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targaryen-dynasty · 7 months ago

Text

REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

4K notes · View notes

carebearbussy · 5 months ago

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𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙝 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙮

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛, 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 >:(

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 2.1k

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

You were practically jumping for joy.

You had been in dire need of a new wardrobe, due to the oncoming spring. After Sukuna had ruined your favorite kimono because he had practically ripped it off of your body, he promised you he would get you all of the clothes you had desired. And you had a long list of shopping planned, particularly for this moment.

Sukuna had taken you out to the local market, accompanying you on your journey for a new and improve wardrobe. Following shortly behind the two of you, were a group of butlers, followed by Uraume shortly after. The market today was bustling with people, especially coming in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Lord Sukuna and his lady in waiting, which was you. You held onto Sukuna's forearm, not wanting to get lost in the swarm of people crowding the surrounding area.

You watched as a large group of civilians followed behind you two, gossiping about where they think you'll go next. You giggle at this, quickly getting used to all of the attention you got whenever Sukuna let you go out. Passing by each and every one of the shops, you passed by a jewelry stand, taken by surprise by the dazzling jewels on the display. The shopkeeper at the stand was calling customers far and wide to come take a look at the beauties. It mesmerized you, especially thinking about how good they would look on your body. She smiled upon looking at you, beckoning you to come to her stand, despite the clear aura of Sukuna frightening most people to keep at least ten feet away.

But you found yourself staring intently, stopping your tracks in the process. You tugged on Sukuna's hand, as he focuses his attention towards you, looking down to see what you were diverting his attention to. A lousy jewelry store? A cheap one too, he thought. You look at him, though his clear distaste for your inexpensive taste. "Kuna, can I just look?" You ask him, a curious put grazing your lips. He contorts his upper lip into that of disgust, clearly looking down on the owner and her fake jewels. How dare she try to sell such a naive thing like you that fake bullshit.

"God, woman, how can you be so ingenuous." He says, finding it amusing how after spending so much time with him at his estate, you still cannot tell the difference between real and fake. He will have to teach you that later. But for now, he has to focus on getting your head out of the clouds. "What do you mean?" You ask him, furrowing your eyebrows as confusion is evident on your face.

He looks at the stand up and down, clearly looking down on the woman, as he makes it very clear how he feels. He sighs, as he places one of his lower arms on your hip, one of his upper arms on your opposite shoulder, guiding you to the small wooden stand. Moving past the woman running the stand from behind, leaning down to your eye level from behind. He took the jewel from in between her fingers and into his grasp, holding it in front of your eye, moving it in a manner that guides it along the sun in his palm, showing the shine inside easily.

It was a beautiful emerald, perfectly cut sides, forming into a cleanly cut trapezoid. Your eyes widened, looking at it. It was perfectly clear, letting you see through it like it was water. "This is fake, and clearly meant to trick a gullible woman like you." He says, moving the hand that once rested on your shoulder to the top of your head, ruffling your hair in an endearing manner. "You're lucky I was accompanying you today, or else you would have fallen for such an easy trick."

You chew the sides of your cheek, clearly not interested in the fact that it is fake. "But it's beautiful, isn't it? Please! Let me get it!" You plead, turning your head to the side, looking at him as he crouched beside you. He sighs, before looking over at the shopkeeper, who was now bowing on the gravel floor before her, out of respect at the fact that Lord Sukuna himself visited her shop. "You, look up." he says, clearly directed towards the shop owner.

"Yes, of course." She says, nervousness filling her system at the thought of something terrible. He takes a step closer to her, disregarding you. "You dare sell such filth in my presence?" He says, holding the emerald in front of her face bluntly. Her eyes widen in response, quickly shaking her head at the sight of the man before her. He scoffs, before throwing the emerald onto the floor, making the woman scramble to try and find it, but instead seeing the shattered pieces of what it once was. You notice the people surrounding you grow in number, loudly whispering to themselves about the commotion.

"I'm sorry, my lord!" She says, pleading to be forgiven. As she picks up each shard of emerald, a large foot comes up to her hand, stepping on it with a smush, making her yelp out in pain. He smirks, as he kicks the rest of the shards out in the distance, making her get up and pick up the rest.

You look around, clearly dissatisfied. You wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there, due to the embarrassment you were feeling at the moment. You fiddled your thumbs together, trying to muster up an apology towards the woman, but nothing came out. You look at Sukuna, who was now walking back towards you, completely ignoring the shop keeper panicking on the ground. He brings a hand to your forehead, caressing it with his thumb. He sees your expression, disheartened by your distress. Moving his hand down, he uses his thumb and index finger to lift the sides of your mouth into a smile.

"Hmph, somebody is being dramatic, aren't we? The hag had what was coming for her." He says, making the butlers along with Uraume laugh. He moves away from the scene, as he places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you away as you obediently follow. As you walk into the depths of the market, and away from the shop, you look back, watching as the woman is left to pick up the mess Sukuna had made. Of course, she could have stood up for herself, but she didn't, nobody does when it comes to him. Sukuna looks down at you with his lower set of eyes, observing your guilt for not helping her.

"Why worry? She will be fine. I will get you real jewelry. You said you wanted a new scarf, yes? I know a great, authentic emporium that sells the ones I know you'd like." he says, patting your back slightly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Sometimes, you wonder why having a husband was such a great thing, but yours became very useful in times like these.

He was currently sat in his office, doing ink paperwork that was delivered to him. But you had other plans. You had two of your handmaidens set up a changing station, unfolding a dressing screen for dramatic effect. On a hanging rack, were clothes laid out to match your new goodies. And your goal? To impress him of course, even though you didn't even need to try.

Your clothes went flying over your head behind the divider, as Sukuna had to move a pair of your underwear from his desk that flew onto his papers in the process. Flicking it out of the way, he found it increasingly harder to focus on his work, as he rubbed his forehead in annoyance. You put on your outfit, struggling quite a bit due to the many layers that the clothing was made equipped with. Your small grunts did not go unnoticed by Sukuna, who by now had taken off his reading glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose.

Resting his hands on his navy blue robe, he stared at the divider, seeing your arms peek out from behind, as you lifted another layer over the top half of your body. Each layer felt like torture trying to get on, the clothing making you feel heavy. He closed his eyes for a bit, listening to the sounds of your grunts of struggle, humming to himself as he bounced his leg on the floor.

"You need help?" He asked, clearly amused at your evident struggle. Tapping his fingers on his thigh, he watched as you stopped your scuffling. Peeking over the divider, you placed your hands at the top, going on your tip toes to see him. You smile, anticipating his reaction. Will he like it? Hate it? No, he can't hate it, you look good in anything. You step off your tip toes, smiling behind the divider. "You're going to loooove this outfit I picked, 'Kuna." You say, teasing him bit by bit. He tilts his head, growing more impatient as time moves on. Tapping his foot against the hard wood, he speaks up. "Well then hurry up, I don't have all day brat."

You stepped in his field of vision, walking with slow strides to the front of his desk. You twirl in your dress, as you looked down at yourself. You were clearly struggling to move all too much, but you looked like a million bucks. Anybody would agree, especially your husband, who looked at you with a very slight astounded expression. It was very hard to tell what he was thinking to the naked eye, but you knew him all too well.

Your gown was a beautiful mixture of pink and yellow, really contrasting well together with your already loose hair. And you had paired it with new accessories you had gotten while on your trip to the market. Which was a new hairpiece, multiple rings, and one more thing you had struggled to put on, your new necklace.

You walk over to him, holding out the necklace in your palms. It was a pink diamond, hoisted in the middle of a set of pearls surrounding it. It felt heavy in your palms, wanting to pass it on to Sukuna, who was now facing you. "My, my. Well don't you look like something." He says with a chuckle, relishing in the way the gown perfectly fitted you.

Patting his lap with one hand, he beckoned you over, your cue to come sit on his lap. You scurried over, plopping yourself nicely on his large lap, making yourself a makeshift seat. He wrapped his lower set of arms around your waist, feeling the fabric that rested along your frame. He hummed in contentment, satisfied with how you look. As you held out the necklace in your hands, you fiddled with the hook to try and pry it open.

Sticking your tongue out, you were hyper focused on getting it unlocked, but to no avail. Sukuna notices this, not liking to see you struggle any further. "Christ, give it to me already." He says, snatching the necklace from you quickly with his upper set of hands. "Hey! Be careful, that was expensive-" "If it breaks I'll buy you a thousand more, simple." He said, getting back to work on your necklace. Turning the chair to face his work, he rested his hands on the desk, as you rest your head on his upper arm, watching him try to open the small clasp with his large thumbs.

You giggle, watching him finally get it open after many tries. "Tsk, that pesky thing, you're lucky it's going to look good on you." He says, placing the necklace down on his desk, getting back to focusing on his work. You pick up the necklace, as you attempt to lock it around your neck.

But your struggle continues on for a good ten minutes, as Sukuna gets frustrated with your constant shifting. "Hand it over." He says, once again taking it from you. He puts his work to a halt, as he moves either one of his hands to each side of your neck, locking the heavy necklace on your neck. He adjusts the necklace nicely, making sure it sits pretty on your collarbone. Rubbing your shoulders with his hands, you smile contently, happy with your decision to come to your husband for advice.

"Thanks for bringing me to the market, despite that scene you caused." You say, attitude crawling in your words, as you rest your head against his arm. "Whatever woman, you got what you wanted, and I got a happy bride, fair is fair." He says, lightly slapping your forearm affectionately. He stops talking for a bit, before commenting once more.

"Y'know, I should take you shopping more often, because I get to see rewards like these everyday."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

#sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #heian sukuna #heian era sukuna #heian sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x Charlotte #heian #heian era #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x Charlotte #jjk smut #sukuna fluff

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lifeinked · 26 days ago

Text

Why I Love Caitlyn, and Why You Hate Her

⚠️ READER DISCRETION: I am not condoning Caitlyn’s actions and behavior, I am simply exploring the depth of her character and explaining what motivated her pursuit of revenge.

There’s no denying the gravity of Caitlyn’s actions as they are unquestionably wrong. However, her character cannot be reduced to these actions alone. This sudden, devastating behavior of hers is shaped by a thread of complex motivations and circumstances, but many choose not to acknowledge this simply because of her elite background.

Like many others, I initially overlooked the point of the gassing in Zaun, which I think is a crucial thing everyone must first understand before diving into the discourse over Caitlyn's character.

The Grey, often misunderstood as being used indiscriminately, was strategically deployed against the Chem-Barons to limit collateral damage. Caitlyn chose precision over chaos, targeting those directly responsible for Zaun’s turmoil. Furthermore, Caitlyn didn’t kill the Chem-Barons; she captured them, with net-deploying bullets. While her methods are controversial, they reflect a calculated approach; mischaracterizing her raid as a reckless attack ignores these details.

This isn’t to deny or excuse the fact that Caitlyn did, indeed, gas Zaun. Who’s to say that gas didn’t seep into the streets where innocent Zaunites roamed, harming them in the process? It’s entirely possible that innocents were affected and devastated. However, my brief explanation is only added to gain better perspective over the objectives of the gassing itself.

Now moving on, despite her privileged upbringing, Caitlyn shows a genuine effort to understand and connect with Zaunites. She places her trust in Vi, a Zaunite she’s never met before, to guide her in her search for Silco. Her journey through the undercity opens her eyes to the struggles of its people, challenging her perspective.

In S1E4, when investigating the airship attack, she encounters an undercity resident and reassures him, “I can protect you.” Later in the season, when Vi gets stabbed, Caitlyn encounters someone formerly connected to Vi. He’s grown a distaste over himself due to his appearance, and yet Caitlyn embraces him with compassion and tenderness, as a silent sign of gratitude. Then, she surrenders her cherished firearm—her only means of protection—in return for a healing potion to save Vi. In S1E7, Caitlyn’s heartfelt monologue in her conversation with Ekko perfectly captures her hope and determination: “This city needs healing. More than I ever realized. Please, let me help you.”

When Caitlyn and Vi stand in front of the Council, Caitlyn declares: “Councilors, this is Vi. She was born in the undercity. Even though we failed her in countless ways, she risked everything to show me what life is really like down there. People are starving, sick, ravaged by Shimmer. They live in constant fear of the coordinated efforts of violent crime lords.” This monologue alone shows how Caitlyn embodies optimism, believing in the inherent goodness of people, even Zaunites. It also shows that she is very willing to fight for them; she sees helping Zaunites as an act of bringing justice and equality into this world.

Many overlook the depth of Cassandra and Caitlyn’s relationship, reducing it to a simple narrative of a daughter mourning her mother. However, Caitlyn’s mourning is more layered than that. Throughout her life, she has been rebellious, driven by a desire to uncover the reality her mother tried to shield her from. In S1E4, Caitlyn reflects on this by saying, “She’d do anything to keep me from seeing the real world.” Caitlyn’s defiance wasn’t just rebellion for its own sake—it was a stand for her ideals. She sought enlightenment and understanding, even if it meant stepping outside the privileged bubble her mother built for her. By venturing into the undercity and aligning herself with Vi, Caitlyn rejected her mother's own ideals.

Here's another scene in S1E8 that emphasizes this:

Cassandra: You're a Councilor's daughter. Your actions reflect on the entire body. Caitlyn: My actions? You know what else reflects on the Council? Its citizens living on the streets. Being poisoned. Having to chose between a kingpin who wants to exploit them and a government who doesn't give a shit!

In a way, her actions mirror Vi’s: just as Vi betrayed her people by working with the enforcers, Caitlyn betrayed her own mother by involving herself with Zaunites. Remember: The last time we see Caitlyn and Cassandra interact on-screen is during Caitlyn’s plea before the Council. And in that moment, Caitlyn was fighting to protect the very kind that would soon kill her own mother.

You say that Caitlyn’s drastic shift is unjustified, as she’s only experienced a fraction of the suffering Zaunites have been enduring. But that’s precisely the point! Her transformation shows how personal loss can drive the change of one’s entire character; she’s never experienced loss before which is why it feels so heavy for her. And unlike Zaunites, Caitlyn actually has the power to act on her grief. Zaunites have only known misery their whole lives. When their loved one dies, they know there is nothing more they can do but grieve. They don’t have an inch of the privilege and military support Caitlyn has. If you had given them the same resources as Caitlyn, they wouldn’t hesitate to bring ruin to Piltover. Simply put, they don’t fight Piltovans because they don’t want to, but because they can’t.

When Jinx takes her mother away, her compassionate ideals completely shatter. Having always sought justice and understanding for Zaun, Caitlyn feels deeply betrayed, as her faith in the good within every Zaunite is overturned. Her mother’s death becomes a turning point—driving her to abandon her ideals and adopt Piltover’s disdain for the undercity, finally understanding the resentment many Piltovans harbor.

We also tend to forget that, aside from losing her mother, Caitlyn has directly suffered under the hands of Jinx. Caitlyn was held captive by Jinx in Season 1—and God knows what was done to her during that period. In the tea party scene, we see Caitlyn break down in tears, visibly flinching when Jinx moves toward her. It’s clear that Jinx has traumatized Caitlyn not just once, but twice. These experiences deeply shape Caitlyn’s actions moving forward. The pain and fear she’s endured push her to a place where she’s willing to sacrifice almost anything, even if it means putting a child’s life at risk (Isha's) or severing ties with Vi.

While they share their differences, Caitlyn and Jinx are the perfect example of foil characters. Here’s an instance which proves this: Both allow themselves to be influenced by manipulative, powerful figures all while being in a vulnerable state of mind.

Jinx is haunted by guilt; her attempt to save her family only ended up killing them, leaving her with the crushing weight of self-blame. She clings to Silco, not because he was the father she needed, but because he was the father she wanted. Silco indulged her destructive tendencies, keeping her at an all-time high on the edges of chaos. Fragile and broken, Powder crossed paths with Silco at the right moment; he saw the perfect chance to mold her into someone bewildered, unrestrained, and astray.

Caitlyn has her own Silco: Ambessa, the ruthless Noxian leader with a brutal philosophy of war. Ambessa enters Caitlyn’s life at a pivotal moment, stepping in just as Caitlyn is grappling with the devastating loss of her mother. In a spiral of self-identity, Caitlyn struggles with the weight of Piltover’s expectations and her unresolved guilt over her strained relationship with her mother (as explained in previous paragraphs). Just as young Powder mourns her family, Caitlyn blames herself for the death of her mother. Caitlyn got herself involved with the Zaunites even when she was warned not to, and at the expense of her defiance came the death of her mother. Driven by guilt and a thirst for vengeance, Caitlyn steps fully into her role, declaring in S2E1: “I am a decorated officer. Leader of House Kiramman.”

Jinx and Caitlyn share a tragic parallel: they both lose everyone they hold dear. Jinx loses Vi, Vander, Claggor, and Mylo. Caitlyn is left without Cassandra, Vi, Jayce, Mel, and Tobias. Stripped of their support systems, they are left isolated, with no one to confide in or rely on. They become vulnerable, used as pawns in the larger schemes of Silco and Ambessa’s strategic games.

Caitlyn's inner turmoil is exactly why Ambessa’s manipulation is so effective. Caitlyn is compelled to take revenge, but she doesn’t know how to. And without anyone else to guide her, she places her complete trust in Ambessa's expertise. Ambessa doesn’t just give Caitlyn the authority and power to avenge her mother; she teaches her how to use them to their full potential. She toys with Caitlyn's vulnerability, making her adopt the Noxian values of wrath, bloodshed, and ruthlessness.

It’s easy to downplay Caitlyn’s grief since she comes from an elite upbringing. While Cassandra Kiramman is laid to rest in a golden casket with a proper burial, countless innocents in Zaun become victims of merciless violence, being left to die on the streets. After the timeskip however, Caitlyn is shown to recognize the moral cost of her actions. Though the series portrays this realization subtly, it becomes evident that Caitlyn is grappling with the inhumanity and immorality of her pursuit of revenge. In S2E4, this internal conflict comes to light during her conversation with Ambessa. When Ambessa attempts to stoke her fury again, Caitlyn disarms her with a piercing question: “Why is peace always the justification for violence?”

Here's another scene that subtly depicts her realization and remorse:

Caitlyn: You're a monster. Why? Why do all this? Singed: Why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? ... For love.

When Caitlyn steps further and sees Orianna, she realizes that Singed's revenge is a reflection of her own: a person grieving the death of their family member. Here, there's a saddened glint in her eyes. She finally understands now, that love and grief made her do things that once seemed so foreign to her. In this case, going against her own principles just to succeed in her revenge.

Caitlyn is now forever haunted by the outcome of her mistakes, but she knows her past cannot be erased. During her confrontation with Jinx in the prison, she admits, “No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes.” While this statement is directed at Jinx, it feels like Caitlyn also holds this against herself for her own wrongdoings.

Caitlyn’s acts of atonement are done quietly. She’s not good with words; she’s bad at articulating how she feels. Ironically, Vi is much better than Caitlyn when it comes to confronting and vocalizing internal conflict. So instead, Caitlyn’s actions speak for herself. By removing the guards at the prison, she tacitly allows Vi the opportunity to rescue Jinx. She knows Vi will come to save her sister, and yet she lets her. She finally lets go of Jinx and the grudge she held against her, as a silent act of her love for Vi.

And in S2E9, Sevika is shown to be sitting among the Councilors. But thanks to a fan's keen eyes, we find out that she is sat particularly on Cassandra Kiramman's chair (which not many notice). By allowing a Zaunite to occupy her mother's seat, Caitlyn gives them a chance to be rightfully represented, a chance for their voices and suffering to finally be heard. It’s a quiet display of Caitlyn’s evolution and willingness to bridge the divide between Piltover and Zaun.

That said, Arcane’s ending left much to be desired regarding Caitlyn’s arc. The heavy focus on Hextech overshadowed the sociopolitical dynamics of Piltover and Zaun. This is the main reason a lot of hate is thrown toward Caitlyn—there is an act of accountability, but there a lack of consequence. While Caitlyn acknowledges her mistakes, her privileged status keeps her from real repercussions, unlike the tragedy other characters had to face. This is frustrating, even to me, as someone whose favorite character is Caitlyn. Yet, in a way, it realistically portrays the inequalities in our own world—where the elite are often shielded from justice, and repentance is the closest they ever come to redemption.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #character analysis #league of legends #caitlyn #essay #in this essay i will #food for thought #i guess we really are a league of legends #caitvi #violyn #arcane vi #season 2 spoilers

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entitled-fangirl · 2 months ago

Text

A sigil of mine.

Summary: the reader is taken from Winterfell while Cregan is at the Wall. He's a vengeful man.

Warning: kidnapping, dread, guilt, blood, scars, branding, talks of torture, our boy Cregan embodying Joel Miller when Ellie gets taken in the Last of Us

This one is dark

A/n: based on an ask! Also, fuck the Lannisters

I'll proofread later🫡

Masterlist

..............................................

"Lord Stark! An urgent letter has arrived from Winterfell!" A brother of the Wall yelled over the sound of the harsh wind that roared through the icy halls.

Cregan turned his entire body to him, a sudden pain in his stomach. What could be so urgent?

Cregan nearly rips the letter from the man's hand as he nears. The letter is stained with a dark red in places and he feels himself choke a little.

Lord Stark, Winterfell is under attack. By the time you read this, I will be long gone. I tried to protect the Lady as best as I could. It was an honor to serve under House Stark and see you become a man. Please forgive me. Maester Tinedel

Cregan's hands shook violently as his eyes roamed over the paper another time. Then once more. His jaw set harshly as he looked up to the man that had brought such devastating news. "When did this arrive?" He growled lowly.

"Just this morning. Is it dated by any chance, my Lord?"

Cregan flipped the page and surely enough, the old maester had been wise enough to do so.

The air in his lungs escaped, creating a cloud in the cold air.

"Three weeks now."

The man stared in confusion at Cregan's sudden distress. "Is everything alright?"

Cregan crumpled the paper in his fist. "Ready my horse."

The brother of the Wall shook his head, "My lord, it is the bulk of winter. You can't possibly leave in such conditions. And you are not properly pack-"

"Ready. My. Horse. I leave within the hour."

The Warden of the North stormed away, a heaviness in his step from the sudden weight on his shoulders.

…

Cregan had always thought the travel to the Wall and back took too long on a good day.

Now, he was a mere bundle of nerves trying to tie what he could to his horse.

It would take too long. Whatever happened had happened and he wasn't there to save them.

To save her.

He knew the guilt would eat his alive no matter how long it took him to get back.

Surely another letter would arrive soon if things had turned for the better, but he wouldn't wait for that letter to show.

The odds of one never arriving were too high.

"Are you certain of this, Lord Stark?"

He turned to the stable master with the hint of unshed tears in his eyes. "I'm not sure of anything. But I must return home."

The stable master nodded in acceptance, "And you're really not going to take men with you?"

Cregan huffed in frustration. "I cannot take men from the Wall. Their war is here. I cannot ask them to fight my own war as well."

"My lord, you're fighting both wars. Surely you can allow for some assistance."

Cregan hoisted himself up onto his horse. "I cannot promise when I'll return. But, should everything be righted, I will write back."

"If I may?"

"Yes?"

The man heaved a long sigh as placed his hands on his hips. "I wouldn't wish this feeling on my worst enemy, my lord. May the gods be with you on your journey and at your arrival."

Cregan bits the inside of his cheek. "Thank you."

With that, Cregan clicks at his horse, and the long journey began.

…

As expected, the journey was grueling. The cold was killing him from the outside in, but the constant need to stop and warm up was killing him from the inside out.

He couldn't even eat without thinking of the blood that stained the letter.

He couldn't sleep without thinking of the screams of his wife as another man's hands laid on her.

Even in the best case, the horror was too much to bare.

Despite his initial crumpling of the letter, Cregan kept it stashed away in his few belongings, smoothing it out and reading it every night before sleep consumed him.

Just to crumple it again.

…

Despite the journey taking a usual two to three weeks when the weather was obedient, Cregan made it back to Winterfell in a week and half.

The consistent shiver to his bones only spurred him faster.

He had plenty of time to consider his plan, should he truly be in need of one.

And now was the time to use it.

…

Winterfell laid still.

Cregan had expected fire and battle. A sound of swords clashing and men roaring.

Quietness was worse.

He had managed to get through the bulk of people with his hood up and his usual dire wolf cloak long abandoned.

For in this moment, he was no Stark.

He was a vengeful man.

He managed to sneak into the walls of the very place he should have been highly welcomed in.

For such a burly man, he was deathly silent. His boots made no sound on the stone floors, and his breath was so low that it may be thought that he didn't breathe at all.

He stood outside of his own chamber that he shared with his wife. He reached up and his hand faltered against the wood of the door. He couldn't dare open it.

"Oh, Lord Stark! Oh, thank the gods!" A female voice shrieked in relief.

Cregan flinched at the sound, turning on his heel to see the woman. His wife's handmaiden. He relaxed a bit.

"Oh. Sorry, milord. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just I didn't know when you would return. Or if you'd return at all. And I-"

"Where is she?" He quietly interrupted.

The handmaiden stiffened and her face fell. "I… I dunno."

"She's not here?" He dared to ask.

She wrung her hands nervously. "You don't… you don't know?"

He tried to hold back his frustration. "Are they still here?"

She shook her head. "Left not long after the attack. Left just a few of us to pick up the pieces."

"And my wife? What happened to her?"

She let the silence set.

He sighed in frustration and his hand moved to the chamber door.

"I wouldn't, milord," she warned.

He threw her a glare and dare to step in.

He should have listened.

The room laid in disarray. The furs from the bed were thrown on the floor. The furniture was moved, an obvious conflict had occurred. But that's not what Cregan's eyes moved to.

It was the scraps of clothing that were strewn across the room in various places. Some bloody.

His jaw went slack and he knelt down and picked up a strip of the cloth. Stark blue.

His thumb rubbed at the fabric. He knew it well. His favorite dress on her.

"They came in the early morning." The handmaiden spoke from the doorway. "Lady Stark had just gotten dressed for the day. I was… I was braiding her hair at the vanity when…"

"When..?" Cregan questioned.

"It happened so suddenly. The screams."

He stood. "Who did it?"

"House Lannister."

Cregan took a deep breath. "Is she dead?"

"Milord-"

"-Was she slain by a Lannister?"

"No. Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"They took her. She could be dead now, I dunno. But they took her alive."

He felt a bit of relief move down his spine. "When you last saw her, she indeed was drawing breath?"

"Yes."

"Then that's enough for me. And Maester Tinedel?"

She tilted her head back and forth. "He lives. But barely."

He kept the fabric in his hand. "Take me to him."

…

"My Lord!"

"Please, don't get up on my account." Cregan stood at the elder man's bedside. "You're still healing."

The maester relaxed and leaned back against the headboard. "It takes more than a blade to change my loyalty, dear Cregan."

"You've been with me since the day I was born, old man," he teased. "And still you defend me when I am not there."

"There has been no greater honor."

Cregan pulled a chair to his bedside, sitting down. "Tell me what you remember."

"It's not a pleasant story for you, my lord. But very well." He leaned back in thought. "I was in my chamber. It was morning. I heard sounds from the corridor and I dared to go venture out. I defended as much as I could, but an old man is no match to young men with longswords. They took the lady from her room. As far as I know, they still have her-"

"-Do you know where they are now?"

"I'd assume they moved back to Casterly Rock. I have reason to believe that you have been betrayed by one of your bannermen, my lord. How else would they have gotten through the North so quietly?"

Cregan considered the man's words, running a shaky hand over his growing beard. "Who?"

The maester grunted as he sat up further. "I could hardly guess, my lord.

"Whoever it is, I'll murder him where he stands."

…

Gathering men together quickly was not a difficult task for Cregan.

Many men had skin in the game of thrones, and equally so, most were loyal unto death for their lord.

While most banner men would have answered a call to war, there wasn't enough time to gather an army while he was there, leaving the job to one of his closest bannerman, the Lord of House Bolton.

His mind laid in constant worry.

…

In time, the men made it to Lord Reed, the last of the Northern Lords before being out of the North entirely.

"'Tis truly a shame of what happened to the castle," Lord Reed said as he ushered Cregan further into Greywater Watch. "Any ideas of who might have done such an act?"

He shook his head, eyeing Lord Glover next to him. "No. No, we haven't. Hence why I don't have an army behind me."

"Well, that's understandable. Whoever did such a crime should be punished by all the gods alike, sneaking such an ambush like that."

Cregan nodded, "Yes, yes, they should. I thank you for housing us on such short notice."

Reed forced a smile. "Of course, Lord Stark." He continued moving down the hall. "The North would never sit by while a Lord's wife was taken from him."

Cregan's foot faltered. He paused completely. His voice was low. "I never said my wife was taken."

Lord Reed froze in pure fear at his mistake.

And he was shoved against the wall with Cregan's wolfish growl in his face. "Where is she?"

Reed gasped and fought against the man, but was no match. "I… I don't know what you mean, my lord… p… please.."

Cregan pulled him away by the throat to hit his head against the stone wall again, repeating himself. "WHERE IS SHE?"

Reed sputtered and groaned at the pain. "I… They didn't tell me… I swear…. I swear that to you."

"Your word means nothing to me." Cregan looked over his shoulder to Glover. "Write back to Winterfell. Tell them Lord Reed is dead."

"…My Lord?" Glover faltered.

"Tell them."

"Aye, my lord."

Reed shook violently in Cregan's grip. "I swear. I swear! I don't know! Please!"

Cregan leaned into the man's face. "You're gonna tell me what you do know. Aren't you?"

…

"Fucking Lannisters!" Cregan's voice roared through the Watch. "Get Glover. We're leaving now."

"My lord?" One of the men asked.

"Do what I said."

"Aye."

"May house Reed learn from its mistake."

…

Little did Cregan know yet, Loreon Lannister's brigade had been stopped by the Blackwoods, just shy of Lannister territory.

The young Lord Benjicot Blackwood had rode out to meet them when word was sent of a brigade sneaking through his land.

He raged at the sight of a terrified woman clad in a Stark blue dress. He vowed that the Lannisters would not see to their land should they refuse to surrender the woman to him.

Hence the small battle that had commenced.

But that was two weeks ago.

Cregan looked over the land, the blood still staining the grass. "Think they made it?"

Glover hummed. "Lord Benjicot is a formidable enemy, I've heard. Wouldn't want to anger that boy in the slightest."

"Thank fuck!" A voice yelled over the field.

Lord Benjicot rode his horse out to the group in a fast trot. He spoke when he got closer "Knew you'd be quick but I figured it would be another few weeks."

"Don't underestimate angry northern men," Glover grimaced.

"Or Blackwoods, it seems," Cregan chimed in, looking over the field. "I believe I'm indebted to you in some capacity."

"Don't speak too soon, Lord Stark," Benjicot smiled. "You haven't asked how we faired."

Cregan's brows furrowed. "And how did you fair?"

Benjicot's smile grew.

"We have her."

Cregan reached a hand out to steady himself on his horse from the sheer relief that swept through his body. "Gods…"

"Fucking bastards should have journeyed by sea if they were smart. Should've known that any ally of the Queen is an ally of mine."

"You have her then? In Raventree Hall?" Glover asked what they were all thinking.

"I do."

Cregan voice recovered. "Take me to her. Please."

…

"My lady?" One of the Blackwood handmaidens spoke up.

Y/n looked up at the woman.

The faint hints of scratches and bruises were still on the lady's skin, but she had been given time to heal due to the Blackwoods' bravery. But regardless, the tremor in her hands remained.

"I've been sent to inform you of a visitor that will soon be arriving."

Her heart leaped from her chest. She found herself moving more to the window and peering out.

Cregan.

The man and his horse moved as one. It had always impressed her.

Her sluggish behavior left the second he came into view.

Not caring for her shoes, her cloak, anything, she ran past the handmaiden quicker than her feet could move.

Tripping and stumbling along the way, ignoring the pain, she finally made it to the large doors of Raventree and bolted out of them.

Cregan had just pulled his horse to a stop when he caught sight of her.

He couldn't remember actually getting down from his horse he had gotten to her so quickly.

His strong arms held her to him in a vice grip, his hands indecisive of where to stay- her waist, her back, her hair, the constant need to feel her wholly gripped him.

Equally so, her arms wrapped around his neck firmly, as if to make sure he was real.

"Fuck. Don't ever do this again," he sighed as he placed his chin on the top of her head.

She sobbed lightly against his chest and her hands gripped his cloak so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Are you hurt?" He asked in worry.

She hiccuped through tears.

Cregan pulled her away, cupping her cheeks so he could study her. "Speak to me, pretty girl. Where are you hurt?"

She hiccuped again. "I… I'm fine."

"Where did they touch you?"

"Cregan…"

"Where?"

Benjicot had caught up at that point. "I wouldn't say they were delicate with her, Lord Stark. Most of it is faded, but the ones on her arms are rather nasty."

Cregan never looked away from her, keeping her eye contact. He tilted his head down, silently asking to gaze at her arms.

He hesitantly pulled her sleeves up and gawked slightly.

Green bruises still remained at her wrists, no doubt from dragging her along. He tried to ignore the faint scabs from the scrapes that laid in various spots.

"They did a number on you, didn't they?"

She looked at him fearfully, beyond nervous for his reaction to all of this.

Benjicot spoke up again. "You've no idea." He placed a steady hand on the woman's back, ignoring Cregan's protective glare as he did so. "You're safe here. Why don't you show him?"

"Show me what?"

She turned to look over her shoulder at Benjicot, "Must I?"

Cregan was growing frustrated. If there was one thing he hated, it was no knowing things. "Show me."

She hesitantly nodded, and Benjicot stepped up to her, untying her bodice from the back. Once he did so, he spun her around to have her back face Cregan. Then he gently pulled down her sleeve until her right shoulder blade was exposed.

A Lannister sigil was burned into the skin. Ugly scarring around the marred flesh.

Her head was hung in shame as she stood there, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Cregan's hand came up to brush the skin achingly slow. He couldn't find words.

Benjicot broke the silence. "Amidst this, there is good news."

"I guarantee there isn't," Cregan growled back quickly.

"I have Loreon Lannister under my care as well."

Cregan's head snapped to him. "What?"

"The man is in my dungeons, Lord Stark."

Cregan's hand moved up to Y/n's hair, brushing it aside to fully view what was exposed of her back.

But his eyes couldn't move from the brand.

"Inside, you say? Still breathing?"

Benjicot let out an amused chuckle. "I refused to take that privilege from you."

Lord Stark's hand brushed her shoulder again. "I fear I owe the Blackwoods more than I own."

…

Not long later, Cregan stepped into her room.

She turned her head towards him.

Cregan was covered in blood.

She stood suddenly. "Are you harmed?"

His brows furrowed, looking down at himself, as if forgetting all he had done. "Oh. None of it is mine."

"You killed him?"

Cregan sighed and shut the door. "We'll not discuss this now."

"Cregan-"

"-No. Don't ask again."

Her face fell a bit. She moved to the window and sat again.

He watched her. "Forgive me. There's still rage in my heart."

"Still? Is it because of me?"

He faltered. "No. No, of course not." He rubbed his chin. "You did nothing wrong."

"If I had journeyed to the Wall with you that day, would you have been as angry if Winterfell was attacked?"

He paused as considered her question. "You know the answer."

She hummed and looked out of the window.

He followed her gaze. "Forgive me for taking so long."

"I watched out this window."

"I know you did."

"What if Benjicot hadn't have found me?"

He sat down next to her. "He did though."

"But what if he hadn't?"

Cregan dared to reach out and pull her hair aside, tugging her sleeve down to see the brand again.

She finally turned to look at him with teary eyes.

"I'd rather not think about those things," Cregan answered softly.

"Will you wash yourself, please?"

He paused, remembering the blood all over him. "Sorry, sweet girl. I didn't realize that would bother you so much. I will, I promise."

She looked back to the window. "Will we go home soon?"

Cregan stood to go to the washbowl across the room. "We will in time."

"What's stopping us, Cregan?"

He didn't have the heart to actually say that it was her. "Be patient, my girl, alright?"

…

Benjicot walked with Cregan down the corridor. "I apologize that I did not manage to capture Lord Jason. That will haunt me."

Cregan shook his head, "You've done much for the North. We'll not forget this act of kindness."

Benji grinned, "The North remembers."

"Indeed."

"Tell me something, my lord?"

Cregan nodded.

"What did you do in those dungeons?"

Cregan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't want you to think differently of me, old friend."

Benjicot shook his head, "Nothing could do so, Cregan. You've seen me rather bloody. It's only fair."

He paused and considered his words, carefully phrasing himself. "A part of me hopes that his son doesn't find out what I've done to his father. It was almost too much to bare."

"What do you mean?"

Cregan pulled his dagger from his belt, running a hand over the blade. "I'll have to sharpen this later, if you understand what I'm saying."

Benjicot nodded. "I believe I do. But more context might be beneficial."

Cregan leaned forward and spoke lowly. "The dead man wears a sigil of mine in return."

The Blackwood's eyes looked down to the dagger and back to Cregan. "I see."

"If there truly is life after death, my friend, I hope he lives the next with my reminder."

"Surely, he would. I'd say you were merciful in ending him regardless."

…

Cregan rubbed her thigh absentmindedly as the maester inspected the brand.

"It's healing well, but as you can imagine, it will leave behind a nasty scar."

Cregan clenched his jaw at the thought of his own wife living with a lion burned onto her. "No risk of a fever?"

He shook his head. "A clean burn like this rarely risks such a thing."

"Well, the north thanks you for your work."

The maester excused himself.

Since finding her again, Cregan had a difficulty understanding what she was going through. She was bottling everything up, he could tell.

"Sweet girl?" He asked gently, continuing to rub at her leg.

"Is it ugly?" She responded quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Cregan wasn't sure what to say to that. "It looks painful. Is it?"

She hummed, eyes still anchored. "It didn't hurt as much as the laughs."

"They laughed? While they did this to you?"

She nodded.

Her hand moved up to pull her sleeve back up, but Cregan was quick to stop her, placing his hand over hers.

She looked up questioningly.

"You're as gorgeous as the day I met you." His other hand moved hair behind her ear. "And as beautiful as the day I married you. As well as when I left for the Wall this winter." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek gently. "You're just changed is all."

"But the-"

"-Yes. Yes, it pains me to see it. But not because of what it is, but because you were hurt and I did not defend you as I should have."

Silence fell over them until she spoke up.

"Tell me I'm yours."

Cregan froze. "What?"

"I need to hear it. To really know."

"Well, you are. You know that."

"Please, Cregan."

Cregan stood from the bed, rounding it until he was behind her. He reached out and brushed the brand again, trying to ignore the shiver that went down her spine. "You're mine."

The words relaxed her, her shoulders moving down.

Cregan placed his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging them. "You belong to the Warden of the North." He grinned. "A vile and vicious beast intent on killing anything that nears it. Almost anything."

She smiled lightly, the first one in weeks. "And what is that one thing that the wolf likes?"

"A pretty she-wolf that brings down his defense."

One of his hands moved to the back of her neck and she all but melted, her head leaning back now.

He continued this for a while, letting the silence sit, but he soon leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to the marred skin of her shoulder.

"You're mine." He kissed her shoulder. "And I don't need a brand to prove so." He kissed behind her ear. "You know who you belong to, don't you?"

"…you, Cregan."

"Hmm?" He feigned.

"You."

He smirked and nipped at her ear. "And who is that? Tell me."

She turned as much as her injuries could allow. Her voice softened as his eyes gazed into hers. "Cregan Stark. I belong to Cregan Stark."

"And I do to you, pretty girl."

He closed the distance, placing the softest kiss he'd ever managed onto her lips.

When they pulled away from one another, she spoke. "Do we get to return soon?"

He nodded, twirling her hair between his fingers. "Soon. I'm only waiting for Lord Bolton to arrive with the men."

"Th… what?"

He puffed out his chest in pride. "I don't do well with spoiled southerners. Bolton is riding an army to the border of Lannister territory, with Benjicot's permission, of course."

"An army? You can't start a war over me."

"I didn't start anything, my love." He kissed her again. "I only finish it."

.........................................................

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softspiderling · 5 months ago

Text

and i burn for you (and you don’t even know my name) | j.v

summary:

“Something like that, “ you sighed, eyeing him briefly. Jacaerys tried not to flinch at the clear rejection and pressed his lips together.

“I should leave-”

“No, please, don’t leave on my behalf…. My prince.”

OR; Jacaerys is usually a lot more suave when it comes to ladies. That was before he met you.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: SMUT! 18+, MDNI, p in v, oral sex (fem receiving), doesn't follow canon, Jace has been aged up to 20!

word count: 7,5k words (oh)

author's note: this is very much is an indulgent story bc i miss Luke and Jace🥲 also inspired by close to you by gracie abrams ! pls let me know ALLL YOUR THOUGHTS!!! happy reading🫶🏼🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Do you think my hair will get just as luscious as yours did after you got back from Winterfell?”

Jacaerys’ rolled his eyes at his brother. They were on their second day of journey from King’s Landing to Winterfell. It was to be Cregan Stark’s name day and he had cordially invited Jacaerys and his family to the celebrations. His mother could not just leave her throne at King’s Landing, and Daemon wouldn’t go without her. Joffrey, Viserys and Aegon where still too young to go, so only Jacaerys and Luke rode to Winterfell on dragonback. They could’ve made it in one day if they had wanted to, but they were in no hurry. Well, Jacaerys wasn’t. He knew what temperatures were expecting him. Luke didn’t, which was why he was so antsy to get there and almost didn’t pack the fur lined gloves their mother had laid out for them. Jacaerys couldn’t wait until the biting, cold winds hit Luke’s face for the first time. He would treasure the memory forever.

“Har har, good one,” Jacaerys said dryly. “The court jester should watch out or you will be going for his position in no time.”

Luke grinned at his older brother wickedly, opening his mouth once more to say another jest, Jacaerys had no doubt about it, but the words died on Luke’s tongue when the winds suddenly turned cold, whipping his hair around like icicles.

“Seven hells!” he cursed and Arrax let out a soft whine, not used to the coldness, just like his rider.

“Nyke ivestretan zirȳla, paktot Vermax?” Jacaerys whispered to his dragon, stroking Vermax’ neck with his gloved hand and the creature let out a puff of smoke. I warned him, didn’t I Vermax?

It wasn’t much longer until the two brothers reached Winterfell, their dragons landing just in front of the gates of town. Jacaerys could already see Cregan’s imposing figure standing by the gate as he climbed off of Vermax, carefully patting his snout. He took the bags off his saddle, Lucerys doing the same before leaning his forehead against Vermax’.

“Sȳz valonqar. Umbagon va, ao rȳbagon issa? Se jurnegon hen syt Arrax” Good boy. Stay near, you hear me? And take care of Arrax.

Vermax let out a soft rumble, pressing his snout against Jacaerys’ hand, before he and Arrax leapt back in the air, disappearing across the woods with few wing flaps. Jacaerys wasn’t sure where exactly they went, but he assumed it was some warm cave. Winterfell didn’t exactly have a dragon pit.

“Woah,” Luke gasped, astounded by the amount of white surrounding them.

“I told you,” Jacaerys said, shouldering his bags as Cregan approached them, several pages in tow.

“Prince Jacaerys!” Cregan’s voice boomed across the snowy field, before he stopped in front of the two princes. “What an honor to have you.”

The two men sized each other up, before breaking out in laughter as Cregan pulled Jacaerys into a hug.

“It is good to see you, my friend.”

“And you, Cregan,” Jacaerys replied, patting Cregan’s back that was cloaked in a warm fur. He really ought to ask him what animal pelt it was, he never seemed to be cold. Luke was shifting on his feet next to him and Jacaerys took a step back to introduce his brother.

“Lord Cregan, this is my brother.”

“Ah, the infamous Prince Lucerys,” Cregan said with a smile, shaking Luke’s hand. Based on his face, Jacaerys could tell his brother was struggling to keep a straight face; Cregan’s handshakes were nothing but firm.

“Lord Cregan, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

“I have heard much about you.”

“Ah,” Luke sighed, hand still enclasped in Cregan’s. “I’m sure all lies.”

“Only good things, your brother has shared high praises of you.”

Luke glanced over to his brother in surprise and Jacaerys only raised his eyebrows at him. Cregan finally let go of Luke’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder, sending the younger man nearly flying.

“How old are you, Lucerys?”

“Ten and eight, my lord. And please, call me Luke.”

“Very well,” Cregan said with a grin. “You’re the prime age of a young prince, Luke. Are you courting anyone?”

“No,” Luke replied, his cheeks reddening. Jacaerys only snickered, ignoring the deathly glare his younger brother sent him.

“No worry. There are a few of very beautiful ladies that will be attending, maybe one or two will catch your royal eyes.”

Cregan gave Jacaerys a knowing look, but he only rolled his eyes, stretching his hands, the coldness starting to seep into his gloves.

“I am about to lose feeling in my limbs, can we continue this dreadful conversation inside?”

“Of course. I apologize, I forget that you are not accustomed to our weather,” Cregan said, motioning for the pages to help the them with their bags. “Let’s get you into the warm, shall we?”

Cregan lead the two brothers towards the Great Keeps, giving Luke a very brief rundown of the grounds as he did. Jacaerys could already feel his fingers warming up; he even dared to take off his gloves.

“We are currently having tea, I would love for you to join but if you wish to get some rest, we can meet again after,” Cregan said, stopping in front of the dining halls.

Jacaerys glanced over to Luke, who only gave him a shrug. “I could do with some food.”

“As do I.”

“Very well.”

Cregan pushed open the door to reveal a lively dining hall, one that Jacaerys was familiar with. He spotted faces he recognized, when his eyes stopped in the middle of the table, surprised to see Lady Alysanne Blackwood sitting next to you, someone he didn’t recognize. Immediately, you turned your head to look at him, as if you had felt his eyes on you. Jacaerys tried not to falter under your gaze.

“Who’s that?” Luke whispered and Jacaerys fought the urge to elbow him.

“The Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon!” Cregan announced, causing a ruckus as everyone pushed their chair back to stand. You only followed after Alysanne gently nudged you, folding your hands in front.

“Thank you for having us,” Jacaerys said, him and Lucerys both bowing. “Please, sit.”

As everyone took their seats again, Cregan led him and Luke to the middle of the table, where three seats were empty next to Alysanne and you.

“My princes, may I introduce Lady Alysanne of House Blackwood and Lady-”

Jacaerys almost tuned out Cregan’s voice as he introduced you, but it was like your name was ringing in his ears. He was sure he had never been quite taken with any lady as with you right from the first meeting. Jacaerys cleared his throat, hoping his voice would come out even.

“Lady Alysanne, it’s nice to see you again,” Jacaerys said, bowing to her as Luke followed suit.

“The pleasure is mine, your graces. I hope your journey was swift,” Alysanne replied. “I hear you travelled on dragonback.”

That seemed to pique your interest as you straightened your back, eying Jacaerys with a new found interest. Jacaerys tried to ignore the heat unfurling in his lower stomach. He had seemed to take beat too long to reply, because Luke cut in, throwing a look at his older brother.

“Yes, my lady. It only took us a day and half’s journey.”

“Ah, I envy you. To travel on dragonback and have a short journey. It took me a moon’s turn to get from Raventree Hall to Winterfell,” Alysanne said with a small sigh, turning to you. “Nearly took you two moon’s turns, didn’t it?”

Jacaerys had kept his eyes steadfastly on Alysanne as she spoke, but when she turned to you, he took the chance to do the same. You nodded, fingers between the stem of the chalice you had been drinking from. His eyes lingered on your slender fingers for longer than they should have.

“Two moon’s turns is quite a long journey,” Jacaerys finally pressed out, hoping his voice didn’t sound odd. “Where in the Seven Kingdoms does your house lay?”

Your eyes met his for the first time and Jacaerys felt like he was looking in the eyes of a predator, as if he hadn’t been riding a dragon for nearly all of his life.

“I am from a land beyond Essos,” you finally spoke, voice as smooth as honey. Before you could continue, Alysanne whispered something under her breath and you let out a small laugh, shaking your pretty head, speaking again. “I’m afraid we’re not part of the Seven Kingdoms, your grace.”

The way you accentuated the honorific had Jacaerys sweat, something he never thought he’d do in Winterfell. He managed to give you a wry smile; luckily, Cregan finally gestured towards the empty seats and as Jacaerys sat down - two seats away from you - he let out a breath of relief, desperate for a quick respite. His behavior was mortifying and unbefitting for a crown prince.

“Are you alright?” Luke whispered from his left as he reached for a particularly large meat pie. “It is unlike you to let me do the talking.”

Jacaerys waited as the butler poured him some mulled wine, only stopping him when it was nearly full to the brim. He lifted the chalice, taking a big drink from it, feeling Luke’s eyes on him the whole time.

“It appears the journey has tired me more than I had expected.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at him, but as soon as he bit into the meat pie, the suspicions slid of his face.

“Seven hells, what kind of meat do they put in these?” he almost moaned, already reaching for another. Slob, Jacaerys thought, reaching for some bread himself, leaving his brother to his own world as he discovered the cuisine of the North. Jacaerys glanced over to his friend, but Cregan was in the middle of a conversation with Alysanne; they were speaking in hushed tones, Jacaerys could barely make out a word even though he was sitting right next to them.

The way Cregan was whispering to Alysanne suggested a certain familiarity; a familiarity that Jacaerys was surprised by; he hadn’t known that Cregan had taken on a lover, and Alysanne no less, though he could see what had drawn his friend to her.

Jacaerys didn’t pay attention for half a second before his eyes impulsively laid on you. He didn’t want to be caught staring, but you seemed preoccupied listening to Alysanne as she talked, so he allowed himself a few moments to take you in. Your hair fell over your shoulder in soft waves, the bodice of your dress was snug around your chest. The more he looked, the dryer his throat became, suddenly the bread in his mouth tasted days old. Letting out a soft cough, Jacaerys reached for his wine, nearly finishing all of it in one to, desperate to quench his thirst.

He wondered if all women from your land looked like you or if it was just you that had him so enthralled. Jacaerys was lost in thoughts so deeply, he didn’t even realize that Cregan had turned his attention to him.

“Did someone catch your eye?”

“What?”

Jacaerys teared his eyes from you to look at his friend, who was sipping on his wine, eyebrows raised. Despite trying to seem nonchalant, the crown prince knew a pink flush creeped on his cheeks; he’d blame it on the wine if Cregan would ask.

“I was enjoying the festivities.”

“You’re surely enjoying something.”

“I’m positively not enjoying this conversation,” Jacaerys sniffed. Cregan laughed, placing his heavy hand on his shoulder. Jacaerys tried not to falter under it.

“I like her. She’s a good friend of Lady Alysanne’s. Though if her behavior grates you: her land does not have a king or queen, so she might not be familiar with our customs. She is also especially forward; I fear that was a given, considering the company she seeks.”

Jacaerys knew immediately what Cregan was alluding to. Alysanne had a reputation for not holding her tongue when something displeased her, there were a good handful of people who quite dislike her for it.

“I’m sure you will get along with her fine, my prince.”

Jacaerys hummed, glancing over to you for a split second before looking away for fear of being caught again, but in doing so, he missed you looking back at him with raised brows. After the table was cleared, you and Alysanne excused yourselves to your chambers. Jacaerys stared after you until you disappeared from sight, his hands clasped.

“Let me show you to your chambers for some rest,” Cregan offered. “Jacaerys, I had the same chambers prepared as last time.”

The three men walked through the hallways of Winterfell once more, stopping in front of Jacaerys’ chambers.

“Someone will fetch you for supper, please get some rest in the meantime,” Cregan said, clasping Jacaerys on the back. Jacaerys glanced over at Luke, who waved him off, so he entered his chambers as Cregan walked Luke to his, with the latter chattering excitedly.

As the door shut behind Jacaerys, the chambers were engulfed in silence and he was finally able to breathe. The room was comfortably decorated, of course in no way as lavish as his chambers in King’s Landing, but everything he would need was there. Taking off his cloak and his doublet, Jacaerys hung them over the small bench that sat near the fire, before he laid down on the bed, staring up the canopy with a sigh.

Gods, he really needed to get it together. He would not allow himself to act like such a fool in front of you again. He couldn’t even understand what it was about you that had him so shaken to the core. Jacaerys had never been the kind of man who stuttered around when it came to women. He knew what he had to offer, he knew a lot of women found his status appealing. But something about you was just…. Infuriating. It made him lose his footing.

Jacaerys was still questioning his life choices that led to this moment, when the door suddenly flung open, and he knew immediately who it was without having to move; there was only one person in whole Winterfell who would barge into his chambers like this.

“Your chambers are so much nicer than mine!” Luke crowed, throwing his hands up in the air before he dropped onto the bed next to Jacaerys. “I do have to say, even though it is freezing outside, the Northeners know how to keep it comfy in their chambers.”

Jacaerys let out a small sigh.

“What are you doing here, Luke?”

“Gods, why are you such in a sour mood?”

“Maybe because I am tired from the journey and you’re sitting here talking about meaningless things,” Jacaerys lamented with a pointed look in his younger brother’s direction, who only pursed his lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Let me move onto meaningful topics then,” he agreed. “You didn’t tell me Lord Cregan is betrothed to Lady Alysanne.”

“He’s not, as far as I know,” Jacaerys replied, resigning himself to the fact that Luke wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. “I was taken by surprise just as you were.”

Luke didn’t answer; for a brief second Jacaerys wondered if he had fallen asleep, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be happy about or not.

“What did you think of her friend?” Luke finally asked and Jacaerys rolled his eyes. There it was. “She’s pretty, right? I think she might be interested in me.”

“What makes you think she would be interested in you?” Jacaerys pressed out, annoyed. He knew Luke was baiting him, but what if he wasn’t? His younger brother turned over to look at him, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“I knew it. You’re absolutely smitten with her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely exchanged two words with her,” Jacaerys said defensively.

“Exactly. She makes you shiver in your boots like a child and swallow your words like Vermax does goats.”

“Blasphemous,” Jacaerys snapped, his cheeks growing hot. “I’m the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms, I do not get flustered around a lady.”

“I cannot wait until you talk to her again,” Luke remarked gleefully.

Jacaerys reached over to grab one of the fluffy pillows that was resting against the headboard to whack Luke in the face with it.

The next day, Jacaerys found himself with some time by himself. Cregan was greeting some more of the guests that were arriving for his celebration that evening, and Luke had wanted to see the training grounds of Winterfell, so Jacaerys ventured out by himself, walking the walls. He passed a few guards, who bowed respectfully as they marched past him. They asked if he got lost, if they should walk him back inside where it was warm, but he declined.

Despite the cold snow that was falling from the sky, Jacaerys enjoyed leaving the castle for a few moments. Winterfell was peaceful, the white that covered the grounds allowed him to breathe, a stark contrast to the grounds of King’s Landing. As the cold winds started to pick up, Jacaerys turned to head back, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by yourself at the wall, staring out at the distance. Jacaerys hesitated.

His interaction with you last night at supper was… Passable. He had managed to keep the conversation going, he still wasn't happy with himself. But this was unfamiliar territory, he hadn’t ever been alone with you. What if he made a fool of himself?

Before Jacaerys could decide what to do, his feet already carried him over to you. At the sounds of the snow crunching under his soled shoes, you turned around, your eyebrows risen in surprise. Your cheeks were red from the cold, despite the fur-lined cloak that engulfed your shoulders.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Only me,” Jacaerys confirmed, bowing his head slightly in greeting. You did the same. “Come out here for some quiet?”

“Something like that, “ you sighed, eyeing him briefly. Jacaerys tried not to flinch at the clear rejection and pressed his lips together.

“I should leave-”

“No, please, don’t leave on my behalf…. My prince.”

You added the honorific after a brief pause, and Jacaerys stayed rooted in his spot. You seemed like you were in deep thought, and your voice was hesitant when you spoke again.

“I am unsure as to what the difference is, if I’m being quite honest. Do you want me to refer to you as my prince or as your Grace?”

“You can refer to me as anything you want,” Jacaerys said quickly. Too quickly.

The frown on your face smoothed, a grin growing in its stead. “Indeed?”

“I meant,” Jacaerys pressed, trying to sustain any sort of dignity. “You’re not from Westeros, you do not need to address me as your Grace or my prince.”

“I wouldn’t want to seem disrespectful,” you added. “Folks are already whispering about the “foreign lady”, I do not wish to give them more reason to be suspicious.”

Jacaerys felt a flash of hot anger coursing through him at the belief of anyone uttering a bad word about you.

“Are you being mistreated, my lady?”

A laugh escaped your lips. “I did not tell for you to fight in my honor, I have endured worse than some meaningless gossip.”

You tossed your hair back, and for a brief second, your scent carried over to Jacaerys’ nose. You smelled… Sweet. A scent that was unfamiliar to him, but not exactly unwelcome. With a small sigh, you turned your head to look at him. Damn it, did you say something?

“So... Your grace or my prince?”

For some reason, either address didn’t feel right. Well. They felt right, but not right. Never before had Jacaerys felt anything when being referred to with the correct title except for a sense of respect and pride that he was being recognized for his status. But for some reason, having you address him with either had Jacaerys feel things in regions where he shouldn’t. And both seem equally catastrophic.

“Either is fine,” he finally settled on. “But if no one is around… It is alright for you to call me by my given name.”

“Jacaerys?”

A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name rolling of your tongue so easily. He was done for. No matter what you referred to him as, it made him weak in the knees.

“Or Jace.”

“Is that not improper?” you asked. “I would hate for folks to think I’m getting too familiar with the crown prince.”

He definitely wouldn’t mind getting too familiar with you.

“My friends call me that… And people that I’m close with.”

A corner of your mouth tugged up in a grin. “You wish to be close with me?”

Jacaerys flushed, stuttering. “I-“

“I’m only jesting,” you said, your gloved hand reaching out to touch his arm and even though there were about five layers between, Jacaerys could *feel* your skin on his. He was in trouble. “I will address you properly in public but if no one is around, Jacaerys….”

Your voice trailed off and you took a step towards him, leaning in so you could speak to him in a small whisper.

“I hope we can become friends.”

With that, you bowed your head, stepping back and turned to depart, leaving Jacaerys standing by himself. He exhaled a breath - a breath he had not realized he had been holding this whole time.

Somewhere in the distance, Jacaerys could hear Vermax screech out, no doubtedly feeling exactly what his dragon rider was struggling with.

“Yes, Vermax, you and me both,” Jacaerys muttered with a small sigh, enduring the cold for a little while longer before he retired inside, knowing he had to start getting ready for Cregan’s celebrations soon.

“How much longer are you going to stare at your reflection?”

Jacaerys resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He was tense enough as it was, giving into Luke’s teasing was not going to help it.

“I’m representing mother at this celebration, a single hair out of place and rumors about my legitimacy as heir might start,” Jacaerys pointed out, wiping off the fleck of dusts that sat on the shoulder of his doublet.

“Of course, we would not want that,” Luke said, his voice taking that annoying tone which Jacaerys knew meant he wasn’t taking him serious. “You are most certainly not trying to look absolutely perfect for a certain lady.”

Jacaerys met Luke’s eyes through the mirror, his forehead creased. “I did not ask you to wait for me. No one is stopping you from going by yourself.”

Luke sighed, pushing himself off of the bench to approach him, hands reaching out to smooth out Jacaerys’ cloak.

“And who is going to tame that one wild curl that always does whatever it wants at the back of your head?”

Jacaerys winced when Luke gently tugged on said curl, setting it in its place, before the younger prince grinned at him through the reflection as the two of them stood in front of the mirror, Luke's shoulders slightly higher than Jacaerys'. He despised the fact that his younger brother was starting to overtake him in height. Jacaerys hoped that Joffrey would stay shorter than him.

“You look fine, Jace,” Luke assured him. “And even if a hair might be out of place, she will think it charming.”

Jacaerys decided against deeming that comment with an answer, instead straightening his shoulders.

“Let’s go then.”

The two brothers headed the the Great Hall and the closer they got, the louder the music became. Jacaerys tried not to pick on his clothes as they walked through the hallways, knowing he was just being antsy at this point. When they finally reached the threshold of the hall, the herald bowed to them both respectfully, waiting until the music quietened down, the guests looking at them.

“Presenting His Grace, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, and his brother, Prince Lucerys Velaryon of House Targaryen!” the herald announced.

The guests all bowed, which Jacaerys and Lukereturned, before they were being led to their seats and Jacaerys tried not to stumble over his feet when he realized that Cregan had sat Luke to his right, whereas Jacaerys sat next to him.

Right next to you.

Jacaerys ignored Luke’s smirk as he sat down, and instead offered you a small smile.

“My lady.”

“Your grace.”

You sent him a conspiratorial smile, before your attention refocused to Cregan, who suddenly stood, lifting his chalice.

"Good evening, my dear guests. On this occasion, the celebration of my name day, I am deeply honored to be surrounded by such loyal friends, family, and allies. I thank everyone who made their long and burdensome journey to celebrate this day with me. Raise your cups, my friends, enjoy the festivities, the music and most importantly, the food. Now, let the feast begin!"

Everyone clapped as Cregan took his seat again, the lively music beginning to play. Immediately, people rose to occupy the dancefloor. You stayed seated, sipping on your wine and Jacaerys watched you out of the corner of his eye, reaching for his own wine, hoping it would ease his nerves. You looked pretty; wearing a dark red dress, the fabric seeming to melt against your skin like it was sown onto your body. Jacaerys tried to not let his gaze linger too much on your cleavage, which was tasteful, but still incredibly distracting. He couldn’t help but think how you and him seemed to be dressed to compliment each other.

“You look very beautiful,” Jacaerys blurted out. You turned to him, eyebrows risen in surprise and his cheeks reddened. “I apologize if it was too forward, I-”

“You look very handsome yourself,” you said, returning the favor with a grin. “At least I know what took you so long to get here.”

By now, Jacaerys was sure that the color of his face rivaled the color of your dress.

“Thank you,” he said, fingers tracing the stem of the chalice. “I try to look my best.”

“It is working in your favor, my prince,” you all but purred quietly, making Jacaerys grip his chalice so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jacaerys pressed out, letting a small sigh pass his lips. “I apologize. I am usually more… Composed,” he admitted. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he couldn’t help but feel like you were biting back a smile.

“And you’re not composed right now?”

“No. You…” he paused, letting go of the chalice, stretching his hand out. “You make me nervous.”

He dared to look up to you, searching for any sign of distaste, only to see your gaze focused on his hands, before you lifted your eyes to meet his.

“How?”

“You vex me.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

Jacaerys let out a breathless laughter, shaking his head. “In a very much not good way. This is not behavior befit for a crown prince.”

“Well, it’s just your luck that I have not a single idea of what behavior is befit for a crown prince,” you assured him, placing your hand on his, presumably to console him. It had quite the opposite reaction. “It is just me, you may speak freely.”

“I-” Jacaerys paused, his eyes darting around the countless of guests mingling in the Great Hall, the threat of a listening ear everywhere. “I cannot.”

You nodded in understanding, but Jacaerys could tell that his answer had disappointed you by the way you turned your head away from him. Silently, he cursed himself, feeling the desire for you coiling in his stomach, but unable to act on it.

For the rest of the night, Jacaerys tried to pick up the conversation with you again, and while you did speak with him, it seemed dull, like you were uninterested. He felt incredibly stupid, knowing he had messed up, but despite that, he couldn’t jump over his shadow to address the problem. So he didn’t. He pushed his disappointment in himself aside and tried his best to control the jealousy he felt whenever you accepted the dance of another man, acting like didn’t care at all, especially when Luke was watching, shaking his head.

Cregan was luckily too busy to entertain his guests to meddle, occasionally drawing Jacaerys into his side to clink their cups. Overall, (despite his personal failings) the celebration was a success. It was late in the night, nearing the hour of the wolf when Jacaerys finally retired to his chambers. He had dropped Luke off at his own chambers just before, his younger brother having one too many of the mulled wine and immediately dozing off in clothes.

Shutting the door with his foot, Jacaerys unpinned his cloak, tugging his doublet off, draping it over the small ottoman. His hands were in the collar of his tunic, ready to take it off when short raps on his door made him pause. Was that Cregan fetching him for another drink?

Jacaerys opened the door and his eyebrows rising in surprise when he saw who it was.

“My lady…”

You were standing in front of him, dark cloak slung around your shoulders, about the last person he had expected to come knocking on his door after his last conversation with you had gone. Your face was bare from any trace of cosmetics, but your cheeks still held a rosy glow. Jacaerys peered out into the dark hallway, expecting a handmaiden or anyone accompanying you, but alas, you were by yourself.

“It is late. Is something the matter?” he asked, concerned.

“Everything is fine,” you assured him. “I was feeling a bit restless, I was wondering if you were up for some company?”

Despite feeling exhausted just a few seconds ago, Jacaerys was wide awake now, his heart thrumming with excitement at the prospect of spending time with you alone. But he couldn’t help but hesitate, questioning whether it was smart of him to put himself in a situation he couldn’t control, especially with you.

You sensed his hesitation, tilting your head curiously.

“I can leave, if you wish.”

Before you could even attempt to retreat, Jacaerys’ hand shot out to stop you, and as he saw the amusement on your face, he knew you had never intended to leave.

Minx, he thought to himself, opening his door wider to let you inside. Swiftly, you passed by him and Jacaerys made sure no one saw you enter, before shutting the door. As he turned around, he found you had already settled on the cushioned couch, appearing comfortably at ease.

“These are usually my chambers I stay in when I visit Winterfell,” you said nonchalantly, taking in the chambers and Jacaerys’ possessions that laid scattered around. “You can imagine my surprise when Cregan told me it was occupied for someone else when I arrived.”

Jacaerys tried not to imagine you laying in his bed as he sat down on the bench.

“They are the chambers I stayed in when I visited last time. I assume Cregan wanted me to feel comfortable.”

“The lengths we would go to to make sure you felt comfortable,” you said with a look in his direction and Jacaerys flushed, clearing his throat.

“Do you like these chambers for a reason or are you merely a creature of habit?”

“These are the only chambers that don’t have the fire place directly facing the bed,” you explained, your arms gesturing to the layout of the chambers.

“I know the Northeners like to keep the fire on at night to feel cozy, but I tend to get a little… Hot.”

Oh.

His mouth ran a little dry and he only managed to blink at you, as you grinned, your eyes slowly trailing down his body.

“I imagine it is the same for you. What is it again, the motto of your house?”

Jacaerys opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out of it.

“Fire and blood?” finally pressed out and you arched an eyebrow at him.

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling.”

Your mouth quirked up in a smirk and you brushed your hair back with a flick. “I must say, I have to admit that I thought you less nervous when no one was around.”

“You thought me less nervous when it is just you and I alone in a room?”

“Now when you say it like that…” you mused. “I told you that you do not have to worry about your behavior, I do not know any of the rules you have to abide by.”

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” Jacaerys said with a small laugh and you creased your forehead, looking at him questioningly.

“Is that not what you told me at supper?”

Jacaerys sighed, a chuckle leaving his lips and he had no other choice than to confess.

“You make me nervous because I do not know how to act around you. You make me stutter, lose my footing. I was never anything less than charming when it comes to talking to ladies, but you for some reason…”

Your face contorted from confusion to understanding and then glee.

“And I was starting to think you were letting me down easy.”

“I- what?” The indignation in Jacaerys’ tone made you laugh. “Let you down? Surely you must be jesting.”

“What was I to think? I was not exactly being subtle, my prince.”

Jacaerys bit down on his lower lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, but he eased off.

“I’m trying my best to uphold my honor. And yours.”

You let out a small laugh, lifting your hand to deftly unhook your cloak. Jacaerys averted his eyes as soon as the cloak slid off your shoulders, but he could see out of the corner of his eyes that you were wearing nothing but a nightgown with long lacey sleeves. Jacaerys had never seen a nightgown like that before.

“Would it not be dishonorable to deny yourself what you truly want?”

Jacaerys dared to glance at you, swallowing thickly when he realized that you had come closer, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. He exhaled sharply, feeling his cock stirring in his breeches, thankful that his tunic was untucked, covering his excitement.

“What if your future husband would cast you aside knowing you have laid with another man?”

You smiled at him, your hand reaching out to trace the neckline of his tunic.

“I think if my husband were to cast me aside for enjoying the pleasure of sex, he is not the right man for me.”

Jacaerys held his breath as you looked at him through your lashes. He managed to stay strong for about three more seconds, before he let out a frustrated groan, his hand curling around to pull you close, pressing his lips on yours.

You sighed softly into the kiss, your mouth pliable as Jacaerys moved against them, the kiss nearly driving him insane.

He needed more.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Jacaerys pulled you into his lap, situating your legs on either side of him.

“I have been going insane,” Jacaerys whispered against your lips, his finger tips dancing up your arm. “Trying to keep my composure, act like a prince, but one look from you and I lost the ability to string a sentence together.”

“Please,” you gasped as his hand wrapped around the back of your head to tilt it back, placing featherlight kisses on the column of your neck.” Cregan was telling me to behave - for once - because his great friend, the crown prince of the Seven Realms was to attend his nameday celebrations, but how could I when you’re just so-”

Your sentence trailed off in a sigh and Jacaerys pulled back to look at you, an eyebrow arched.

“I am so...?”

“Infuriatingly handsome.” Your voice was breathless as you spoke, hands slipping under his tunic and Jacaerys lifted his arms to help you take it off before you discarded it to the floor carelessly. “Like you were carved out of marble.”

You caressed him with your fingertips over his chest, your touch so tantalizing he had to shift his hips to ease the pressure on his breeches, a motion that did not go unignored by you at the sound of the small whimper that left your mouth, a sound that went directly to his south. He leaned in to kiss you again, before maneuvering you off his lap, standing so he could lead you over to the bed. His touch was gentle, but firm as you followed his lead to lay down at the edge of the bed, your nightgown bunching up at your calves.

“You don’t even know the affect you have on me… You had me on my knees,” he murmured, pushing your gown up. “I’m the crown prince of the seven realms. I don’t kneel for anyone.”

He might make an exception for you.

With his hands on your calves, pulling you closer, Jacaerys got to his knees, peppering small kisses on your inner thigh, making you squirm. He could smell the warmth of your musk as he neared your cunt, your smallclothes displaying a small patch of wetness he couldn’t help but be thrilled by.

“Lift your hips,” Jacaerys said, and when you did, he tugged your smallclothes off easily. He let out a soft breath when coming face to face with your cunt, sliding one finger through your folds. The moan out of your mouth sounded like heaven to him.

“Jace…” you sighed and his breeches got impossibly tighter, but he wanted you to finish first before he could even think about himself. Jacaerys applied a little pressure on your pearl with his thumb, inching closer, his breath hot on your lips before he licked a strip up your cunt. You responded with a small groan, your hands tangled into his locks and he knew he was on the right track.

He kept drawing circles on the small nub over your cunt, his tongue exploring between your folds, trying to elicit every moan and sigh out of your mouth possible, repeating his motions that seemed to please you the most. Soon, Jacaerys had you writhing on his bed, your hand tightened around his hair in a grip that nearly hurt, but he didn’t care.

“Jacaerys…” you breathed out, your hips lifting from the bed; he merely pushed it down with his free hand. “Don’t- I’m so..”

Jacaerys nuzzled his mouth even further into your cunt he not thought possible, the circles he was drawing onto your pearl becoming tighter, smaller until you let out an especially loud moan of his name, your cunt pulsating.

With a breath heave, you fell back into the cushions and Jacaerys pulled back from between your legs, not without leaving a lingering kiss on your inner thigh. You looked absolutely marvelous, blissed out on his bed, your sweaty hair sticking to your forehead. If he had to guess, he must not look any better, his entire face must be covered in you.

“Is this behavior befit for a crown prince?” you asked, chest still heaving. Jacaerys quirked a smile at you, brushing his hair back.

“For a lady like you, without question.”

A small laughter escaped your lips, and you tugged him down to kiss him, your hands slipping beneath his trousers and then his breeches, wrapping around his cock. Jacaerys hissed, bucking into your hands, realizing he was still fully clothes from the waist down. Giving you one last kiss, he reluctantly pulled away from you, taking his boots off, and then slowly pushing his trousers off, his smallclothes along with it.

He couldn’t help but flush as he stood in front of your inquisitive eyes, still wearing your nightgown but looking incredibly debauched, your gaze… Hungry. He got on the bed, crawling towards you on his knees, fingers gingerly pushing your nightgown off your shoulders - you didn’t lift a hand to help him, but merely watched as his eyes grew wide when he finally pushed your nightgown down, as it pooled around your waist.

“You were made by the gods,” he mumbled into your skin, mouth latching on the sensitive skin of your tits, his other hand gently rolling your nipples until it formed into a stiff peak. He leaned up, kissing you deeply and as he moaned into your mouth, he pulled away, breathing hard.

“Do you…” he trailed off, unsure how to word it.

“I will die an immediate death if I don’t,” you said, extremely serious. “Lay back.”

As Jacaerys settled into the mountain of cushions, you knelt in front of him, nightgown long gone. You positioned yourself over his lap, just as he had earlier, hand wrapping around his cock to guide it to your cunt, which was still sopping wet. Jacaerys let out a slow, guttural groan as you lowered yourself onto his cock, until he was fully sheated inside of you.

“Are you feeling alright?” he pressed out, his hands finding your hips to pull out incase you were feeling uncomfortable.

“Perfect,” you breathed, lips parted and eyes hooded. You leaned a hand on his chest, impulsively rolling your hips and Jacaerys moaned, throwing his head back. Slowly, the two of you found your rhythm as you rode him, in slow, but deep hip thrusts. His chambers was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, whispers of his name and moans of yours. It wasn’t long until Jacaerys felt the familiar tension in his lower stomach, knowing he was close, while you were still moving on top of him, head thrown back.

If he had it his way, he would shoot his load into you, making you his, but the last thing he wanted was to trap you, so he stilled your hips, holding you in place and turning you so he was on top of you. Your hair fanned out on the bed, and Jacaerys kissed you, tongue licking into your mouth as he drove his cock into you with deep, but slow thrusts; his thumb was pressing into your pearl simultaneously.

“Jace,” you whined, your walls clenching and he nearly lost it right then and there. “Please…”

Jacaerys snapped his hips into you harder, leaning his head against yours as he did and after one particular deep thrust, you held onto his bicep as you moaned his name in a way that would ingrain into his brain for the rest of his life and he quickly pulled out, before he emptied his load in thick, white spurts onto your stomach. With a small groan, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed next to you, neither speaking for a few seconds, catching your breath.

Jacaerys was the first to rise, pushing his hair back, standing to find a wet rag to clean you up. His touch was gentle as he cleaned your stomach, disposing of the dirty rag, lingering on the side of the bed.

“Do you want to stay? For a little while, at least?”

You turned your head to look at him, corners of your mouth tugging up. “If you’ll have me, my prince.”

Jacaerys snorted out a laughter, settling into bed next to you, making sure to pull up the blanket to cover your naked body, even though a warmth was emanating from you, it was rivaling his own.

“Are you sure you’re not a distant kin of Aegon the Conqueror?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You would fit right into our house.”

“I find it very flattering that you think I have royal blood in me,” you laughed as your fingertips traced along his arm.

“It is only a question,” Jacaerys mused. “I think you would get along well with my mother.”

“A foreign girl in front of the esteemed queen of the Seven Realms? I wouldn’t stand a chance. Her royal knights would behead me as soon as I curtsied the wrong way.”

And as the fire crackled in the far corner of the chambers, pressed against your side, Jacaerys knew that while you spoke in jest, he wouldn’t mind you meeting his mother, even if that was highly unlikely. Coming the following morning it seemed like he would never see you again, with you returning home and him returning to King’s Landing.

And while he was a dragon rider, he wasn’t sure if that distance would be easy for him to cover, considering the fact he had duties he had to attend to, he couldn't just leave whenever he pleased, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I really enjoyed your company,” you then said, your voice a bittersweet tone. Jacaerys pressed his nose against your neck, biting back the question if you wanted to come with him, see King’s Landing. He knew he was being foolish.

“As did I yours.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: hehehehehe did u like it?

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x you #jacaerys smut #hotd #house of the dragon #jace x reader #jace x you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fic

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draczrys · 5 months ago

Note

Would you write something about Cregan Stark getting married to a reader of a house of your choice and thus sealing alliances and being fluffy?

WINTER ROSE. ❨ cregan stark x tyrell!reader ❩

since your birth, the third child and only daughter of highgarden’s lord, your fate had always been a marriage for political means. your elder brother would inherit the title, the other set for life as a knight of the seven kingdoms. you were a girl and your purpose was to marry well and secure a strong alliance for your family.

it didn’t take long to come to terms with what your life would look like. you would come of age and be sent away to the lord that would benefit you most. for your family, you would do it. but, every night, you would kneel by your pillow and pray that your husband would at least be kind —- it needn’t be true love, like the stories you often read. as long as he wasn’t cruel.

“cregan stark has been named the new lord of winterfell and is in need of a wife,” your father announced one morning, amidst the feasting hall. “i have sent a raven to offer your hand and he has accepted.”

your mother beamed, grasping your shoulders proudly. “my daughter, lady of winterfell.”

“we are in need of his banners and he needs our grain and cloths for the winter,” lord tyrell explains, shrugging as though it were simply a swap of goods and not the life of his daughter. “it is a fair exchange.”

by the next moon, you were departing the green and gold covered fields of highgarden and journeying north on the roseroad. the colder it became, the more you missed the sweet sun and elegant surroundings of your home. northerners were rough and unforgiving to outsiders, each one you met along the way adding to the dreaded image of your husband.

the first time you laid eyes on cregan stark was when you were taken along the path to the godswood. he was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. but his tall build, stoic features and steady gaze made you shiver —- even under the furs you’d been given. he had the look of a northerner, but did he have the heart of one too?

“by the old gods and the new, i name you man and wife,” the septon concluded the ceremony, unbinding the cloth wrapped around your hands. expectant eyes looked on, forcing a blush upon your face as you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to cregan’s cheek.

if you were to confess under the eyes of the godswood, you were afraid of cregan stark. his eyes were unwavering, lips fixed in a permanent frown. other than his vows of marriage, he hadn't said a word. neither of you were elated to be trapped into a marriage of convenience, but you knew you hadn't any choice in the matter. at the least, he could look like he was enduring it.

sat now at the top table in winterfell's great feast hall, your new husband at your side, the celebrations were growing louder the longer the wine was being poured. you sat quietly, barely sipping at your cup. only when the loud, booming voice of cregan's men rang out did you come back to the present.

"a toast, to the new lady of winterfell! may she be as beautiful under our lord as she is beside him."

the laughs that emulated from it made you grimace, so used to being treated as the perfect lady, protected from all things becoming to a man. you knew of sex, the people of the reach having always been open about their bodies and pleasures, but the northern aggression that came with it was foreign to you.

"to the bedding ceremony!"

the ladies at highgarden had warned you of the tradition that came at weddings, the entire party parading around the newlyweds as they stripped and consummated the bond. it was daunting enough to take your new husband to bed, but to be watched by tens of strangers? it had your heart suddenly hammering out of your chest, every muscle tensing in a cold shock.

"enough!" the commanding voice of the man by your side cut through the cheers, silencing the hall in an instant. it was the first time he had spoken since the ceremony, current volume making up for the silence. "there will be no bedding ceremony. anyone who protests will meet the sword at once."

whilst everyone else cowered under the threat, you felt yourself relax with a warm relief. cregan turns to meet your surprise, both his eyes and tongue turning soft as he speaks just to you now.

"you may retire, if you wish."

nodding gratefully, you follow the gentle hand of your lady-in-waiting out of the busy feast and along the strange halls of the cold castle. even your chambers are cold, the climate seeming to cling to the stone around the bed. the silk nightdresses you had brought with you do nothing to shield you from it, so once your lady departs you begin to forage through the chests for something to keep you warm. eventually finding a smaller set of furs amongst the others, you drape it around your shoulders and relish in the heat that comes with it.

"is everything to your liking?"

jumping in shock, you turn on your heels to find cregan stood at the doorway, just about filling the whole space. his eyes flicker down to the furs -- his furs, covering you and a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.

"i'm sorry," you stumble quickly. "it was cold and it was all i could find."

cregan's head shakes, dismissing your apologies. "it's alright. everything here is as much yours as it is mine, now."

you smile, head falling bashfully to glance at the floor. "i hadn't expected everything to be so... different here. it will take some time to adjust, i think."

nodding in understanding, cregan crosses the room to stand in front of you. you feel yourself shiver under his gaze, watching him study you amongst his territory. hesitantly, his hand slips from under his own furs to reach for your own. you let him, both of you treading new water as your learn each other's touch; the smoothness of your palms, the rough pads of his thumbs, the heat that encompassed your chilled knuckles. the sensation is wonderful, like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

"whatever you need to help you enjoy your new life here, no matter the extent, it will be my honour to find it for you," cregan tells you, the kindness in his voice a pleasant welcome. "you are my wife now, it is my duty to make you comfortable."

feeling your cheeks warm, rounding with the first genuine smile in days. your heart swells and the feeling that this marriage might just be okay fills you, so much so that you find yourself reaching up to kiss cregan's cheek once more. unlike the bonding of the vows, this one is genuine and of your own volition, expressing the gratitude you could not find words for.

"i can sleep elsewhere for the night, if you would wish..." cregan continues, clearing his throat to distract from the small blush that creeps past his skin.

"no, stay," you tell him, squeezing his hand. "perhaps we could talk, learn more about each other."

the suggestion eases you both. cregan agrees, using your hand to guide you towards the bed, only leaving for a moment to fetch you more furs for the night. he potters around, changing for sleep, and the domestic scene lets you relax into the pillows.

it wasn't a marriage for love - yet. but perhaps it could be, with time.

#⚔️ ﹐ writings.#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #hotd drabbles #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #tom taylor #hotd x reader

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strangererotica · 6 months ago

Text

SOAKED 𓇢𓆸

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Summary: After Reader is stranded by a carriage mishap, she finds herself lost in an attempt to make her way home alone. Luckily for her, another carriage happens to cross her path, belonging to none other than the Viscount Bridgerton himself…

In keeping with Bridgerton’s vibe, Reader is a young woman with zero sexual knowledge or experience. I imagine she’s around nineteen or twenty years old and while she has had suitors, none of them have inspired in her the feelings Lord Bridgerton evokes…

While enjoying your evening ride, your carriage had broken down. To the great frustration of your driver, you’d insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t in good taste, for a young woman to be out walking unattended. But you were in an exploring mood, and wanted to do your exploring alone. The company of your carriage driver was something you were honestly glad to be rid of.

Despite being reasonably close to town, you’d somehow managed to wander in the direction of the forest rather than home. Night was creeping closer, trees casting shadows across your path as you looked up at the sky, trying to find your bearings.

A large, cold drop of rain ‘plopped’ against your forehead, making you flinch. Several subsequent drops followed, till the situation quickly became a downpour. You raced for shelter beneath the trees, cursing under your breath as your ankle twisted on a large root sticking up from the ground. The trees were basically useless at shielding you from the rain, Autumn having stripped their branches almost entirely of leaves.

Your hat was soaked, its brim flattened against the sides of your head. The pretty dress you’d chosen to wear that afternoon was now caked with mud at the trim; you realized you must look incredibly foolish right now, but certainly not as foolish as you felt.

The sound of horses’ hooves approaching caught your attention. You looked down the road to see a carriage drawing closer, rain bouncing from its roof and sides. When the carriage came to a stop just by you, a stab of panic shot through your chest. What if it was someone you knew, discovering you out here looking a complete mess? And even worse, what if the carriage belonged to a man?

The carriage came to a full stop; the door swung open, and the handsome, familiar face of Anthony Bridgerton emerged. Your heart thumped inside your chest as his jet eyes raked over you, a mischievous smirk turning his lips upward. “Unusual night for a walk, Miss (Y/N),” he remarked, his tone playful.

Despite your embarrassment and the wet state of your clothing, you attempted a curtsy. “Indeed it is, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied. “I was out for an evening ride, when my carriage broke down.” You pointed past you, unsure of which direction you’d actually come from at this point.

“And your driver?” Anthony asked, seemingly unbothered by the rain pelting his hat and shoulders. “What of him? Am I to assume he left you unattended? At the-.” He bit his lip, running his eyes over your breasts, your nipples visible through the soaked material. “-Mercy of whomever should find you?” he finished.

You felt your cheeks going red, in spite of the chilly rain running down your skin. “It was my choice, I assure you,” you explained. “I insisted he allow me the chance to take some air, alone, on my journey home. I had not expected…” Your voice wavered, words failing you as Lord Bridgerton’s penetrating gaze made you weak.

“The rain?” he offered, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Understandable, Miss (Y/N). It seems I’ve found you absolutely drenched.” His eyes scanned your breasts and back up to your face.

Anthony tilted his head, acknowledging your ankle. You hadn’t noticed, but you’d been keeping your full weight off of it on purpose. “Your ankle,” he said, his tone sympathetic. “Is it sprained? You seem hesitant to apply pressure to it.”

“I twisted it on a raised root,” you explained. “It is not badly sprained. More of a discomfort, really-.”

“Regardless,” Lord Bridgerton interrupted. “Leaving you to manage on your own would be unconscionable. I insist-.” He extended his hand for you. “-That you allow me the honor of delivering you home.”

There was no way around it; you had to accept the offer. Taking a soggy step forward, you reached for Anthony’s hand and allowed him to help you into the carriage.

Immediately, you felt embarrassed by the way your wet clothes were dripping all over the carriage’s interior. The horses’ hooves sounded, followed by the familiar tug as the carriage was pulled forward. You could feel the Viscount’s gaze resting on you, but were too afraid to meet it. You’d harbored feelings for him for years, and had often wondered what it would feel like to have his attention fixed solely on you, to be the object of his interest. Now that you were in exactly such a situation, all of the practiced lines you’d rehearsed in your daydreams had completely vanished.

You pressed your thighs together, a familiar ache blossoming between them…a tightening, throbbing sensation similar to your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what it was, this odd pleasure mixed with pain; but you always felt it when you were in Lord Bridgerton’s presence, and sometimes, it occurred while simply thinking of him. You’d come to associate the feeling with Anthony, loving the sensation even as it frightened you. Not unlike your feelings for the Viscount himself.

“You needn’t worry about making a mess,” he remarked, and you froze. Because for a moment, you worried Anthony knew of what accompanied the feeling…the clear, slippery fluid that inevitably wound up wetting your inner thighs, whenever you thought of him.

He pointed to the seat across from him, which you were sitting on. Panic seized you, till you realized he was obviously speaking of the mess your rain-soaked clothing was making inside the carriage.

Your cheeks went rosy and warm again. Anthony noticed, and smiled slightly, as if holding onto a sweet secret that pleased him. “Upholstery can be mended,” he explained. “And on the subject of things that need mending…”

Anthony reached forward, taking hold of your injured ankle and lifting your foot to rest on his lap. Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. What could he possibly be thinking, touching you in such an intimate way?

You watched his fingers as they gently undid the laces of your boot. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a wicked glimmer reflecting back at you. Anthony removed your boot, and delicately rolled the lace cuff of your sock downward, exposing your ankle. When his fingertips brushed your skin, the contact of his touch went straight to the aching space between your legs, as if a line were somehow connecting those parts of you.

A shiver ran through your body, your hips bucking as Anthony softly stroked your skin, coaxing his finger lower, till he was cradling your foot in his hand. Every subtle movement of his fingertips sent a flash of heat straight to your center, setting you ablaze with something you’d never felt before. The familiar throbbing between your legs was suddenly burning, the pleasure mixed with a pain that kept increasing, as if demanding some kind of release, though you didn’t know how to relieve it.

Anthony watched you with an unbearable intensity-could he not see that you were unwell?-his smile long departed and replaced with something darker, almost hungry, like the focus of a predator locked in on its prey. Your body jolted as if struck. Anthony observed your behavior in stoic silence-was he angry with you?-all the while continuing to delicately stroke your skin, as if he couldn’t see the way your body was completely overcome by his simple, tender ministrations. Tears burned behind your eyes as the ache within you throbbed harder and harder, pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. You gripped the edge of your seat, your eyes squeezing shut, air leaving your body in gasps.

You realized you must have been dying…surely, there was no other way to explain this frenzy that had overtaken you. But just as you were sure you were dying…you were flying. The world went white in your field of vision, as the tension inside your lower body finally gave way. A brand new feeling, of absolute rapture and inexplicable bliss, pulsed at your core in waves, rippling and shattering its way through you. Relief washed over you, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin, chest heaving as you recovered from whatever beautiful, brutal attack your body had just endured.

Your eyes opened on Anthony, whose expression was even more intense than before. Certain that you’d upset him with your embarrassing fit, a sudden shame humbled you. “Forgive me, Lord Bridgerton,” you panted, tears welling in your eyes. “I am unwell. I do not know what came over me just now, but I must apologize for my intemperate behavior...”

Anthony’s expression softened, unlike his lap, which now felt stiff and uneven beneath your ankle. He cleared his throat, before assuring you that “everything is alright, (Y/N).” Hearing your name leave his lips, your first name and not your family name, was like hearing an angel speak. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And I promise, you are not unwell.” Lord Bridgerton’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Quite the opposite, in fact,” he said.

“But-.” You watched as he rolled your sock back over your ankle. “-I must be ill, my Lord-.” Anthony slid your boot back over your foot. “-Or perhaps a demon momentarily seized hold of me-??” Anthony chuckled slightly, his eyes on the laces of your boot as he fixed them. “-I must rest,” you decided. “To make sure this doesn’t happen again...”

Anthony bit his lip and grinned. “Well,” he conceded. “Perhaps you’re right. Some time in bed might be just what you need…” Anthony leaned forward and took your hand in his. “…In case that frightful feeling returns.”

Your lips parted, his nearness an alarming reminder of the feeling he conjured within you, the aching pulse between your slippery thighs reigniting. “I…” You tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come, not with his hand holding yours, his lips so near to your skin-

-A rapping on the carriage lurched you from the trance you’d fallen in. You hadn’t even noticed that the carriage had stopped moving. A driver opened the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, exiting the carriage. “I’m so grateful for your assistance today.”

Anthony nodded politely, a warm smile on his face. “It was my pleasure, Miss (Y/N),” he said, and as you turned toward your home, “I’ll call on you later this week, to see how you’re recovering.”

You felt your heart rate kick up a notch. “…from your sprained ankle, Miss (Y/N),” Anthony clarified, though the suggestive glimmer in his eye implied otherwise. You watched as his carriage retreated, starting on unsteady legs into your home. Your dress was still soaked, wet with rain and something else…something only Anthony Bridgerton was able to conjure in you, the product of a secret it now seemed the two of you shared, together… 🩵

PART TWO

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oceantornadoo · 3 months ago

Text

part two - outlaw!simon x reader who was supposed to marry johnny (rip)

when you wake in the morning, there is no husband in your bed and an angry sheriff at your door.

the missing husband is a later problem. you snatch your worn dressing gown from your nearby chair, shirking it on over your night shift as you head towards the door. you grab your rifle on the way, noting simon had unloaded it when you weren't paying attention. bastard.

"mornin' ma'am." sheriff graves is a sunny character on your doorstep, western sun and a shifty smile. you mutter a greeting back, wondering why in god's name he is pounding at your door when the sun has barely touched the sky. "did ya have any trouble last night? there's rumors of an outlaw group on the edge of town." you shake your head, gaze holding firm. "no, sir. woulda shot 'em if i did." he nods, then looks down at his boots. "and that husband of yours? he at home, protectin' his wife?" ah, so that's why he's here. everyone knows you are married but no one's ever met the guy, seeing as he's been journeying over mountains and grasslands to get to you. sheriff graves is well aware of your lonesome self, just you and your rifle. "he's around, sir. i'll be introducin' him to yall soon enough. 'course, we're spendin' some time together as man and wife first."

his pupils go wide at your insinuation, not ladylike in the slightest. 'course, you are a barmaid, so what's to be expected of you? "i see. well, i'll leave you to your mornin', ma'am." if he really wanted to give you your morning, he wouldn't have woken you up so early, but you weren't going to give him that much attitude. "good day, sheriff." you close the door when his boots are still in its shadow, a little too close to be polite.

"you protectin' me, darlin'?" you jump at his voice, nearly scaring you out of your gown. "good lord, give a girl some warning!" he's fully dressed, hiding in the shadows of your pantry in a full-black outfit. you take in the bandana hiding his face, the all-black chaps encasing his thick thighs, and the holsters strapped and loaded. "you're up early." he grunts, coming closer. simon checks the door lock, then pushes you up against it with his body, his arms coming to hold the wall over your head. "had t' water my horse. you miss me?" you shake your head vehemently. "you snore. you will not be gettin' in my bed again soundin' like a freight train." instead of taking offense, he laughs, all gravel in your ear. "johnny woulda loved you."

you can tell he regrets saying it the moment it leaves his lips. his body tightens, that easy flirtation dying in the wind. "you miss him?" you ask quietly, testing the lines between you. "everyday. less now, i think. got a spitfire to take care of." unwillingly you lean closer, crossing your arms over your chest. "you better be talkin' about your horse." he grumbles something unintelligible, one hand leaving the wall to ghost against your hip. you're reminded of last night, of his rough embrace and warm arms.

"hips up for me, sweetheart. there ya go." simon places a pillow underneath your hips, the angle revealing more of your cunt to him. you whine as he stares, hips bucking as if to entice him. "y'r so needy, darlin'." you moan, one leg reaching out around his waist to tug him closer. he lets out a laugh as you line up your pelvises, the rough material of his pants rubbing against your bare body.

"i've been horny. can't fuck anyone when you're married, apparently." he hums, opting to trace the line of your jaw instead of the seam of your cunt. "still, coulda been a killer, yet you opened up so easily for me." embarassment courses through your body but you refuse to feel the shame along with it. you reach out your hands to find his zipper, tugging it down when he doesn't stop you. "you're no killer. if johnny trusted you, so do i." your hand finds his cock beneath the layers of his clothes, tugging it out slowly. he hisses when it meets the cool night air, already so hard and ready to go. "don't go makin' assumptions about me, sweetheart. there's a lot you don't know."

the fear hits you for a moment. a realization that this man could be lying completely, some stranger off the street who barreled his way into your home. you search his eyes for the truth, sticking to your belief in the good in people. you find it in his gaze; he's trying to scare you. you smirk at the thought, this big tough man wanting to scare you, a lady living on her own in the wild west. takes a lot more to do that. "can i put it in?" you refuse to acknowledge what he said, gripping his cock tightly and tapping it against your opening. he's already made you come twice, once on the kitchen table and another against the door, but you still need to be full. "yeah baby, put it in."

you shake out of your daydream, noting the moving path of the sun lighting the outline of simon's body. "c'mon, i'll show you where my stable is. and then maybe, if you're good, you can come to my shift at the pub later." he snorts, one hand on your hip. the feeling of possession is alien. you've spent so many nights dreaming of johnny, dreaming of having a husband, that simon's presence feels like something you need to wake up from. he could be a figment of your imagination, you decide, watching him untie his horse from a nearby tree and bring her over. instead of walking down that mental path, you take another step towards this outlaw of a husband and try to shake off the butterflies in your stomach.

PART FOUR

yes he's wearing the gunslinger fit idc but with the bandana (i couldn't find a good pic)

tag list:

@chickennn-soupp

@vmaxis

@samanthamarkle92

@sinful-tawtute

@nightingale2124

@scottpilgrimvsmyfists

@saucypeanuttt

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queers-gambit · 3 months ago

Text

Shadows of the Past

prompt: the High King recruits you personally for the expedition headed by your intended, Herald Elrond. your company encounters the darkness and Galadriel portrays an apology to her friend.

pairing: Elrond x betrothed!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 5.1k+

note: wonky brain can think of nothing but this show right now i'm so sorry

warnings: cursing, spoilers, another reader insert for the haters, depiction of character injury, emotions are hard, small canon complicit angst, literal hurt and comfort, established relationship.

"Tell me again," your brother-in-law asked, "why you're not leading this company?"

You smirked, stepping over a fallen branch, "Because the High King has bestowed the honor to Herald Elrond, Daenor."

"Then why enlist you, too?"

"I am a mere emissary of the King. Besides, skills are required for this quest, Daenor, why would I not be employed?"

"Right, of course. I guess my question should be, what skills do you possess?" He teased, laughing when you shoved his shoulder playfully. "But truly," he asked, "why would the King send you both, so close to your wedding day? Why send you, too, if not to lead this company?" However, before you could answer, the air turned serious when the procession you followed came to a rather disturbing discovery upon the laid path.

You leaned on the intact stone while listening to Camnir discuss with Elrond possible paths forward after intending to cross a bridge over the gorge, only to find it in ruins and rubble. Elrond originally questioned the force that could've brought the ancient stone down in such a harsh and violent manner, thinking perhaps lightning, but another voice refuted this idea by claiming it was the Dark Lord, Sauron.

This familiar voice was that of Lady Galadriel - and while you've known her to be a fellow Commander, you were unsure of her title now. Yes, she was technically lieutenant of this company, and that was what she was addressed as, but you knew how stubborn the Elleth was and that she would not be so easily demoted.

You said nothing. You just listened as Camnir told Elrond they could take one of two paths: one so out of the way, it would add two weeks to their journey, and the other, down the same darkened path the Dark Lord laid.

Upon mentioning the path before them through the Hills of Tyrn Gorthad, Lady Galadriel twitched. She had been daintily ghosting her fingertips over the charred and mangled metal of the lanterns set on the imploded bridge, seemingly stuck in thought, then freezing. You couldn't see her face, only taking note of the brisk tension mounting in the Elleth's shoulders.

She spoke, "There is evil in those hills." The group shared silent looks, each with varying degrees of mistrust or caution. "Ancient, and full with malice," Galadriel glared at the landscape before her. "Sauron means for us to go that way. We must go another," She informed the group as if she were in a position to give orders.

From the crouch he took to observe the damage done to the stone, Elrond rose while speaking in a firm tone that overpowered the Lady's, "The Enemy is doubtless watching both roads." His eyes flickered over yours last as jetting over each of his soldiers, clocking the way you nodded in agreement. To you, it seemed common sense: of course, the bad guy was watching the paths that would lead the good guys to him! He was evil, not stupid! Elrond reminded his people, "This collapse makes it more critical than ever to reach Celebrimbor at speed."

"We won't reach anywhere with speed if we walk into a trap," Galadriel argued; the two friends (and distant cousins) held each other's even stare for several moments.

"What say you, Commander?" You asked, hoping to break the tension and little trance they were locked in. No, no, not out of jealousy, but out of protectiveness; wanting to break the ice for the sake of Elrond's authority.

"We go South," Elrond decided, turning from the fragmented bridge stump, ready to lead his company on, when Galadriel spoke again - from the same spot she had yet to move from.

"Commander, I must protest."

You did not move when the others did, you waited when Elrond paused and replied, "Your opinion on the matter has been heard."

He went to walk away again when Galadriel growled with a rolling tongue, "Elrond!"

You flinched to a halt in blinding irritation, upset by your peer's very audacity. Everyone halted around you, Camnir even shifting in his stance out of nervousness from the heat of your glare not on him. Your fiancé turned back to glare at his friend, ending with finality, "Opinion heard, lieutenant. We go South." He gave an encouraging command in Sindarin, leading only a few strides before pausing. When you automatically halted yourself at his side, he nodded and spoke softly while seemingly mindlessly grabbing your hand to give an affectionate and reassuring squeeze, "Lead them on, love, stay on the trail."

You glanced back at Galadriel, who was finally moving to keep up, and whispered for only his ears, "You sure?"

"I'm sure, go on," he confirmed, nodding again and offering a soft sort of half-smirk. His eyes, though, were squinted; indicating he was genuine in his displayed gentleness. With a squeeze to his hand, you offered one last stale look at Galadriel, who expertly avoided your eyes, then let go and walked forward to lead the way.

Behind you, Elrond snarled his scolding of Galadriel, insisting she shape up, forgo trust in the Ring of Power she wore, and if that wasn't possible, she needed to excuse herself. The Commander of the Northern Armies rebutdtaled that she did not desire to see any member of the company slain - a veiled response to her stubbornness to not abandon their quest and refusal to ignore her ring.

Forward, you marched.

Though you seldom showed it, you felt fearfully nervous when the night fell and your company crept further into what felt like infected wood. The ground turned spongey, a particular stench permeated the air, the darkness shadowed most all you saw. The trees loomed tall, the moon casted a bright silver light, and dead leaves crunched under booted, lithe steps. Elrond shared a nervous look with you, his hand only briefly brushing yours; a way to say he was there with you without being overly affectionate in front of his soldiers.

From the corner of his eye, Elrond saw your head tilt back in wonder before a fell voice hissed on the wind, "I am waiting for you." But in truth, nobody was sure about what they heard or did not hear. Perhaps they did not want to know, but still, the voice made the area further darken in suspicion, and once in a small clearing, all came to a halt to survey the surrounding area. There was a threat somewhere, but where exactly was yet to be determined.

Daenor questioned sharply, "What is this place?"

"Tyrn Gorthad," Camnir answered. "Known to men as the Barrow-downs."

You chimed in softly, "In ancient days, this was where they laid their lords and kings to rest."

"I feel no rest here," Daenor grumbled. "Even the trees seem ill at ease."

"Fear not," Vorohil chimed in, sounding amused while stepping up to (and through) your group's observation deck. "Dead men are no threat."

"Well, we've lived very different lives," you scoffed under your breath.

However, after Vorohil, Elrond followed; casting a look at the lot of you and reminding, "Keep moving."

You let the others pass ahead of you, trying to shake off your nerves and mentally prepare yourself for the hell you were walking into. Something anchored your feet, refusing to let go; every nerve in your body on fire and begging you not to wade into the dark. Your name was spoken gently, Galadriel's hand on your shoulder startling you.

"What is it?" She asked quietly.

"We shouldn't be here," you whispered, Elrond doubling back when he noted your delay. Not wanting a confrontation, Galadriel sighed and patted your shoulder before slipping away as your lover approached you.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly but urgently.

"There's something sinister here," you told him stiffly, stepping half a step closer, "watching us."

He took a breath, "If Galadriel's ring - "

"It's not that!" You insisted. "I feel it, Elrond, not the ring, not anything Galadriel said. I feel it."

Elrond's brows furrowed at the tips, like something hooked them to yank towards his nose. "Then stay close to me," he decided.

"We should move on, quickly," you snatched his hand to prevent him from parting; his gaze turning worried. "Please, listen to me."

"My love," he spoke softly, squeezing your hand, "it is a gravesite, nothing more. The dead cannot harm us."

"It is the living's influence I fear."

He sighed and nodded, "We will not linger." His forehead found yours to rest, "But do not stray from my side, it is of great comfort."

"To us both," you agreed, letting him pull back. Yet he did not relinquish hold of your hand, keeping it tight in his and leading you into the clearing the others were surveying.

"Commanders," Rían called, standing over the corpses of two horses... Attacked seemingly a time ago, and upon inspection, discovered the pairing bodily remains of an Elvish party.

Elrond questioned your name when you squatted, brushing aside debris. "Their barding is from Lindon," you told him, gently ghosting the leather with your touch. You looked up to meet his eyes, glancing over to see Galadriel, predicting, "The King sent a dispatch to warn Celebrimbor."

Galadriel nodded in confirmation as Rían discovered the encased message from the King in a decorative tube, asking, "This dispatch?"

Slowly, you stood from your position and held a silent hand out, being given the tube for inspection; all eyes on you, waiting for whatever your overly keen (even for an Elf) eyes would see. After confirming the contents, your eyes locked with Galadriel's, and she spoke what you both were thinking: "We must go from this place."

Elrond appeared ready to agree, tension mounting as your company seemingly felt the blanket of panic being thrown over them all. From the dark, a set of rotting chains shot out to coil around Daemor, yanking him into the toxic, spongey earth and across the clearing.

"Y/N!" He shouted in shock, and without thinking, your hands slapped into his as if in an effort to anchor him... But you were both yanked off your feet. "Commander!"

"Daenor! NO!"

"Help me! Y/N, Y/N, please!"

"Hold onto me!" You begged, being drug on your belly.

"Sister! Sister, please, help me! Help me!" He sobbed in fear, a vice grip on your wrists and hands surely to leave blemishes. "Don't let go! Pl-eeeeeaaaaaase!"

"Daenor!" You whimpered, struggling as the force that held you both hostage was too strong to maintain a safe, secure hold permanently - meaning, saving him was futile.

Your name was bellowed, being drug towards one of the opened tombs; but at the last moment, the tether that kept you and Daenor together was broken and he was pulled into the abyss of the grave. You whimpered in fear, slowly lifting from your belly and to your knees as Daenor's screams were silenced... In fact, the entire area turned eerily quiet.

Behind you, the others rushed to the scene and Elrond immediately dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around you. "Are you hurt? Hey, hey, look at me, are you hurt?" He demanded, fearful that the chains might shoot out again to finish the job to swallow you in the dark. He checked for any physical injury, but the tension was too great to ignore; the mouth of the tomb glaring at you, forcing Elrond to silence himself.

You flinched back into his hold when the gruesome sounds of crunching bone and squelching flesh was heard; indicating whatever was inside, whatever claimed Daenor, had disposed of his living body.

Elrond took advantage of your flinch to rock you back onto your feet, standing as a group as a voice hissed, "Cold old be hand and heart and bone, And cold be sleep under stone, Never more to wake on stony bed, Never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead." Galadriel brandished her sword as the wights first emerged, revealing their zombified forms. You encouraged the group to form together in a circle as the demons emerged. The Voice continued, "In the black wind, the stars shall die."

"Prepare yourselves," Galadriel warned, the group arming themselves.

"What are they?" Rían trembled.

From perfectly between Galadriel and Elrond, you answered, "They are those who laid in the tombs, the Lords and Kings of old... Lore calls them Barrow-wights."

The creatures surrounded your company, leering, growling, sizing you up. In Sindarin, Elrond commanded, "Attack!"

In tandem, the group lunged; weapons striking the ghoulish foes but they merely disintegrated in air... Then reformed. It seemed that fighting only served to irritate the enemies, their collective hissing and screeching making stomachs curl and skin to prickle in fear. Galadriel clocked this first, warning Rían, "Still your arrow!"

But the Elleth was already locked and loaded, the string slipping from her grip to fire at a distant wight. But it only soared through the zombie's face, not stopping, directing towards Camnir - but Elrond intercepted, swiping his sword to cut its path and save his soldier. The creature rejuvenated.

"They're impervious to our weapons," Camnir voiced, fear inking his tone.

Elrond's eyes found yours, seemingly connected by a string of similar thought; remembering the old wives tales you once read a lifetime ago, ancient lore about Barrow-wights dating back to the time of Melkor. So, he sheathed his sword and told his soldiers, "Hold fast." To Camnir, the closest to him, he demanded, "Come with me!"

"Where are you going?"

"Help me open it," Elrond told him, trying to pry open the sealed tomb as you swiped at another wight's skeletal hand reaching for you.

"What?"

"Hurry!" Elrond barked in Sandarin.

Back in your group, Rían muttered nervously, "Commander?"

"Ease yourself, remain calm..."

"What do we do?"

"Make no sudden movements. Stay together, fend them off but don't engage a fight," you advised, "hold strong - "

A gasp cut off your words when chains coiled around your ankle; securing in a tight zip that knocked you off balance and back into the toxic dirt. You scrambled for purchase on anything, finding only wet leaves; and suddenly, the chain turned taunt with tension before you were being sucked back into another tomb.

"Commander!" Vorohil shouted, trying to reach for you, but just missing as you were reeled back over the dirt.

"Y/N!" Rían cried, alerting Elrond and Camnir of your situation. You whimpered in fear, sobbing as you couldn't fight the force; couldn't save yourself; only able to helplessly submit to your approaching doom after clawing unsuccessfully for salvation.

"No! No!" You yelped, trying to remove the chains, but another tightened around the first chain in a horribly tight, vice grip that strangled breath from your lungs from the pure burning sting. With the last of your air, you screamed, "Elrond! Please!"

You heard Vorohil sprinting after you, freezing in your escape attempt when a grisly, decayed hand extended from the ebony shadow of the tomb towards you. There was a panicked finality to your blood, fear clogging rational thought; never seeing Elrond, only focused on the threat pulling you in. But the half-Elf you meant to marry in only a few weeks time came surging onto the scene, sliding on his knees at the mouth of the tomb and swinging a sword to sever both hand and chains.

"Y/N - "

"Fuck's sake!" You snarled, unintentionally cutting Elrond off; shoving the chains from your leg, scrambling to your feet.

You were just about to thank Elrond when he instead encouraged, "Here, take this." He held out one of the ancient weapons excavated from the tomb, nodding with increased vigor before turning away when it was in your grip. You hacked and stabbed the wight that came after you, Elrond and Camnir tossing the rest of the company weapons to cast down the surrounding enemies.

"How?" Rían asked in shock, seeing the wisps of the last wights waft into the wind.

"According to lore, only the blades with which they were buried with will return such creatures to rest," Elrond explained.

"But the men buried here have been entombed for over a thousand years," Camnir trembled, turning to his companion.

Vorohil seethed, "I think it is safe to say that something has awoken them."

"No," Galadriel argued, glaring down at the wight's decaying body. "Someone... Awakening evil. Across all Middle-earth."

You ignored the conversation and slowly took a seat; leaving your weapon in the dirt while focusing on hiking up your trouser leg after discarding your boot. With a clenched jaw, you revealed the wight's chains left sizzling lacerations; the metal seemingly enchanted to burn damn near to the bone, creating craters, indentations, dimples to your otherwise pure and unblemished flesh.

You winced when fabric stuck to the wound, bearing your teeth while hissing through them; breathing turning staggered as the pain became biting. "Commander?" You heard Camnir question softly with concern, others turning to set their attention on you.

"It's nothing," you insisted, observing the wound and deciding a tourniquet was required.

"You're hurt," Elrond growled, surging forward and unintentionally knocking Galadriel's shoulder - but the Elleth didn't take offense. The others wanted to close in around you, but Galadriel held them back after witnessing you before. As Commander of the Southern Armies, you had seen many battles with Galadriel, and sometimes, you sustained injury; she's witnessed how you turned akin to a panicked animal when accosted with attention - no matter how genuine the concern.

"It's nothing," you repeated, reaching for one of your belts, "I'm fine."

"You're not - "

"It's a burn, Elrond, nothing more," you sniffled, feeling how far up the chain had gone; deciding to tie the tourniquet above your knee.

"Let me," Elrond whispered, laying his hands over yours that shook and trembled without abandon.

"Elrond - "

"Just," he snipped, needing to pause and take a breath, "please, let me help you."

Behind him, Galadriel ushered the others away to a short distance; deciding to gather whatever belongings of Daenor they could to honor his lost life. You met Elrond's worried gaze and nodded, sniffling, "Okay. J-Just above the knee, here," you showed him.

"I know, love, I've got yah," he breathed, shuffling closer and kneeling beside you while taking the belt. You pulled the material of your trousers straight, grimacing when Elrond first wrapped the leather around your thigh. "All right?" He checked, seeing you nod rapidly; no words used because you were holding your breath to prevent yourself from crying out. When Elrond first tied the leather, you whimpered and his eyes turned teary. "It's gonna get worse, love, just hang on f'me - " He warned you before suddenly tightening the tourniquet, making you yelp painfully. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I know it hurts, I know, I know, I'm so sorry," he repeated, your hands latching onto his forearms out of subconscious need to feel him for comfort while he secured the leather belt. When done, he reached for your cheeks and pet hair that escaped your braids behind your ears, encouraging, "Breathe for me, just breathe, love. You're all right, there you go. Breathe. Good, good, I've got you, I'm so sorry, just breathe, just breathe... Oh, I, uh..."

"What's wrong?" You worried when he trailed off; eyes full of tears and his mouth half opening while retracting his hands that you held by his wrists still.

"I've blood on my hands..." He splayed them in display between you two.

"It's okay - "

"Got it on your face," he frowned.

"It's fine," you insisted, sniffling sadly, "it's my blood, anyway. We should be moving - "

"You're hurt."

"I know, but it's not life threatening, I don't need coddled."

"I'm not coddling you - "

"You are," you half smirked, "because you're worried."

"Of course, I am," he scoffed, using his sleeve to wipe your cheeks and temples free of blood. "How can I not be? You..." His voice quaked with emotion, "You are my starlight, my fairest friend, my sweetest love. Seeing you hurt..."

"I know," you whispered, bringing him close so your foreheads met, "but I'm okay."

"For now."

You sighed, pulling back to respond, "Don't say that, don't even think it. Optimism is our only friend in this situation, else, what is the point of going after Sauron?"

He needed to take a breath, sniffling his own emotion. "Fine. We should rest until morning... Regroup, give you time off this leg for now."

You nodded, "You sure?"

"I think we could all use the reprieve," he admitted.

"Does that include you?" You asked while caressing the coils of chestnut off his forehead.

"I'm fine - "

"As I am?"

Elrond paused, then scoffed a small laugh and nodded. "I'm managing..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Hey," you whispered, bringing him back to your forehead, "you're doing an excellent job of leading this company. But we all have limits and tonight was a lot, you deserve the time to breathe."

"Time is something we don't have."

"We have enough for now," you insisted, more or less forcing Elrond to relent.

As Daenor's belongings were pulled from the tomb and buried in the scorched earth his killers had rose from, the company each offered you hollowed words of condolences for your loss. Beside Elrond, it was known, you and your brother-in-law were great friends - being the reason he met and eventually married your sister. His sword was embedded in the ground as a marker, the company gathered to silently pay their respects while their commander stood at the riverbed's edge in deep, solemn contemplation.

You held one of his daggers, intending to keep it in reminder; pocketing a few pieces of jewelry, intending to give it to his wife. However, all was interrupted when from a distance, you heard the booming rumble of drums. Not just any drums, but the beating sounds of a marching procession; something ominous and daunting. You perked up, standing to your feet as something dark and familiar started in your chest before sinking to your gut. By looks of your company, they, too, heard the drums and shared your worried thoughts; sheathing Daenor's dagger to your belt and surging for where Elrond stood speaking to Galadriel.

"Forgive my intrusion," you bid the pair, Elrond turning instantly.

"Are you all right?" His hand reached for your hip instantly, trying to help stabilize you - if you had been off balance.

Your hand laid to his cheek, answering swiftly, "I'm fine," before dropping your hand to rest on his bicep, "but we've heard drums - in the deep. Sounds like there's a host on the march."

This sent the company into action, tracking the sound of the enemy over leagues of wooded area. By the end of the day, at dusk, you all gathered slowly on a darkened clifftop; watching in horror as legions of orcs marched down the beaten path to the sounds of their war drums. "Orc treachery," Rían cursed upon sight.

"That trail...?" Elrond questioned, letting go of his secure hold on you to lower in a squat, "I gather it leads to - "

"Eregion, my liege," Camnir confirmed.

"We came in search of Sauron," Vorohil narrated everyone's thought and question, "And instead, we find Adar?"

"Could they be in league with each other or... Perhaps at war," Elrond thought aloud, you shifting on your bad leg for a moment to readjust your stance among the trees.

"A legion of Orcs have marched into Elvish lands," Galadriel spat in anger, glaring at Elrond. "We are all of us at war."

Elrond agreed, "Word of this must reach the High King before our host sails for Mordor."

The silence was calm in a resolute sort of way, everyone just pausing to bask in their shock and awe. This was shattered when a distant Orc shouted, "There!" An arrow thunked into the trunk of the tree behind you, a horse neighing shrilly as it galloped through the forrest towards freedom and away from its pursuers. Just as the company turned to face the enemy, another arrow flew through the air almost inconspicuously, finding its mark in the soft part of your chest just beneath your sternum.

You grunted when the arrow landed, taking half a step back and wanting to cry out. Instead, you just held where the arrow embedded itself in your flesh. You felt dizzy suddenly, clothes and hand saturating with blood as the arrow had pierced through the aorta artery to cause major damage. Irreparable damage. Fatal damage...

In a whisper, Elrond told his soldiers in Sindarin, "Hold!"

In the distance, the Orcs were heard complaining about the horse escaping while a few random arrows were fired off again in a last ditch effort to wound the animal. If you did not move, the mangey creatures did not notice, smell, or sense you. But you couldn't form a full coherent thought, just understanding your injury, the looming grace of Death soon to kiss you, that breath was becoming increasingly harder to come by, and the pain - the pain was aching, soon spiking.

You did not mean to, but your fear was too great to ignore, and you stuttered in a whimpered gasp, "El-Elrond?"

His head snapped over, seeing the arrow protruding from your chest and feeling himself crumble inside. You were choking on blood, trying to remain silent - and they all saw that effort. How blood came splattering from your nose as you tried to subdue your noise, but that only made it harder to breathe; inadvertently choking, a groan strangled from your lungs just as Elrond reached you. He held you to him with his chest and single arm anchoring your waist, the other lifting to lay his hand over your mouth as Galadriel glued to your other side for added support.

The company moved back several yards, covering ground swiftly before laying you down behind a natural outcropping of protective rock. You were struggling, unable to fight it any longer; hacking a cough, blood spewing, splattering, streaking down your neck, the pain insurmountable. Elrond's one hand cushioned under your head, tears in his eyes as he could only hold you as the Orcs were heard closing in, other hand once more clasping over your mouth.

Still, Galadriel was sandwiching you, wincing when Elrond's hand stifled your groans of pain as he strained himself to peak over the top of the rocks. When he lowered himself, your lover leaned his forehead on your temple and hushed in your ear, "I'm so sorry." Upon lifting, he met Galadriel's eyes, who had been examining your wound, only to find her's full of sadness. Her head shook with muted words - telling him whatever she saw wasn't good.

You whimpered lightly. The Orcs could smell an Elf.

You wrangled Elrond's hand from your mouth, "Lis-Listen to me - "

"Hush, do not - "

"Shut up and listen!" You hissed, keeping hold of his hand, "'M not makin' it outta this, love, you've gotta go. L-Leave me - "

"No!"

"Elrond. Leave me," you insisted, "and they'll k-know 's m-me they smell. Y-You have t'warn the H-High King."

"I'm not leaving you," Elrond grit.

You smiled sadly, "And I love y-you for that. B-But you h-have t-t-to."

"Not in this lifetime," he begged, a few tears falling. "Just give me time to think, I'll figure something out."

"Time... Is something we don't have," you repeated his words from earlier. Suddenly, Galadriel just knew something without words; a feeling; a sort of understanding that she could help in this moment. She heard you whisper, "I'm so sorry, this wasn't supposed to happen. W-We should've had so much more time - "

"Please, don't say that," Elrond begged quietly.

Galadriel took a sobering breath and moved her hands to the base of the arrow; pressing enough to make you wince and breath in sharply. Elrond went to tell her to back off, but paused when The Ring of Power she wore twinkled in the dark night - seemingly pulling you out of that fatal twilight. Your breathing turned slow... Eyes clearing of hazy pain... Life breathing back into your flesh...

The arrow fell out, making all three of you gasp. Galadriel's hands fell away as your own shot to where your wound had been - finding it healed between the fabric the arrow tore. You looked at the Elleth in shock, breathing, "You healed me...?"

She just nodded, Vorohil speaking in astonished Sindarin, "Amazing."

"You're - You're, you are - ?" Elrond stuttered in shock.

"I'm okay," you confirmed, caressing his cheek as he beamed down at you in pure glee. "I'm okay, love, I'm okay; Galadriel, she healed me," you sniffled, looking to your friend. "Thank you, my friend."

"Of course," she breathed, the Orcs heard shouting in the distance to overturn every rock. With a look of shared understanding, Galadriel told Elrond over your body while you tried to mop up some blood, "Get to Lindon. I will occupy them as long as I am able. Get her up."

Elrond huffed through his nose, but did as bid - not like he needed to even be told in the first place. He gathered you into himself and stood, making sure you were stable before looking back at Galadriel; slowly squatting again as she wriggled the ring from her finger. "Take it," she breathed, presenting Elrond with the band of jewelry. When he made no move, she snatched his hand and folded the ring into his grasp, "Take it, Elrond!"

"What will you do?" He asked begrudgingly, storing the ring in a leather pouch for safety.

"Something foolish, probably," she smirked, nodding in meaning. "Now, go. Go!"

"Elrond, love," you whispered, holding your hand out for his and heaving him to his feet. "With me, c'mon, quickly," you advised the others, beginning the trek down a new path in the woods. As you moved, you realized that Galadriel's ring hadn't just healed the arrow wound, but the Barrow-wight's chain, as well, which helps remedy your limp.

A semi-safe distance away, there came a decently loud and abrupt boom behind you, and upon looking, saw the trees up in flames. It was where Galadriel must've been battling the Orcs alone.

In earnest impression, Camnir narrated, "She scarified herself to save us all."

Elrond came to a halt when he realized his company members were captivated by the sight of heroics in action. So he interrupted their dreamy thoughts by calling, "No, you are mistaken, Camnir." He stalked forward through his delegates, telling them in their native tongue, "She did not do it to save us."

Tension simmered over each member.

"What?" Camnir questioned.

Elrond turned away from the spectacle with Galadriel's fire, consulting the dark again, speaking with ramped distain in Sandarin, "She did it to save the ring." His hand reached for yours again, the two of you leading the company forward with him calling over his shoulder in the Common Tongue, "Hurry!"

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

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ambrosiagourmet · 8 months ago

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In chapter 28, Marcille lays out why the journey she's been on has been worth the pain: because they were able to bring Falin back. The injuries, the indignity, and the mess of it all - they are tolerable primarily in context of destination she believes she's reached at this point.

In truth, of course, the story is far from finished. In fact, I would argue that this is actually where hers really starts. This scene holds the seed of the very thing the Winged Lion will exploit to lead Marcille to become the Lord of the Dungeon. After all, with a desire as far reaching and deeply held as Marcille's, if the only acceptable outcome is success, what other choice does she have but to bargain with the infinite?

So let's talk about this idea - where it leads her, how Laios' path intersects with it, and how they both help each other move forward in the face of failure.

First though, I want to step back and talk about something else: the shapeshifter chapters.

With these chapters recently covered by the anime, there has, of course, come plenty of fun discussions about which version of each character belongs which other character's perceptions, and what that means.

One thing I've seen pointed out a few times is the fact that both Laios and Marcille's impressions of each other are based around Falin. Marcille's version of Laios is larger and more masculine, because those are the traits that stuck out to her in contrast to Falin. Laios' version of Marcille was directly inspired by her appearance and demeanor when resurrecting Falin.

So why is this important to a discussion about Marcille being focused on success? Well, it shows us where Laios and Marcille's relationship starts: built primarily around their shared love for Falin. It's from that shared beginning that they begin to learn about each other on their own terms.

And this is true for the whole group, to be clear. They are united by circumstance - love for a lost companion, a sense of responsibility, a desire for freedom - but they all grow and help each other beyond that circumstance. They help Senshi bury the ghosts of his past and eat some Hippogriff stew. They help Izutsumi open up to mutual love and friendship. And they learn so much about each other: about Chilchuck's family and Laios' love of monsters and Marcille's desires to live life alongside others.

In the particular case of Marcille and Laios, understanding each other is what lets them save each other. It is not through Falin that Laios talks Marcille down from the edge the Lion has brought her to, nor is it through her that Marcille comforts Laios after the demon is defeated, when it is still unclear how everything will work out.

In fact, it is very specifically the unknown fate of Falin that Marcille comforts him about.

She is willing to accept the outcome - willing, now, to embrace the journey itself, rather than only accepting it as a means to an end.

This is a lesson she learns from Laios, and it's a lesson we watch Laios learn, too.

Just before making her deal with the Lion, Marcille recalls everything that led her to that moment. She lingers on the pain, recalling the worst of their journey:

She only pushes through by remembering her goals: saving Falin, and equalizing the lifespans of her friends to match her own.

And yet, 10 chapters later, when reflecting on why she actually wants to see her goals through, it is the good parts of that very same journey that shine through.

There's an inherent contradiction here, one which Marcille doesn't know how to face. How can the suffering that she tolerates also be the love that drives her forward? How can the loss that she's worked so hard to reverse also be the very circumstance that created a world she, now, cannot stand to give up?

And Laios confronts her with the truth. Because it just is.

Losing Falin forced him to open up to others in a way he never had. It forced him to choose what he cares about, and in making that choice, it gave him the opportunity to be seen. To connect with others.

He has already had to come to terms with the fact that Falin's death has given him something - he would not have been able to kill her again if he hadn't.

There is something here that is fundamental to Dungeon Meshi's understanding of what life even is. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that part of Laios' speech to Marcille in chapter 85 is actually first seen in the chapter where they fight off ghosts.

In 'Sorbet,' while possessed , Laios thinks that it would have been better if the dragon had eaten him, instead of Falin. The ghosts make people lose their will to live - they are dragged away from life.

When he's pulled back from that brink, Laios realizes that he can't move forward without accepting that she is gone. He even compares the way he was holding on to her to being possessed: it pulled him away from life, from the present moment.

To carry on, he must accept what has been lost, and focus on protecting the life that they still have.

Like Marcille, he has to accept the contradictions of their journey. That life means eating, and eating requires death. That sometimes one must be selfish in order to be kind, and that selflessness can easily be twisted into to cruelty.

That loss will, inevitably, lead you to find happiness that you may not have found otherwise.

This is how he gets through to Marcille. And I think part of the reason he reaches her with these specific ideas is because those contradictions are baked so thoroughly into their relationship.

Marcille only met Falin after she had been left behind by Laios. Laios was able to reconnect with Falin because she left Marcille. They both met each other through Falin, and yet they only really got to know and care for one another after she died.

And of course, that's why Marcille uses the same ideas to comfort Laios, in the final chapter. It is because of Laios that she is able to accept the journey for itself, and not need the happy ending to justify its meaning to her.

Together, they help each other move forward, and accept that they may not be able to bring Falin back.

Which, if I'm being honest... I think this is the reason Falin can come back, narratively speaking, without the resurrection feeling like it takes away from the themes of the story.

After all, she doesn't do it for Marcille or Laios - she does it for her own sake. Her own hunger and her own desire to eat are the things that lead her back to life.

All three of them, together, end the story like this: not clinging to the things they are afraid to lose, but knowing they can choose to move forward together.

And, importantly, this happy ending is no longer the thing that gives the journey meaning. Rather, it is the privilege of the journey itself that is her happy ending: the chance to walk alongside others in the time they have, to get to know each other, and to eat well.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #laios touden #falin touden #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis #for anyone keeping track I'm on pdt so it IS still the same day that I said I'd post it on #PUT DOWN THE TOMATOES

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myladysapphire · 6 months ago

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The Dragon and the Wolf (II)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 3,384

CW: MDI, 18+, SMUT, loss of viriginity, p in v, oral (f reciving), fluff, slight angst, depression, dependancy. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

(smut between the dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

“I have to go to kings landing” you started as you walked into Cregan’s’ solar. It had been a week since the letter announcing your younger brother Viserys return, and you had not stopped asking to go.

“And you shall” Cregan spoke, looking up from his papers, “but after we are wed”

You were set to marry in a matter of days. You understood the need to be wed before leaving and yet waiting to see your brother after believing he was dead was pure torture.

You were desperate to see him, all you wanted was to hug him once more and tell him how sorry you were.

But duty came first.

The lords of the north were growing angsty with how long it was taking for you and Cregan to marry.

The alliance between your houses was sure to benefit the north, and until you were married, said agreements and benefits had yet to happen. And with the winter approaching the lords were growing antsy.

“of course,” you looked down, nervously playing with your fingers. “I am just eager to see my brothers and with the journey set to take a month-“

“I understand, I do, but my hands are tied” he interrupted, looking at you with understanding, “I promise, the day after our wedding we will leave”

“perhaps we could take Silverwing?” you asked hopeful, the journey would take around a day, if they rode fast, at the most three days.

“i- im not-“

“I promise its safe, and you have ridden Silverwing before.” He had, on your first visit to Winterfell. He had been hesitant then too, but you had somehow manged to drag him onto Silverwing and flown around the north for hours.

“aye, but this would be different” he said rubbing the back of his neck, “your brother has sent a letter…requesting me to become hand of the king”

you smiled “so we would be staying?”

“yes…this also means I will be having to take a large number of my household, and… though Sara shall act as the lady of Winterfell in my stead, once you are with child you will…have to return…without me, and take over the ruling of Winterfell until I am released as hand”

you were at a loss for words, this past moon you had felt lighter, the days of rotting in your bed, finding no reason to get up, having no energy to eat.

The empty hollowness you had felt for months on end has been filled, all with the help of Cregan. And now to find out that the second you got pregnant you would be shipped of and most likely never be able to return to your brothers.

You knew that there should always be a stark in Winterfell, and that their children would rule it one day, but you did not want to live in Winterfell without him.

You relied on him, in a near unhealthy way. You were often with him, in the library, or in his solar. You had already taken on the duties as Lady of Winterfell. You had liked having responsibilities, found you were good at it. But the main part of it that you liked, was that it was all with him. The friendship you once had had returned, though with trepidation as you had a first still felt empty.

You still felt the loss of your twin. Your other half. Without him you feared you would always feel incomplete, and yet Cregan had somehow manged to fill the void the death of your twin, of Luke and Joffrey.

You felt like you could so easily love him, but now. Now a part of you resented putting this off for so long, only to know discover that you time with Cregan may be a few months or stolen moments every year.

Your mind went back to last week.

You had spent the day in each other’s company, sat in his solar as he answered letters, and you had read.

The comfort you had found with him was like no other, sitting in each other’s company. Not talking for hours and yet you felt content.

And now to learn that you may not feel the presence of him for moons on end, perhaps even years.

“I would like to stay with you, stay in kings landing” you spoke in determination, “I will not become the wife of an absent husband”

“I would not be-“

“you would sent me a thousand leagues away! So yes that makes you an absent husband!” you shook your head “I-I understand how important being hand is, how much Egg looks up to you, and I will not ask you to refuse the offer but…but I need you.” you said tearily, “without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…” you were crying now, you knew in some sense it was manipulating, but everything you had said was true. The sadness would return, he offered you the perfect reasons for you to find a purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning.

A part of you hated that you relied on another for a purpose, but all the things that once filled you with joy, with purpose, now filled you with sadness and hate.

And now, Cregan had been the thing you found some sense of joy in, and you were excited to marry him, but now part of you dreaded it, not wanting to part from him.

He stood up from his desk moving around to you and pulling you into a hug.

Cregan was a very affection person, always holding your hand or pulling you into a hug away from prying eyes.

“Cregan” you mumbled into his chest, as he stroked your hair.

“i will not send you away if you truly do not want to, but…I know the pain kings landing gives you and I do not want to ask you to spend years in the place of your torment” he said, pulling back from you slight to hold your face, “but… the babe must be born and raised here”

“I know, and I love that you do not wish for me to live in the place of such pain for me, but before… before the-the war…I loved the red keep and…I love my brothers enough to stay there” you mumbled, “If you promise not to stay the hand forever then I shall go to Winterfell if I fall pregnant during your time as hand, but i- I do not wish to be apart form you for too long”

He smiled as you said that, “how about we talk about this when the times comes, hmm?” you smiled, reaching up to place a small kiss on his cheek.

You nodded your head, stepping back from him. “i-I hope you know that I do…that I” you were stumbling over your words unsure of what to say to him. You had somehow over the course of the past moon, returned to your shy nervous self, blushing in his presence, and stumbling over your words.

“yes?” he asked smiling curiously.

“I… I feel a lot better lately, and it is thanks to you…I truly care for you and I think that I might…” you looked down nervously, unsure of if you should tell him your feelings.

“I can tell” he said before you could finish your sentence “you seem to much happier, the light in your eyes has returned and i…I want you to know that I feel the same” he blushed, “I look forward to marry you, and I hope you do also”

You nodded smiling, as you stepped back and you both continued going about your own duties, enjoying the solace of each others company.

The day of the wedding had finally come. The lords of the north had all gathered at Winterfell. The halls now full of bustling bodies, the maids running about nonstop to fulfil all their duties.

You and Cregan had been forced to spend the last day and night apart, with the north believing it to be bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other the day before the wedding.

You had instead spent the day with Sara.

“I had hoped my sisters would make it” you said sadly as she laced up your dress.

“we still have time, they may yet arrive” she said, trying to build your spirits.

Your grandsire Corlys had arrived the day before, fulfilling his long-term promise to walk you down the aisle.

You had always been close to your grandsire, with him always saying how similar to his wife you had looked.

“granddaughter” you heard him say as he had entered the room, smiling as he saw the sea horses embroidered on your dress.

“grandsire” you smiled in greeting, moving over to kiss his cheek. “do you have any news on Balea or Rhaena?” you asked hopeful.

He smiled slyly, before moving aside and allowing Balea and Rhaena to walk into the room.

“you’re here!” you had said in disbelief..

“of course, we wouldn’t miss your wedding” Baele spoke pulling you into a hug.

They had both been married themselves recently, Baela to Alyn, Corlys newly appointed heir, and Rhaena to Corwyn Corbray.

“are your husbands here?”

“yes, there both with Cregan I believe,” Rhaena said, moving to take over from Sara as she finished lacing up your dress.

“you look beautiful, sister” Balea said, smiling kindly. “Are you nervous?”

“should I be?” you asked nervously.

“do you care for him?”

You looked over at sara, as she gave you a teasing smile. She knew of your feelings for Cregan, and it seemed from that look alone your sisters to know knew.

“yes”

“then you have nothing to worry about”

“what of the…”you looked over at Corlys to see his looking slightly uncomfortable, “the night” you whispered.

“you have been betrothed for years and you have never…?”

“no!” the question shocked you, your mother had always been insistent on you waiting for marriage, saying she didn’t want you to make the same choice she had.

“never even kissed?” Sara asked shocked.

You shook you head.

“no! I’ve only ever kissed….” You wouldn’t say his name, it hurt to much. The betrayal you had felt, how you had almost given him everything. Though you were glad you never had with Aemond, for you loved Cregan. At least you think you do. “ahh” Balea almost flinched.

“it hurts the first time, but after…it can be very nice” Sara spoke, whispering.

“and Cregan is a good man, he likes you…perhaps even loves you. He will be gentle” she said, though grimacing slightly at talking about her brother in such a way.

Corlys coughed awkwardly, moving to interrupt their whispered conversation. “it is almost time” he said, softly moving towards you.

“we better hurry up then” you said, motioning for Sara to start your hair.

Balea, Rhaena and sara had all left once you were fully ready. Leaving you and Corlsys alone.

“you are a vision” he said, as you took his arm. You started to walk through the halls of Winterfell.

you wore a dress as white as snow. With a full skirt and long flowy sleeves covered in a lace pattern.

You wore you hair down, bar tow braids at the top your head that joined at the back. Though your hair was hidden behind a lace veil, lace that matched your sleeves. Your face was covered, though it wouldn’t be for long, as you soon approached the gods woods.

“who comes before the old gods this day?” asked the northern lord officiating the wedding, as you entered the gods woods.

“y/n, of house Veleryon, She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Creagan, of house stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the north. Who gives her?”

“Corlsy, of house Veleryon, lord of the tides and of Driftmark, her grandsire.”

“princess Y/n, do you take this man?”

“I take this man”

“lord Cregan, do you take this woman”

“I take this woman”

“Then I pronounce you man and wife, before the old gods and the new”

You smiled at him, before reaching up and taking his lips in yours. The kiss was short and short, but caused you both to blush as cheers resounded throughout the wedding guests.

“I believe it is time for a feast!” Cregan announced as the lords and ladies cheered in response.

The feast was grand, though much different from the ones you had grown up with. It was loud and bawdy, with the lords all drunk and even singing northern tunes.

You and Cregan had kept to yourself, eating your food and talking between one another.

You had been enjoying yourself, enjoying the first few hours of marital bliss.

And then the bedding was called.

You had forgotten about the tradition.

The bride and groom escorted to their chamber. The groom by the woman, there clothes pulled of them, the bride escorted by the men, often groped and fully naked by the time they reached their chambers.

Feared courses through you as lord Bolton declared it time for a bedding.

“there will be no bedding!” Cregan boomed, as the men started to approach you.

The room seemed to flinch as the anger in his tone, “my wife will be touched by no one bar me! Anyone who lays a hand on her against her will, will have it cut off!”

You looked at him with shock, it was, grateful he was doing the right thing and saving you from a night of groping.

He reached his hand out to you as he guided you to your now shared chambers alone.

She had never been in Cregan’s chambers before, they were large. Though not as big as her chambers had been on Dragonstone. The room was mostly bare, having been mostly packed up for their journey tomorrow. It was warm, much warmer than her room in the tower had been. With a blazing fire, and dozens of blankets. The walls were filled with tapestries and the floor with rugs. Not a single wall or part of the floor was bare, allowing the room to be encased in more warmth.

“wife” Cregan spoke, capturing your attention. He moved towards you, his eyes heated as he gazed at you.

“Husband” you breathed back as he now stood before you.

He reached up to caress your face, his lips nearing yours. You shared a breath, before you both pounced.

Your lips modelled together in a heated, passionate kiss. He pushed you on the bed, your body bouncing from impact, he quickly moved over you, connecting your lips once more as he started to take of his and your clothes, never once breaking the kiss.

“gods” he moaned at the sight of your bare tits. He kissed your lips quickly before moving down to your breasts and roughly taking them into his mouth.

You moaned as he licked and sucked at your tits. He alternated between the two, savouring in your moans and whimpers.

Your gripped his hair, tugging softly at each flick of his tongue.

“you lick that?” he asked teasingly, as he let go of your nipple with a pop.

You nodded your head, whimpering slightly at him stopping.

He chuckled, “good” he said before, moving off the bed and resting on his knees “then you’ll love this” he said, as he slid the rest of your dress of you, and buried himself between your thighs.

He teasingly licked your folds, causing you to whimper.

Your gripped his hair, grinding your thighs into his face, trying to get him to lick you more.

He chuckled at your actions, before moving to grip your thighs and pull them towards his face. He buried his tongue inside of you, savouring your taste as he moved to lick your clit.

“Cregan!” you moaned as you pulled on his hair.

The pleasure was nothing like you had experienced before. It was overwhelming, filling your senses as he continued to lick at your clit, and slowly bring his fingers to your entrance.

He groaned as his fingers entered your, relishing in the tightness of your cunt. Gods” he moaned against your clit.

He continued to lap at your slit, tasting you as if you were his last meal.

You felt your peak fast approaching, your hands gripping and tugging his hair harder, your legs wrapping around his head in away you were sure would choke him.

“Cregan!” you screamed as your peak finally hit you.

He continued his actions, riding out your peak before finally moving himself from between your thighs.

He wiped his mouth on the bed before diving back in to kiss you.

He slowly moved you to the centre of the bed, his cock positioning itself between your thigs.

“can i?” he breathed against your lips.

“yes.” You moaned as he entered you.

You felt a wave of discomfort as he stretched you out, a slight burn at the sheer size of his cock.

He slowly rocked his hips into yours, allowing you time to adjust, before you reached up and pulled him into another kiss, motioning him to speed up.

He started thrusting into you at a faster pace. Your legs wrapping around his hips and his pace became faster and faster.

He groaned into your neck, as your cunt tightened around him.

Your second peak fast approaching.

“I’m going to cum” he moaned into you, as your cunt fluttered around his cock, your second peak taking.

Your hands scratched his back as you peaked, before collapsing backwards, as he started building up to his own peak.

His thrusts became hard and fast as he finally reached his own peak, his seed filling you as he rode out his orgasm.

“gods” he moaned, collapsing on the bed, pulling you in and holding you to him.

he kissed your shoulder, stroking your hair as you both slipped off into sleep, though you both got little sleep that night.

The next day you were awoken to maids barging in and readying the remained of Cregan’s belongings. It was dawn, and you were both tired from the nights events.

The maids had dressed you both quickly, pushing your breakfast on the table and urging you both to eat.

Cregan laughed at your bewildered face as they all rushed you both.

“we were meant to leave a dawn” he chuckled, as your maid tugged your hair, attempting to braid it, as you ate.

“then why weren’t we woken earlier?”

He sent you a look, showing exactly why they hadn’t.

“oh…must we leave so soon?” you said as you food was taken of the table before you had even finished.

“you insisted we did.”

“I-“ you looked at his smug face as your tea was taken out of your hand mid sip. “I take it back, I miss the bed!”

“you can rest in carriage” he said, as he reached for your hand.

You made your way to the courtyard, the household lined up to say their farewells, though most were accompanying you.

Balea, Rhaena, stood by the carriage, both looking as tired as you felt.

“it is far too early for this” Rhaena groaned as you approached the carriage.

Balea laughed “I cant imagine how you feel” she said, talking at you, “how much sleep did you get last night?” she teased.

You laughed “shut up!”

Sara approached you, her eyes teary, “I’ll miss you” she said pulling you into a hug.

“and I, you” you kissed her check, pulling back.

“we are leaving Winterfell in capable hands” she heard Cregan say, announcing Sara as his regent.

“don’t be gone for too long” she whispered “I was not made to rule the north” she joked, pulling away from you as you were all motioned to enter the carriage.

Cregan walked up to the carriage window, pulling you into a kiss.

“I shall join you soon” he promised, before mounting his horse and leading the procession to kings landing.

next part

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 5 months ago

Text

Delicate part.1

Description: As a young knight, Ser Gwayne Hightower journeys to King's Landing to take part in his first tourney. Eager to see his beloved sister Alicent and prove himself to his distant father, Gwayne finds himself enamoured by Alicent's friend.

Part 2

Writer's note: Elizabeth here. I thought I would try my hand at writing a story for the icon that is Gwayne Hightower. The reader/Y/N of the story will be on the asexual spectrum.

Warnings: Female reader/Y/N, but I won't be going into details about their appearance. Team Green sentiments. Positive sentiments towards Alicent (I can't help it, I love her).

The sun shone over King’s Landing, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and spice from the port and markets of Fleabottom across the air, as a young knight rode towards the Red Keep. As the imposing structure of the Red Keep came into view, Ser Gwayne Hightower struggled to fully suppress the trepidation he felt as he approached the entrance and was hailed by two guards.

“Who goes there?”

Pushing his nervousness as a young knight of but ten and seven years aside, he schooled his expression into one conveying the confidence of a knight far beyond his years. Arriving at the King’s stronghold to compete in his first tournament against other knights, not just bannermen of the Hightowers from Oldtown, he attempted to conceal any signs of apprehension from his features.

“You may announce the arrival of Ser Gwayne Hightower, son of the Hand of the King, my good man, and do make haste about it. The journey has been long, and I would benefit from the illustrious hospitality of your King.” He addressed the guards before him, with not a small degree of arrogance, a smirk on his face.

Presenting his patent of nobility, illustrated with the green and black sigil of his House, with a flourish, he nodded respectfully towards the guards as they granted him admittance to the Red Keep. Riding forth with an air of confidence he did not fully feel, an illusion he was no stranger to assuming, he surveyed the vastness of the King’s stronghold. Meeting the gaze of any knight’s he encountered on his progress with a jaunty smirk and nod in their direction, he dismounted from his horse gracefully, before entrusting it to the care of a stable boy, ruffling the boy’s hair as he did so.

His first order of business was to locate his dear sister, who he had not seen for many months now, but who he sorely missed, living so far away from her as he did in his father’s seat in Oldtown.

Gwayne made his way through the Keep, familiar with the route to the courtyard where he expected to find his dear sister, knowing from her letters and his previous visits it to be the place she often sought repose from the pressures of Court.

Striding along the balustrade overhanging the courtyard, he knew he was right when he heard the sweet sound of his sister's laughter, accompanied by that of another's. He promptly increased the pace of his strides in anticipation of their happy reunion after months apart. His Lord father's decision to take Alicent with him to King's Landing, leaving him to preside over their seat in Oldtown, had been a source of pain for them both. Two years her senior, Gwayne doted on his sister, even more so after the untimely death of their beloved mother when Alicent was but ten and twelve years old. Gwayne had always sought to compensate for the loss of their mother's loving presence with his attentive care and love towards his sister, something his own father was unwilling or unable to provide them with. Alicent had clung to him and wept when she was leaving High Tower and he was scarcely able to suppress his own emotions, as he tried to comfort her, promising to write to her everyday and to visit when he could.

Alicent had written to Gwayne immediately to inform him that the King was to hold a tourney, asking him to arrive at the Keep a few weeks before the event, so that they could extend their time together. Gwayne had sent his acquiescence to her request by raven the next day, rejoicing at the thought of reuniting with his beloved sister and escaping the suffocating halls of his ancestral home. In the absence of the warmth of his late mother's love and his sister's laugh, as he chased her through the halls, his home had the ominous feeling of being haunted by shadows of long past happiness.

Hearing more laughter, he looked over the balustrade onto the courtyard below, expecting to call out in greeting to Alicent. He paused, however, when instead of Alicent, he saw another young lady standing in the middle of the courtyard by the white trunk of a tree. Her eyes were closed and she smiled as she counted down from ten, before opening them rapidly and looking about her.

"I'm coming to get you, Alicent!"

He was arrested in his movements by the sight of her, struck by her pretty features. A smile grew on his own face as he watched their game continue. His heart was warmed to see that his sister had not been without friendship in King's Landing, and this warm feeling extended to the lady searching for his sister below.��

He quietly chuckled in amusement as he saw the girl search this way and that for Alicent, and he slowly made his descent to the courtyard, careful not to make too much noise, and alert her to his presence.

Approaching the lady, who now searched for Alicent behind the trunk of the tree, with careful steps he bent his torso to lower his head next to hers and whisper conspiratorially near her ear.

"I do believe, my dear Lady, that my sister is to be found yonder, by that bushel."

Surprised by his presence, the lady let out a high pitched shriek and stumbled back a step, tripping over a raised stump of the tree.

His eyes widening in alarm, not having truly intended to frighten her, he swiftly reached his arm out to encircle her waist and prevent her from falling. Holding her hand in his free hand, he looked into her eyes with concern.

"Are you well, my Lady? I apologise for startling you."

A brief look of confusion passed over the lady's expression before she processed what had happened, and it was was replaced by a stern one. Holding onto his elbows to right herself, she responded with a chastising tone, promptly removing herself from his hold

"I don't know what you mean by sneaking up behind me, Ser."

Seeing that she was unharmed by his fumble, and seeking to restore himself to her good opinion, he rallied himself.

With a charming grin, he elegantly bowed before her, one hand on his heart and the other taking hers confidently in his to plant a gentle kiss on it.

"Please accept this Knight's humble apologies, my dear Lady. I had only meant to aid you in your game."

He frowned slightly as the lady quickly withdrew her hand from his, fearing he had really offended her.

"Spoil it, more likely" Alicent laughed, emerging from behind the bushel Gwayne had indicated a moment ago.

Pulling his eyes away from those of the beautiful lady before him to meet his sister's sally, Gwayne opened his arms out to her, "sister!"

Alicent needed no further invitation before she ran into his arms and he lifted her up, spinning her half a turn, before returning her to the ground and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Once again turning with what he hoped was a winning smile to the lady before them, Gwayne sought to invest as much charm as he could into his voice.

"I have yet to be introduced to your lovely friend, sister."

Looking up at him with her own stern look, Alicent playfully swiped at his shoulder.

"You have already made a mess of that, brother. You half frightened Lady Y/N to death when you rudely interrupted."

With an exaggerated sigh, Gwayne responded to his sister's accusation.

"I know I am the basest of villains and I will put myself to the sword forthwith if the Lady Y/N will not forgive me my crime." He rejoined, solemnly, bending his head in mock dejection, even as he really did feel contrite to have frightend the young lady.

Slapping him on the back of the head, which had Gwayne holding his neck in mock pain, Alicent pressed her index finger to his chest and warned him.

"Y/N won't be charmed by your antics, Gwayne. I have warned her of them beforehand."

Smiling indulgently down at his sister before looking over at the lady Y/N once again, who he rejoiced to see smiling in amusement at the two siblings, he held his hand to his heart dramatically, as if her words were an arrow through it.

"You wound me sister. I was under the impression you had asked me here to be your champion at the upcoming tourney, precisely because I am the most charming of knights. I hadn't realised I needed to be good with the lance too. An unfortunate oversight. I had thought my charming smile would be enough to fend the other knights off."

The laughter of the ladies at his antics sounded like the delicate chime of bells to him, and he was elated to have entertained them both and, hopefully, returned himself to the good favour of the pretty lady before him.

Meeting her gaze with his own, a softened expression on it, which communicated his contrition for having startled her, despite his jesting, his heart fluttered as she met his gaze with an amused smile.

"I'm afraid you are to meet a swift and brutal defeat, Ser, if your charm is the only weapon in your arsenal."

Laughing heartily at her wit, he winked in response.

"Fear not, sweet ladies, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, should my smile not be enough to blind the other knights. Although I am convinced that it will be."

As introductions were made, the three sat together underneath the russett foliage of the tree above them, exchanging recollections from their childhoods and talking excitedly of the plans they had to make the most of their time together before the tourney.

After an hour or so had passed of Gwayne delighting in amusing the ladies with his, admittedly, embellished tales of gallantry and heroism, his face fell slightly.

The sparkle in his eye diminishing, he turned to Alicent.

"With regret, my dear ladies, I have tarried too long in your sweet company and must present myself to my father."

Alicent looked commiseratingly at her brother, knowing as she did how little her Lord Father cared for his son's presence.

"I'm sure father will be most pleased to see you. In any case, I certainly am."

Looking up at his sister from his somewhat reclined position along the grass, in front of the two ladies, his expression softened and he squeezed her hand affectionately before jumping up.

Bowing before the ladies respectfully, he wished them a good afternoon before turning on his heel in the direction of his father's apartments, little expecting a happy reunion.

Otto Hightower's reception of his son was as cold as he had expected it to be but, mercifully, short. He had only expressed his expectation that his son would perform to the honour of their House at the upcoming tourney, and shown him his living quarters, which were along the hall from Alicent's.

At dinner, Gwayne and Alicent had only been able to exchange glances at one another in solidarity. He had sought her out in her own apartments afterwards to catch up on the events they had missed in each other's lives over the course of months of separation.

With a boyish timidity, Gwayne asked Alicent if he might join her in her activities the following day, outside of his own training schedule. Looking indulgently at her brother and taking his hand in hers, she responded in a light, jesting tone.

"Why on earth do you think I asked you here, if not to spend time with me, you fool?"

Smiling at her in earnest now, Gwayne playfully tapped his chin.

"As I said, sister, my charming smile and dashing manner will be your champions at the tourney."

Gwayne allowed himself to fall backwards against the chaise he was sitting on as his sister playfully pushed him in the chest and rolled her eyes at him.

Smirking at his sister, Gwayne posed his next question with a similarly jesting tone, which he hoped concealed his vested interest in her answer.

"And will your lovely friend be joining us?" He asked, a glint in his eye.

Alicent swatted him on the shoulder.

"Y/N has been a good friend to me. The days have not been half so long or lonely since I met her. I do hope you two will be good friends. I’ve told her so much about you."

"Nothing good, I hope," he smirked. "I have a reputation as a shameless charmer to maintain."

"Be good, Gwayne. She won't fall for your charm."

Rising to bid Gwayne good night as she left the room, Alicent did not hear Gwayne murmur quietly, "we'll see about that."

Part 2 up

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