’s stomachs.

“I don’t know,” came the response rasped, as to not moan too much. (Y/N)’s voice felt distant, but it carried something else with it: a hint of shame, curiosity and exhaustion. It made Y/N shiver the sensation seeping down his spine.

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the table. “Probably just a breeze or something,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or Kakuzu.

The tentacle curled around his chest tightened a little, then released, the suckers gently patting his skin. It felt almost like reassurance—like a silent, “Okay.” Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth at the gesture.

Kakuzu hooked a finger around (Y/N)’s trousers and looked down again to check. With a fast and desperate nod, Kakuzu pulled them down for the other.

His cock standing slightly reddish and proud with a drop of pre forcing itself from the apparently closed hole. The tentacles on (Y/N) became completely wet by his treatment and were now glistening more than usual.

Kakuzu took the relaxed posture as his go and gripped one leg of (Y/N) and the other took the pre on one of his tentacles to wet himself. He slowly pushed in, simultaneously letting his tentacles curl around the other more to distract him momentarily from the pain. After getting his head in, Kakuzu stayed still and watched how one of his many digits went from the other's neck to his mouth, to muffle the slowly growing noises.

Kakuzu started to move after (Y/N) started to indicate it. Those gummy warm walls of (Y/N) were driving him. He fittet Kakuzu just like a clove. Looking up at him with eyes that showed the other didn’t really do it only for the money and that they gonna have way more days like these.

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Closure

Azriel x Reader x Eris

word count: ~1500

Summary: You run into your ex who tries to lore you back into his narcissistic trap. Azriel and Eris do not put up with his games. You get... closure.

cw: nah cause fuck that man fr, allusion to death

The scent of rain-drenched earth mingled with the crispness of the forest as you stepped lightly through the underbrush, your senses on high alert. Your hand hovered over the dagger at your waist, a reassuring weight.

You had been out here for hours, searching for the rare herbs that grew only under the cloak of darkness, yet the quietude of the woods felt less soothing than usual.

As you bent to pluck a glowing bellflower, a twig snapped in the distance.

Instinctively, you looked over your shoulder, but all you saw was the endless expanse of trees stretching into the abyss. You knew the risks of venturing out alone, especially with the whispers of rogue fae nearby, but you had to trust in the protection of your mates.

Before you could fully straighten, a figure emerged from the gloom—tall, broad, and unmistakable.

Dain, your ex, sauntered towards you with a smirk that hadn't lost its sharpness over the centuries. His eyes, once warm with affection, now gleamed with malice.

"Y/N. Long time no see, darling," he drawled, his voice like a serpent coiling around your thoughts.

"What brings you to such a desolate place?"

You bristled at his casual greeting, anger burning in your chest like a star about to supernova.

"What do you want, Dain?" you spat, your voice laced with venom.

The air around you grew colder, a testament to Eris and Azriel's growing tension. They had warned you about his visit, but you hadn't expected it to be so... unwelcome.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his leather armor creaking with the movement.

"Just a friendly chat with the High Lord of Autumn." His eyes traveled down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

"It seems you've been busy since our little... parting of ways."

You stepped back, the chill of his presence seeping into your very bones.

"I'm not your darling," you corrected, your voice icy. "And I have nothing to say to you."

Dain's smirk grew, revealing the pointed tip of a canine.

"Oh, come now, don't be so cold. After all we shared?"

"We have nothing to discuss," you said firmly, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night.

Dain took another step closer, ignoring the clear warning in your tone.

"Ah, but you see, I believe we do. After all, your new... arrangement with the High Lord must be quite the scandal." His smile was cold, mocking.

"I said I have nothing to say to you," you repeated, your voice a whip-crack of steel.

The ground beneath your feet vibrated slightly as your power grew more insistent, the leaves rustling as if whispering their agreement.

Turning on your heel, you strode back towards the direction of the Forest House, the crunch of your boots on the damp earth the only sound in the tense silence.

Dain followed, his footsteps unnaturally silent for a man of his size.

The air grew colder as you approached the castle, the very stones seeming to hold their breath as you neared the grand throne room.

The massive doors stood open, the warm glow of the hearth spilling out into the corridor like a beacon.

Inside, Eris and Azriel sat on their thrones, the High Lord of Autumn's fiery eyes meeting yours as you entered. He had a knowing look, as if he had felt your distress from afar.

Azriel's gaze, on the other hand, was a tempest of rage, his shadows swirling restlessly around him.

"Dain," you began, your voice like the crackle of lightning, "you will leave my presence now. Our conversation is over."

He chuckled darkly.

"Or what? Your pets will bite?" He waved a dismissive hand at Eris and Azriel.

Eris's eyes narrowed, the flames in his irises flickering with the promise of retribution.

"You will not speak to her in such a manner," he growled, his power flaring around him.

But it was Azriel's cold voice that sliced through the room like a sharpened blade.

"You dare to enter our lands, address our mate with such disrespect?" His shadows grew darker, denser, threatening to swallow Dain whole.

Dain's smug expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Your mates?" he sneered. "How quaint. I've come to discuss matters of importance, not to be scolded by the a High Lords playthings."

You felt a flash of pride as Eris rose from his throne, his power flaring.

"Matters of importance?" he echoed.

"I'd say your lack of respect is what's truly important here."

The room grew warmer, a stark contrast to the coldness radiating from the sentinels.

Dain's eyes flickered with fear, but his smugness remained firmly in place.

"High Lord," he said, his voice smoother than honey, "surely you don't hold a grudge over a simple misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Eris' laugh was a low rumble that made the very stones of the castle tremble.

"You come into my house, disrespect my mate, and have the audacity to call it a misunderstanding?" He took a step closer, his hand glowing with a deadly flame.

You stepped between them, your eyes blazing with an inner fire that matched Eris'.

"Dain," you warned, "this is your last chance to leave peacefully."

He snorted, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

"Or what? You'll use your little tricks on me?"

"Big mistake," Azriel whispered, his voice a lethal promise.

And then, he snapped.

Azriel's shadows unfurled from his body like a living storm, a maelstrom of wrath that filled the grand throne room. They coiled around Dain with a speed that left no room for escape, a dark embrace that seemed to squeeze the very air from his lungs. The ex-lover's smugness evaporated as the weight of the shadows bore down upon him, turning his mocking smile into a grimace of terror. Realizing he had pushed too far.

"Huge."

"Back off!" you shouted, the words echoing through the chamber as your own power surged to the forefront.

The shadows recoiled slightly, their hold on Dain loosening enough for him to gasp a breath of air.

"You're making a mistake," Dain choked out, his bravado slipping away like water through a sieve.

"The only mistake I made was you," you hissed, the words a dagger thrown straight at his heart.

Your gaze was a storm of emotions—betrayal, anger, and a flicker of pain that had long been buried.

Dain's eyes widened, the shadows of Azriel retreating slightly to reveal his ashen face.

"Please," he begged, his voice trembling, "just hear me out."

"Speak," Eris said, his voice tight with restrained fury.

He had seated himself back on his throne, eyes never leaving Dain, but the flames in his irises grew a fraction dimmer, indicating his willingness to listen—for now.

Dain took a shaky breath, his eyes darting from one mate to the other.

"I... I never meant for it to end like that," he began, his voice thick with a desperation that seemed almost genuine.

"I was young, and foolish. I didn't realize what I had until it was gone."

You felt your own power simmer down, but not completely. The taste of his deceit remained on your tongue like bitter bile.

"What exactly are you sorry for?" you demanded, your voice still sharp with anger.

"For leaving me? For the pain you caused?"

Dain's eyes searched yours, a flicker of something akin to regret flashing in their depths.

"For all of it," he said softly. "I didn't know how much I would miss you until you were gone."

Eris's gaze was a glare that could melt iron.

"Miss her so much you had to cause trouble?" he spat. "Your apology holds as much sincerity as a wolf's smile."

Dain swallowed hard, the shadows around him seeming to tighten their grip in response to Eris's disdain.

"I've changed," he insisted, his eyes pleading. "I want... I need a chance to make amends."

But it was Azriel's voice, cold and cutting, that sliced through the air next.

"Do you think an apology can undo centuries of pain?" he spat, each word coated with the frost of his disdain.

"Do you believe that your mere presence can atone for what you've done?"

Dain's eyes flickered with a spark of anger, but he kept his mouth shut, his gaze never leaving yours.

The room was a cauldron of tension, the air thick with the promise of violence and the scent of fear.

You stepped closer to him, the floral scent of your potions and the earthy scent of the forest mingling with the metallic tang of the shadows that still hovered around him.

"You had your chance," you said, each word a bullet aimed straight at his heart.

"You threw it away when you decided that your pride was more important than my well being. You're a disgrace."

Dain's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and defeat.

"I know," he whispered.

"But I've suffered too. I've lost everything."

You folded your arms across your chest.

"And whose fault is that?" you retorted, your voice as sharp as the blade at your side.

"You reap what you sow, Dain. Your suffering is not my burden to bear."

Dain's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words heavy upon him.

"I know," he murmured, his eyes downcast.

"But I had to tell you... I had to see if there was any way to fix this."

"Fix this?" Eris scoffed from his throne, the flames of his power licking at the air around him.

"Even your apology is pathetic?"

Dain's eyes snapped to Eris, the desperation in his gaze sharpening to something more defiant.

"I've suffered," he insisted, his voice gaining strength.

"I've lost everything because of you, High Lord. Don't you think I deserve some... closure?"

The room grew so silent you could hear the breath of the ghosts.

Then, Azriel spoke, his voice a chilling whisper.

"Closure?" His shadows retreated from Dain, coalescing into a single, long-bladed knife that hovered in the air between them.

"You wish for closure?"

Dain's eyes darted to the weapon of shadow, his heart pounding in his chest like a rabbit's.

He swallowed hard.

"Yes," he managed.

"You don't deserve relief."

Uhhh.... general Azris tag list: @chunkypossum @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @talibunny30 @c-starstuff-man0 @the-darkestminds @hnyclover @jir67 @molcat07 @zuberi @ysmtttty @azysmate @secret-third-thing @azsazz @nocasdatsgay @tsunami-of-tears @azrielslittleslut @a-courtof-azriel @azrielsshadows42 @mistandmemories @lilah-asteria @lovely-vanserra-sunshine @christeareads

[ne0nic]

Our Game

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Wriothesley x f!Reader ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

MDNI

ִ ࣪𖤐 Word Count: 5.2k

ִ ࣪𖤐 CW: NSFW, Dom!Wriothesley, Thief!Reader, Mentions of Human Trafficking, Drugged Tea, Slight Bondage

ִ ࣪𖤐 No use of Y/N, Never use of Y/N

The game is lively tonight and you expect to enjoy it in full. 

With effortless grace, you move in and out of the shadows around the Court of Fontaine, becoming a phantom of the night. The deserted streets are a ripe playground, businesses closed, doors and windows locked, and the guards drowsy and inattentive. It's a realm of exhilarating opportunity, just waiting for you to claim.

Your destination is the side door of the antique jewelry shop, known as the last source of pride for an elderly proprietor. Your knowledge of every shop in the city is impeccable, following a mistake where you learned that it's unwise to steal from a Fatui-owned establishment; it's akin to pilfering from the Tsaritsa herself.

With a few deft movements, you manipulate the lock, and the door swings open without a sound. The shop's interior is as silent as a tomb, its owners having long retired for the evening. You enter, your eyes alight with anticipation.

You navigate the shop's layout like a child in a candy store, your gaze drawn to the glass cases showcasing a myriad of jewels, each one casting a beguiling shimmer. With nimble fingers, you open the case and select a ring featuring a sizable ruby. You slip it onto your finger, admiring the deep red luster. The ring itself is far from delicate, clearly designed for a more masculine hand – someone like…

You quickly remove the ring, tossing it into your bag. No point dwelling on such thoughts; it's time to collect your treasures and make your exit. You work swiftly, carefully placing necklaces and bracelets into your waiting bag, ensuring the displays remain untouched.

The unmistakable sound of heavy boots approaching makes you freeze in place, listening to the resonant thud of leather shoes and the subtle jingle of chains and cuffs. It's time to depart. You wrap up your mission with meticulous precision, and as swiftly as you had arrived, you vanish into the night. Peering from the safety of an alley, you remain silent, unable to spot the approaching figure. Even worse, you're uncertain of the direction from which he's drawing near.

Taking on the rooftop is undoubtedly the better choice. Climbing up the copper gutter pipe, you gain a sweeping view of the city from the high vantage point. From here, you can easily traverse the rooftops, leaping across buildings and making swift progress. As the immediate danger lessens, you descend to the streets below.

Suddenly, that distinct sound returns, the one signaling his presence. How did he catch up to you so fast? It's time for plan B. You snatch a dark cloak from a nearby stall and quickly drape it over yourself, making a dash for the nearest stationed Garde.

"Oh! Garde! Monsieur!" you implore, rushing up to the uniformed soldier. The young man, evidently new to the force, turns his attention to you with an eager desire to assist.

"Madame? What's the problem?" he inquires, clearly willing to help.

"I was just at the tavern getting a drink, and I think a strange man is following me! Please, help me!" You plead, ensuring fear reflects in your eyes.

"Do not worry, ma'am. I will take care of this," he assures, stepping around you to face the direction of the approaching footsteps.

"Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur," you say, masking your sly grin as you slip away.

The guard stands firm, ready to protect the innocent young woman who has placed her trust in him, aligning with the oath to safeguard all citizens of Fontaine. His excitement is palpable.

A shadow emerges in the dimly lit street, advancing slowly. The young Garde stands at attention. "You there! I'd like a word with you!" he calls out.

The approaching figure steps into the light, revealing a large, menacing man. He possesses piercing blue eyes, is adorned with chains and has a pair of handcuffs hanging at his side. His coat is casually slung over his back, and a scar stretches from the base of his neck, disappearing under his clothing.

The young Garde recognizes the man and instantly locks up. "Y-Your Grace! My apologies! I mistook you for a suspect!"

"Suspect? What gave you that idea?" the man inquires, tilting his head gently.

"This young lady, she—" The Garde turns, only to find that you've vanished. "Where'd she go?"

"A woman?" he asks.

"Y-Yes, a woman. She claimed a man was following her," the Garde explains. The man, who moments ago wore a serious expression, breaks into a smirk and chuckles softly.

You've successfully ascended the tower, fully prepared to make your getaway into the cover of the night. Luckily, tonight's escape had proven effortless, and you hadn't even needed to trigger an alarm to elude the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. He must be accustomed to your flamboyant tricks by now. The two of you had been engaged in this thrilling game for so long that you constantly had to innovate new ways to lead him astray. However, you'd come to find that the simplest tricks were the most enjoyable, especially after the sheer madness you'd put him through as you slipped away.

As you make your way toward freedom, a hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pressing your back into the wall. He looms above you, an unamused expression on his face. The way his stunning eyes seem to gleam in the dim light sends a shiver down your spine.

"Hello, darling," you taunt.

"Give it up. I'm taking you in," he declares with unwavering determination.

"That's what you always say," you mutter, causing him to grit his teeth.

"The bag," he demands, extending his hand.

"You're no fun," you pout, pulling the strap over your head and placing it in his palm. Wriothesley keeps you cornered as he opens the satchel, only to find it empty—no jewels, necklaces, or even a few coins. "Trouble?" you ask with a smirk.

"Where are the jewels?" he asks bluntly.

"What jewels?" you play innocent. He grabs your arms, pressing you firmly against the wall.

"I'm not in the mood for this today," he growls.

"But I'm completely innocent, Your Grace," you say with wide, doe eyes. "Little old me? A thief? Isn't it wrong to accuse someone without any evidence?"

"Enough!" he snaps, pushing you closer, your chests almost touching. You can feel the way his heart races, how you make him nervous. It sends a thrill through you.

"Or was there a different reason you followed me tonight, Your Grace?" you inquire, leaning forward. Your lips are mere inches apart. He tries to hide the way his breath hitches, but your smirk widens. "Did you want me all to yourself? You could've just asked. I'd never refuse." You tease him with expert precision, knowing precisely what to say and do to provoke him. You close the distance even further, his eyes locked onto your lips. Your breaths mingled so closely that your lips could touch if either of you moved even slightly. And just when it seems like he can't take it any longer, you pull away. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Sometimes I forget you're a man of the law, dedicated to your work. Surely, you're far too busy for me to take up any more of your time."

"Shut up," he snaps, closing the gap between you in an instant. He captures your lips, instantly stealing your breath away. His kisses are demanding, his desire to take the lead palpable, and you willingly submit to his commanding presence. His teeth graze along your bottom lip, eliciting a breathy, barely audible moan from you. You press your thighs together, utterly captivated by the way this man has the power to make you unravel. His longing for you has always had the ability to make you tremble, particularly in moments like these, when the game between you two reaches its zenith, when he finally catches you, and both of your desires hit you without reserve. 

His hand raises to the back of your neck, tilting your head up, giving him more of you. He's going mad. He has to be. There must be some kind of spell or pheromone that you've cast over him, that makes him need you desperately. Everytime you're before him like this, his morals fly out the window, and his lust becomes so thick he can't resist. He's well aware of the moral dilemma that plagues him. You're a true criminal, through and through, and he's fully cognizant of the wrongdoing of his actions. However, he never feels the exhilaration of the chase as intensely as he does when it's with you.

The tranquil sound of water churning brings you back to the present moment. Regrettably, it's time for you to make your exit. Your fingers slide over his vest pocket, and Wriothesley's brow furrows as you withdraw from the kiss.

"Gotta run," you murmur, slipping out of his grasp and collecting your discarded bag. Wriothesley's brows knit as you head toward the boat.

"Wait!" He attempts to step forward but is abruptly pulled back. He turns, only to discover that you've cuffed him to the service pipes. With a frustrated grunt, he struggles against the cuffs, and something falls out of his pocket. He gazes downward, finding a jewel necklace on the ground. Lifting his head to you again, you turn back to him with a playful smile.

"I had fun."

"Dammit!" He curses, his bracers materializing on his hand as he strikes through his own cuffs. Finally free, he makes a dash toward the boat. But the ferry has already set off, and he can only huff in frustration as you slip away. 

Again. 

Your fingers trace over the ledger, where rows upon rows of names denote inmates at the Fortress of Meropide. However, none of them match the one you're seeking. You can't help but wonder how many trivial offenses landed people in this imposing place.

Infiltrating the fortress itself was a relatively straightforward affair. They treat their prisoners well down here, making escape seem an improbable feat. Most inmates are cowed by the mere sight of the glass barrier that separates them from the relentless ocean outside. However, gaining entry was an entirely different challenge. Infiltrating the Duke's office, that's where things get tricky. Luckily, your familiarity with the office makes the entry a minor concern, especially when you have a duplicate key at your disposal.

"I'm assuming you didn't come for tea," a voice intones behind you. His hand closes the ledger's cover and rests atop it. Veins course through his arm and hand, and his knuckles are rough and calloused. You push away the inappropriate thoughts that threaten to surface.

"Should I even ask how you got in?" he continues, but you maintain your silence, choosing not to respond. Playing along with him today is the last thing on your mind.

"Who are you looking for?" he gets straight to the point.

"An...associate of mine went missing a few days ago. I was merely curious if he happened to be in your custody," you reply. He picks up the ledger and moves to the other side of his desk to set it down.

"Associate, huh? I thought you worked alone."

"I do," you confirm.

"His name?"

"As if I'd give you that. I'm not here to further incriminate him; I need to secure his swift release."

"Then it seems I can't help you," he states.

"You've never helped me," you correct, to which he chuckles.

"Touche."

"I brought you more of that blend you like," you say, gesturing toward the cabinet.

"Paid for with the proceeds from the jewels?" he questions, a hint of darkness in his tone. You smirk.

"I don't recall any jewels. It's simply a friendly gift, a favor for a favor," you reply, reveling in how his eyes narrow at your words.

"And what favor have I done for you?" he inquires, already knowing the answer. He's trying to ensnare you with your own words.

"I'll prepare a cup for you, dear. You seem weary," you offer, turning toward the cabinet. He's beside you in an instant, gripping your wrist.

"I wouldn't trust you to make anything for me," he snaps, making you smirk.

"Do you truly believe I'd do anything to harm you?" you ask in a feigned tone of surprise. You notice the tension in his jaw and your gaze drifts lower to the scar on his chest, which barely peeks above his clothing, triggering memories of that fateful day. "...Anymore?"

"Go sit down," he orders, and you pull away from his grasp.

"Yes, Your Grace," you say as you step over to the table. Outside the window, the vast expanse of the ocean unfolds, with creatures moving freely, seemingly unconcerned with the curse that hangs over the people of this nation.

You can't help but envy them, particularly after the arrival of that blonde-haired traveler, which marked the beginning of a downward spiral.

"I would like—"

"Three sugar cubes, I know," he interjects, causing a subtle smile to play on your lips.

"What time will the Iudex be arriving? I'd hate to be a bother," you inquire, knowing full well that you've committed his schedule to memory. He sighs, realizing there's no use concealing it from you.

"He won't be. Monsieur Neuvillette had a sudden trial, so he's rescheduled for next week," he admits, an air of candor coloring his response.

"What a shame. That blend is best served fresh," you murmur, your gaze drifting back to the water. A few moments later, he joins you at the table, the gentle clinking of teacups and saucers filling the air. You eagerly pick up your cup.

"I must admit I only ever have tea with you," you confess.

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow as he settles into his seat. He observes you as you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip. Only then does he feel comfortable enough to indulge in his tea.

"It's true," you affirm, setting the cup down. "I always believe tea deserves to be enjoyed in good company."

"You don't have any other good company?" he inquires.

"None quite like you," you reply with a smile.

"Your clever quips won't get you out of here, you know."

"You think I'm clever?" You tease with a playful glint in your eyes.

"I don't intend to just let you walk out of here."

"You never have, not until I was properly sore and had trouble walking the next day," you taunt, taking another sip, causing him to gulp down his tea. His hands clench as you speak.

"Enough. This... arrangement we had is over. I'm taking you in. I'll inform Neuvillette of your transgressions, and you'll face justice," he declares, his tone stern.

"And then I'll find myself right back under your vigilant watch. Is that what you desire? To keep me close? Ensure that we'll never be apart again?" You tease. His jaw tightens. "I thought you relished our little game as much as I did."

"Game?! You're stealing from people!" His anger is palpable now.

You roll your eyes, reaching into your jacket and producing a document, which you slap onto the table. He leans back, perplexed. "And what is this?"

"The justification you seek. The part of you that yearns to believe I'm not entirely malevolent, this is your evidence."

"I don't understand."

"You will," you assure him. The grandfather clock in the corner begins to chime, marking the appointed time.

"It's time for me to go."

"What?" he blurts out.

You rise from the table with alacrity. "Thank you for the tea. I had a lovely time." You begin to walk away, and he suddenly springs to his feet. However, dizziness overtakes him, and he barely catches himself as the world blurs around him. Overwhelming drowsiness renders his legs wobbly, and he finds himself on his knees, struggling to resist it.

"When?" he manages to mumble.

"It was your teacup. You always use the same one," you giggle. He exhales in frustration. You draw closer.

"Don't worry. I'd never harm you. You're just going to have a short nap."

His hand grasps your wrist. "Don't go," he pleads, his desperation evident. It ignites a spark in your heart, prompting you to sink to your knees, cupping his cheeks.

"Well, when you ask so sweetly like that, how can I resist?" you murmur before pressing your lips to his. "Listen to Siegewinne, dear. You've been appearing quite exhausted lately. But I hope you'll feel better when you awaken. And on top of that," your gaze drifts toward the document, "you might see me in a different light the next time we meet."

After a lengthy and exasperating lecture from Siegewinne, Wriothesley finally returns to his office. It appears that you were telling the truth; it was merely a sleeping drug, and by the time he awoke, you had vanished. He didn't provide Siegewinne with many details about your encounter, nor did he delve into any in-depth discussion about you.

He sinks back into his chair, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead. You had been here, well within his grasp, and yet, once again, he found himself incapable of fulfilling the very duty he had sworn to uphold. It frustrates him to no end. Every time you make an appearance, it catches him off guard. However, when he saw you inspecting his office, for a brief moment, he had hoped you were there for him alone. Alas, that's never the case.

To make matters worse, you've infiltrated his dreams. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are, bare beneath him, your cheeks adorned with a charming flush. Your hands tenderly caress his face, and he takes you with a gentleness and passion that starkly contrasts the reality of your late-night rendezvous. Normally, he's rough with you, mirroring your intensity rather than expressing love.

The thought of you alone is enough to stir his desires, and he curses himself. You had drugged him not long ago, yet he's back to square one. Removing the washcloth, he stares at the ceiling, hoping his little problem will subside on its own. He replays the recent events in his mind, striving to rekindle his anger instead of his lust.

"You might see me in a different light the next time we meet."

What did you mean by that? How could he perceive you differently? His gaze drifts to the desk, where the document you left behind rests. He leans forward, scoops up the folded papers, and breaks the wax seal. As he peruses the contents, his heart sinks.

The elderly man who owns the jewelry shop was using it to launder money from human trafficking sales. You appraised numerous items and recorded their selling prices. You even managed to gather evidence of the boats at the marina being involved in the conspiracy. Photos, evidence—everything is meticulously compiled within these documents. This alone must have taken you weeks. A small note is clipped to the last page, the page itself revealing the location where the captors are holding their victims.

Without jewels, there are no sales. I have bought you time, Warden. Do not disappoint me.

He rises from his desk, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next.

The entirety of Fontaine's police force is mobilized for this operation, simultaneously raiding all the identified targets. Wriothesley, however, personally takes charge of the most significant arrest. With a sense of duty, he apprehends the elderly man, promptly handcuffs him, and pushes him toward the exit.

Outside, the ever-dramatic residents of Fontaine have congregated, forming a boisterous audience to witness this spectacle. The vigilant Gardes work diligently to keep the curious onlookers at bay as he escorts the man outside. His eyes inadvertently scan the crowd. 

A sudden pause overcomes him as he catches sight of you. A sly smile graces your lips as you knowingly meet his gaze, and then, with your characteristic grace, you disappear into the crowd, leaving him with a sense of intrigue. 

About a week later, following the court's verdict and the subsequent exile to the Fortress, you make a return. Leaning casually on his desk, you patiently await his arrival. As he trudges up the steps, his demeanor brightens in pleasant surprise at the unexpected sight of you. There's a trace of solemnity in your smile as your eyes meet his.

Setting his report down, he approaches you, his curiosity evident in his tone. "You've been gone for a while."

"I had some important matters to attend to," you explain. "The victims who were kidnapped are now under the care of the Spina di Rosula. Most of them are just awaiting reunions with their families. Convincing a few to testify during the trial was a bit challenging, but I'm relieved it's come to a favorable resolution. The Spina di Rosula has pledged to hunt down the buyers, and I've provided them with all the information I could gather."

"Why not have the Spina di Rosula collaborate with the Garde?" he inquires.

"You and I both know that would never happen."

"What now?" he asks.

"My job is done, and I've cut my few remaining ties. All that remains," you say, raising his cuffs, "is you, Your Grace." He takes the cuffs from you, studying them with furrowed brows. As you lift your hands toward him, he glances from the cuffs to your wrists.

With a resounding clack, the cuffs land on the desk. The gravity of this decision settles upon you, hiding within it the unspoken message he wishes to convey. Slowly, you lower your hands as he fixes his gaze on you, drawing dangerously near.

"You're making a mistake," you caution.

"I know," he responds before pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. 

In a matter of seconds you both burst into his bedroom, lips locked, jackets falling to the floor. Your nimble fingers are quick on the buttons of his vest as he backs you towards the bed. He pulls your shirt upwards, his rough hands riding up your front. Once one hand finds your breast you moan into his mouth. His ice cold touch electrifies you. He rids you of your shirt and pushes you down onto the bed. His gray vest falls to the floor leaving him looking seductively disheveled in just his black button up. 

The tip of your nail fits between your teeth as you devour him with your eyes. "You're going too slow," you whine, reaching a hand out. Your fingers trail over his shirt, feeling every curve of his muscles just beneath the fabric. It has you aching for him. He reaches up, tugging his tie free from his neck. You light up, obediently offering your other wrist to him too. 

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you'd liked being my prisoner," he says, leaning closer as he ties the red fabric around your wrists. 

"Don't threaten me with a good time," you tease, leaning in as well. His gaze falls to your lips before lifting your arms over your head and guiding you to lay on your back. From there he spreads your thighs, fitting himself between. Pressing your lips tight together, you resist the urge to beg. Even a small bit of friction would be heavenly, but it doesn't come. Instead he slowly strips your bottom half, taking his sweet time to admire your panties before just snapping them off your hips. 

He sinks to his knees, lips caressing your inner thigh. Your hands find their way to your mouth trying to muffle your own weak whimpers as he trails towards your core. Where you want him the most. 

Just as his breath ghosts over your aching cunt he stops. Suddenly his hand wraps around the tie and shoves it upwards again. "Do not move them again, if you do you can forget about my earlier mistake. I'll take you in, right now, like this," he threatens in a husky voice, eyes boring into yours. You smirk, lifting your thigh to rub against his hip. 

"Like this, Your Grace? How scandalous," you tease. 

"Do you understand?" he demands. 

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He snaps. 

"Yes, sir," you say, your voice growing weaker. 

"Good girl," he praises, and you know you're soaked down there. Cheeks tinged red and heart racing as he sinks back down your body. He lifts your thighs over his shoulders before tugging you in one last time. Torturously slow he gives a chaste kiss to your clit. You resist the urge to pull your arms back down as a groan leaves your lips, your body involuntarily twitching. Wriothesley smirks at the display. It's as if he's trained your body to fall apart at just his touch, something he carries with pride. 

His tongue dives between your folds, and you throw your head back with a sinful moan. The man below you is terrifyingly good with his tongue and fingers which makes his next move a damning one. 

Two fingers easily slide into you, but he makes sure not to curve them into the place you like. Instead he watches the way you writhe, almost trying to force his fingers that way, the pleasure making you dizzy. Pathetic moans and whimpers pass your lips, music to his ears. 

"Please… fuck— mh." 

"What was that?" He mutters. "I couldn't hear you." His fingers slow to a cruel rub. 

"I wanna cum. Please," you beg. 

"Really?... I don't know if you deserve to," he says, his voice dropping a few octaves. The voice change drives you, making him smirk as he feels you tighten. "After all, you didn't tell me what you were up to. You worked outside the law, you could've gotten yourself hurt. Now, that… I just can't seem to forgive." He crooks one finger up slightly, sending you spiraling. 

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I won't do it again," you promise. He slowly rises to his feet, fingers still deep inside you. Wriothesley leans over your trembling frame. His hand caresses your cheek with a tender touch. The coolness of his fingers on your burning cheek is practically bliss. 

"Now, how can I believe you? You've broken every other promise you've made to me," he says tauntingly. Fuck! You hate him. You know what he's trying to do, and he knows how desperate you are, enough to agree to any of his demands. He brings your diverting gaze back to his. 

"No more secrets," you agree, making him sigh. 

"Now, was that so hard?" He asks, pressing right there making your head go fuzzy. You gasp in surprise as his fingers pull you apart all over again, the familiar sensation pooling within you. Wriothesley presses his lips to yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth so he can still hear your gasping moans. "Cum, pretty girl." Your body shudders in the wake of your orgasm, and he doesn't relent, driving you oversensitive in a matter of moments. Your hands grab his wrist, stopping him as you still ride out the end of your orgasm. He smirks and pulls his fingers out. You feel the tie release your wrists. 

He's gentle as he lifts your face, seeing the dazed, blissed out expression you wear. His lips peck around your cheeks, to your neck, to your collar, and them to your shoulders by the time your high fades. 

"Back with me?" He asks lifting your chin, you nod and he slots his lips against yours while opening your legs again. He fits himself between them and pulls on his belt with one hand, something you don't mind helping him with. He chuckles as he feels you desperately pull his pants open. His aching cock springs free hard and hot in your palm as you stroke him. His forehead sinks to your shoulder as he shudders, slightly thrusting into your touch. "Shit." 

"Hurry," you urge. Lifting himself up he positions himself so the head just barely brushes against you. You press your lips together. 

Wriothesley reaches upwards, his hand sliding down your arm until he can fit his fingers between yours. Then he thrusts. His other hand grips your hip so tight you pray there will be a bruise. He stretches you open, forcing you to take his size, your eyes roll back into your head. 

"Fuck!" You cry out as he bottoms out. He starts with slow shallow thrusts but his patience quickly wears thin. In no time he's snapping his hips forward, rocking the bed, shoving himself deeper inside you. It's predatory, the way he heaves, the way he takes, the way his fingers grip your hair and hold your head up to make you watch him fuck your brains out. 

In practically no time at all you're cumming again, but he doesn't slow down, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you clench down on him. The continued force of his thrusts sends you right into a second orgasm and he follows suit. Your cunt milks him for all he's worth. Every drop belongs to you. 

He belongs to you. 

"Just fucking be mine already," he groans. His words break through your hazy mind in an instant. 

"What?" 

"Fuck," he mutters. "You're gonna make me say it outright, aren't you?" He leans over fingers brushing over your cheek. "Stay with me. Be with me." 

Your heart feels as if it may beat out of your chest as he says it. His cold eyes are now strikingly warm and tender. But you don't know what to say. 

Instead you reach up, hands pulling his face down to yours. He complies easily. You kiss him sweetly, whispering against his lips, "I'm yours." 

Your confirmation makes his heart sing as he kisses you with more fervor, growing hard inside you once more. The first thrust catches you by surprise but you're loving it. This time there's nothing rough about the way he holds you. He treats you softly, like you'll break if he's any harder. He holds your body in tight to his, burying himself deep inside you, until you're seeing stars. 

The clock chimes, marking the hour as Wriothesley opens his eyes. To his dismay the spot next to him is empty. He rubs his face, already stressed that you've disappeared like usual. Unfortunately, maybe he was foolish enough to hope for something more from you. 

Sitting up he finally notices the weight on his finger. A ring, a gigantic red ruby within a thick band. The metal is dark and the design is intricate. Honestly, it truly seems like something he'd wear. 

Peering over to your side one more time his eyes widen as he sees a folded up paper. With one hand he retrieves it and flips it open. 

My secrets come at a cost, Your Grace. So, if you manage to catch me Thursday night, I might consider telling you one or two. Preferably over tea. 

I'll be expecting you. 

He laughs to himself, "So, the chase is still on, huh? Better make it interesting."