#in honor of warm weather

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

masterlist

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: betrothed to cregan stark, you seek respite in his chambers, unaccustomed to the blistering chill of the north. feelings become reality.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cregan stark x jace’s sister reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), inexperienced reader, there was only one bed, getting warm gone sexual, heavy kissing, groping, mild hand kink, cregan calls the reader “princess” a lot, body worship, breast play/sucking, biting/light marking, thigh riding, dry humping/grinding, fingering (fem!rec), spooning.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a random idea I cooked up but I actually got so wound up when writing this no joke 🧍 I love cregan so much, he’s husband !! as always, I hope you all enjoy reading, thank you sm! ❤️

TALES OF THE UNRELENTING NORTH OFTEN SPILLED FROM THE LIPS OF SOUTHERN NURSEMAIDS — WHISPERS OF SNOWFALLS PILED AS HIGH AS TOWERS, HOWLING GALES THAT CARRIED THE STING OF ICE WITH IT, TEMPERATURES THAT WOULD FREEZE MEN ALIVE.

If only you knew the truth of the matter, you might’ve recalled such stories and used them to your benefit.

Dragonstone was oftentimes tepid, a rocky island surrounded by saltwater tides and the kiss of summertime, where heat was a common commodity. Coming here, to Winterfell, you had experienced a rather dramatic shift in atmosphere.

From the moonlit gloom of your bedchambers, you watched a blizzard rage on, wisps of white whipping past your window. Gooseflesh clung to your skin like that of a plague, and you felt yourself being tormented by an incessant cold.

Glacial are the wreaths of snow-furled gales that blanket Winterfell in their pale callousness — it even seeps into your bones, bones forged of fire and blood. It makes you yearn for the South, for the kiss of heat, the lapping of the waves.

Unaccustomed to the biting weather of the North, you had come ill-prepared, thin shift doing little to shield you from the gnaw of ice. It was the hour of the ghost, too late to summon servants and too late to disturb the castle with your whims.

Cregan Stark, your betrothed, was the only one that you could think of who might still be awake at this ungodly hour.

This union formed between Starks and Targaryens was an arrangement of convenience, unlikely allies on the precipice of a tumultuous civil conflict. It was your willingness that had made this all possible — a scion of Rhaenyra, sent away to the blistering North.

Much to your own bewilderment, you did not dislike your current arrangement. Cregan’s stoicism and stalwart demeanor did not chafe at you as it did with others, and his alliance in this matter was of grave importance.

He was a grizzled man, his exterior rough, but you were no stranger to such behavior.

From what you had gleaned of him thus far, he was resolute and rugged, with a penchant for justice and honor — similar to most of the Starks. In the spirit of transparency, he was aesthetically pleasing to gaze upon, and you did plenty of it when time permitted.

A shiver ran down your spine as you tightened a furred robe around your body, and even that did not serve you well. Seizing a candlestick from atop the dead hearth’s mantle, you made your way from your quarters, greeted by a swell of silence.

The ghastly howl of the wintertime squall surged outside, like the shrill cry of a spectre. It did little to ease your nerves, body rattling like a leaf from the ceaseless chill.

The candle’s lick of warmth danced across your wrist, and it made you yearn for more, breath emerging in warm wisps as you made your way to Cregan’s chambers. It was inappropriate of you to disrupt him like this, but sleep evaded you — between missing home and the cold, you doubted that rest would find you.

Standing before the imposing doors of the Lord of Winterfell, your knuckles rapped timidly against the rough wood, drawing your robe around you once more. Waiting with bated breath, your shoulders straightened at the sound of movement from the other side of the door.

As ancient wood groaned in protest, Cregan’s massive form encapsulated much of the doorway, dark brows furrowed together. “My Lady,” His rumbling timbre often filled you with pangs of excitement. “Are you well?”

Concern laced itself into his cadence, fearing that something might’ve happened to you, or you’d received some sort of news. Storm-laden hues picked you apart in observance, noticing the way your body constantly trembled.

The desire for warmth had clouded everything else; you did not register his lack of clothing upon first glance. Cregan’s musculature was openly displayed, save for the trousers that clung to his hips.

“I am,” Your grip tightened around the base of the candlestick. “Forgive me, my Lord, I — the hearth has died in my chambers and it is much too late to rouse any of the servants. I am unaccustomed to this sort of climate.”

Cregan did not protest to your presence, stepping aside to invite you into his chambers. “You are welcome to warm yourself, my Lady.” Gesturing for you to enter, you were greeted by a roaring fire, gripped by an immediate relief.

A sigh of subdued joy slipped past your lips as you moved towards the crackling flames, feeling heat lick across your flesh. Cregan noticed how poorly dressed you were for such weather — a thin shift and one layer of fur would not do.

Admittedly, it might’ve been untoward for you to be here, not yet wed, in the chambers of your intended. You did not want to besmirch Cregan’s honor, nor lead anyone to believe that you’d gone to him with malicious intent.

“I apologize if this is a disturbance, I … I did not know where else to go,” A pang of realization rippled through you, then. “I do not want you to think that I’ve come here with any foul notions.”

A brief huff spread throughout his chest as the Northern lord moved to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of his bed. “I do not believe your plight of warmth to be dishonorable,” A hint of amusement lingered within his tone. “This is not the South.”

Allowing yourself to relax, you seemed to abandon your coiled posture, placing the candlestick along the mantle above the hearth. “It is not.” Something forlorn saturated your voice, a wistful longing to return to Dragonstone, to your mother.

Cregan could discern the twinge of melancholy within your tone, enough to garner some concern. He knew that this was all unfamiliar to you — and he did not want you to feel unwelcome.

“What troubles you?” His inquiry was born of sympathy, a desire to understand you better. This betrothal was an unexpected thing, but he had no intention of making either of you miserable.

As firelight danced across your features, Cregan fought against baser instincts, crass thoughts of lesser men; and he was not above them. Your beauty was renowned, taking after the features of your Highborn mother, some remnants of your father still present.

An amalgamation of true adoration, no less.

Captivating was a mere understatement, not worthy enough of your appearance, bathed in an orange glow. As grey hues subtly admired your countenance, he realized that your gaze seemed to do the very same, a mutual exchange.

Lips parted, words turning to ash upon your tongue as you clamored for an appropriate response, not wanting to burden him with your lamenting of home. A soft stirring resonated from your throat. “I miss home — my Mother, most of all.”

The softness of your confession was not lost upon him, a sentiment that Cregan could certainly understand. “You are not a prisoner here, my Lady,” He murmured, brows gathering together. “You are permitted to return to Dragonstone and visit, if it pleases you.”

“Duty is sacrifice,” You lamented, a threadbare smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “With conflict on the horizon, it is best if I stay here — it doesn’t lessen the sting, but I know what is expected of me.”

Cregan found it admirable, your acknowledgment of your pledge here, the very root of your betrothal; even then, he would not begrudge you for returning to your family. He was half a stranger, someone that you were growing accustomed to.

“I admire you for it,” Gray hues like that of a swirling snowstorm hadn’t left you, drinking in your features as if you were some magnificent piece of artwork. He grew quiet, noticing the occasional shudder that coursed throughout your body. “Here.”

Lifting a bundle of thick bearskin, Cregan invited you to sit beside him, if you chose. Lacking your typical shrewdness, you stepped forward, joining him atop the footlocker as he shrouded you in the furry hide.

Sinking into the furs, you exhaled, feeling warmth return to your bones as you basked within the dancing firelight. Nestled beside your betrothed, you exuded plentiful restraint, tearing your gaze away from the bare muscle that brushed against you.

There was some grizzled perfection about him — rough, like uneven leather; as mountainous as the Wall itself. Yet, beneath this hardened exterior, he was endlessly soft, a notion that enticed you. He never made you feel an ounce of discomfort.

“Thank you for this,” A sigh floated from your lips, stare trained upon the hearth’s soothing glow as you warmed yourself at his side. “I have felt so alone in coming here, but you have made me feel as if I do have someone.”

Admittedly, he had his doubts about your betrothal — House Targaryen was as infamous and mystical as they claimed, the blood of dragons. Within your graciousness and tender heart, Cregan found himself wanting you, beyond all bounds of propriety, of decency.

Gray hues flickered over your visage, his appreciation of you not entirely subtle, as if he were screaming his praise through gaze alone. Firelight encapsulated your flesh, the glow surrounding you picturesque.

“I shall not waver in my duty as your husband, Princess — you can be sure of that,” Cregan uttered, able to feel the brief brush of your body against his own, a tantalizing thing. It was swift, fleeting; yet it incited the deepest of yearning. “I will remain here, by your side.”

Princess; as the simple title spilled from his lips, warped with his Northern timbre, you felt a peculiar heat wash over your insides. It was untoward of you to feel the tendrils of desire, especially before being wed. You felt like some craven, thinking this way.

It was his moral compass and staunch sense of duty that had enticed you, the way in which he carried himself with an effortless strength. For a man as young as he, one-and-twenty, his wisdom seemed to stretch on for several moons his senior.

The heaviness of sleep had not yet found you, still rather alert as you remained by his side, hues occasionally stealing glances at his musculature. Absentmindedly, your fingers kneaded into the bearskin, something idle to relieve the spark of tension.

“I should hope that I grow accustomed to this chill, with time,” A flicker of amusement danced within your tone, a shiver gripping your body as you shrank into the furs. “I fear that I am not as resilient to this insufferable snow as I thought.”

A short chuckle escaped Cregan, the sound brief; yet it warmed you more than any simmering flame. An unassuming smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, dissipating as soon as it had appeared. “You will become tolerant with time, princess. I shall see about getting you warmer hides.”

Unable to suppress your smile, a burst of ebullient laughter peeled from your lips, like the chime of bells to the Northern lord’s ears. “You have my gratitude, my Lord. Thank you.”

“Cregan,” His insistence was disarmingly gentle, brows knitting together for only a moment. “We do not have to continue to uphold such formalities.” It seemed to dissolve whatever awkward barrier had rested between you; betrothals were never easy.

“Cregan,” As you repeated his name, he savored the way it rolled from your tongue, wrapped in inklings of a growing fondness. He was practical, a man of the present, but he could imagine himself enjoying his union with you. “It is only right if you do the same.”

The bulk of his musculature softly rattled with a brief huff. “Of course, princess.” He mused, tone betraying the hint of amusement that flickered across his features. The hour had grown exceedingly late, and yet, he did not feel the sting of exhaustion.

Such an innocuous remark had effectively stoked a fire within you, tendrils of a starving flame coiling around your insides. Gooseflesh cascaded along your spine, bringing with it a dull ache. A sliver of your being wanted to stay with Cregan, but it was entirely untoward.

In the spirit of transparency, Cregan shared your unspoken sentiment. To lay with one’s betrothed was not inherently a sin; the gnaw of desire grew within, and he feared what it might twist into.

“I wish to stay here this eve, if you are agreeable,” The suddenness of your inquiry had ensnared his attention, bewildering him to no end. He hadn’t expected you to want to stay — let alone share his bed. “I understand how it might seem …”

“I would not condemn you to further suffer in the cold, my Lady.” Cregan’s reply had made your bones lurch, heart fluttering within your breast like the beating of dragon’s wings.

A gale of fire churned ceaselessly within the pit of your stomach, a sensation not often quelled. You had let it burn, as a stark reminder of the sensations he brought to you. As you mulled over his response, the wolfish lord quietly gestured toward the sprawling bed behind you.

Layered in an endless ocean of hides, from bearskin to that of stags, your feet fell atop the cold stone, feather-light as you made your way into the sanctuary of his mattress. It was fit for a man of his bulk, you’d realized, with plenty of room to spare.

Even the mere presence of a companion had brought a sense of ease to your startled nerves, basking beneath the furs and blankets. As warmth settled into your bones, Cregan joined you, keeping a comfortable distance within his own space.

Sprawled upon your back, you cast your restless gaze to the ceiling — an unremarkable labyrinth of ancient stone. To your right, his musculature lay wedged beneath the furs, an arm tucked beneath his head, a gap of silence present.

“You will be an excellent husband,” The genuine conviction within your tone was enough to cause his head to turn, storm-laden hues finding your pleasant profile. “I no longer fear this union as I once had, and I have you to thank for it.”

Cregan steeled himself, honor hanging by a mere thread; you, curled up within his bed, speaking of him in ways that he had not dreamed of. “Your words are both honorable and humbling, princess. I should hope to protect you, and keep you happy.”

Gods, his voice; a timbre akin to the rolling of thunder, harboring a thinly-veiled gentleness that you so desperately craved. No man compared to him, and it made you want him more, and such a notion was strong already.

Despite the berth of distance residing between bodies, he felt closer than ever, within arm’s reach of touching you. A smile found its way onto your face, as warm as a midsummer’s eve, gaze glittering with a peculiar tenderness.

Whatever ghastly chill had once assailed your bones had been quelled by Cregan’s warmth, a fondness displayed through stare alone. Gray hues traced the contours of your visage, toward the plane of your collarbone, slipping beneath fabric.

Huddling beneath the furs, you rolled over, curled up on your side as your gaze found Cregan’s own with a wordless gratitude. A tension began to brew, the first inklings of a pleasant storm that you had no desire to flee from.

A shiver gripped your spine, claws of a gnawing ice momentarily raking themselves across your flesh. With time, you hoped that you would become accustomed to the Northern climate — it was brutal and unforgiving enough as it stood.

“Still cold, princess?” Cregan felt a twinge of sympathy for you, this hotblooded maiden, brought to heel by the wrath of a snowstorm. He felt the desire to safeguard you, shield you from harm, a deluge included.

A fib nearly tumbled from your lips, and you silenced yourself before it could blossom to fruition. Fingers flexed into the furs, seeking relief; you longed to find your relief in him. “Terribly,” Sinking further into the mattress, you happened to smile. “You might not have a wife when this is over.”

In a futile attempt at lightheartedness, Cregan did not see it that way, growing concerned at the incessant chattering of your teeth, the rise of gooseflesh permeating your skin.

Wordlessly, the young wolf gestured to the space at his side, inviting you to take refuge against the biting chill, if you so desired. He did not seem perturbed, but the doe-like glint within your gaze screamed otherwise.

“You do not …” The shrewd cadence of your tone seemed to ooze with embarrassment, a peculiar heat clinging to your visage. Smitten, you watched as Cregan grunted, head bobbing in a brief shake as he coaxed you closer.

“I would prefer it if you did not wither away.” Such a gentle baritone had struck a match within you, turning your insides to molten liquid. With bated breath, you sluggishly crawled towards him, fingers sheepishly hovering above his abdomen.

Cregan’s thick arm encircled you, as innocuous as he could possibly be, ensuring that he did not cause you any discomfort. Nevertheless, he reveled in the sensation of your body pressing against him, kissed by winter’s chill.

Heat bled from his flesh as if he were his own flame, radiating with bodily warmth as he let you seek such respite. The cold plane of your cheek nestled atop his collarbone, the saccharine scent of you wafting from your downy crown.

Many might’ve considered such behavior scandalous, improper, considering that the two of you had not yet wed. For Cregan, he cared little for labels of impropriety or deviance, preferring to put your own wellbeing above any damning accusations.

The erratic beating of your heart nearly leapt into your throat, fingertips absentmindedly dancing across the impressive bulk of his chest. His stature was immense when placed beside you, and yet you remained captivated by it, soaking in any droplet of warmth that he provided.

It was agonizing, being so close; you wanted to curse restraint, damn dignity, beseech your future husband for a kiss. His jaw tensed when you began to stir, writhing against him in an involuntary attempt to become comfortable.

A sharp inhale punctured his lungs, restraint so threadbare that it nearly ripped into two, hand accidentally brushing across your backside. It wasn’t intentional, but your incessant squirming had made this increasingly difficult.

A familiar stirring roused within his trousers, cock twitching as the curve of your breasts happened to ghost beside his ribcage. Cregan wanted to grab you, force you to remain still, if such a thing were even possible.

“You must stop moving.” Through gritted teeth, his warning was sternly spoken, but not one of anger. As his words assailed your senses, you immediately ceased, breath hitching as his hand firmly pressed against your hips.

Before you could sputter some bewildered apology, your gaze sheepishly flickered toward him, his countenance one of thinly-veiled frustration. This frustration was of a different sort, as if he were holding some unseen weight upon his shoulders.

Realization hit with a sudden force as you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. Cregan’s stare met yours, and you seemed to reach some unspoken understanding as to why your constant moving had vexed him.

Impulsivity gripped you then, prompting you to careen forward, soft lips pressing themselves to his. A ripple of startlement consumed Cregan, who did not act until your palm had settled atop his muscled abdomen. He reciprocated your kiss, pulling away with perplexity.

“I am sorry,” Through a hasty, rushed apology, you felt shameful, cursing yourself for behaving in such an uncouth manner. However, to your surprise, Cregan did not appear offended in the slightest. “I … We are not yet wed.”

Wedlock had little to do with this brewing desire, one that he was aching to act upon. Arbitrary rules often dictated that pleasure without the bonds of marriage was some unsightly sin — it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Cregan wanted you; he did not desire your titles, position, or your dragon — it was your heart he sought, something worth coveting, worth cherishing. Whatever pact was struck to ensure your marriage, he became grateful for it.

“I would not dare discomfort you, princess,” A shudder rolled throughout your body, able to feel his palm knead into your waist. “You have my word.” A ripple of understanding found you, then. A sliver of your being knew that it might’ve been wrong, but you found yourself dismissing the notion.

With a nod, you happened to shift closer, noticing the way in which he’d begun to angle himself towards you. “I wish for your warmth.” The lingering, lascivious implication hung heavy within your words, enough for Cregan to urge you closer.

Flush against him, he quieted, steely glower piercing through you like the tip of an arrow, hand continuing to caress along your spine. Somewhat shy, you elected to sever your tangle of nerves, lips seeking his once more.

Cregan’s mouth crawled against yours, disarmingly gentle, intended to savor you instead of rushing headfirst into the fire. He smelled of leather and the woodlands, carrying a rustic scent upon his flesh, brow creased in concentration.

Sluggishly, your body shifted against him once more, feeling the muscle of his thigh press between your thighs. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, lips torn asunder as he broke your kiss, caging you against the hot expanse of his chest.

“Is that what you wish for?” Cregan’s low utterance made your stomach erupt with butterflies, able to feel the tantalizing shift of his thigh, allowing you to rock yourself into him.

Inexperience was scrawled into your features, confidence effectively extinguished then and there. It was your brazenness that had catapulted all of this into motion, and now, you were strangled by your own lack of knowledge.

“Yes, I — I’ve never …” As you attempted to vocalize your lack of physicality, Cregan soothed you with a kiss to your brow. “I do not wish to fully consummate — not yet.” With a strong sense of understanding, your betrothed nodded, digits idly caressing along your side.

“Then we are in agreement.” A sense of comfort flooded through you then, knowing that Cregan did not wish to cross such a boundary on this night. However, he had a plethora of fantasies to supplement your shared desires.

Bridging the gap between you once more, lips sealed themselves together, his palm moving to cup your jaw. It was inherently tender, the purpose of it ensuring your comfort with such acts, thigh continuing to teasingly brush against your core.

A gnawing ache continues to eat away at you, manifesting as arousal that begins to coalesce between your legs. As if acting upon instinct, you continue to grind yourself into his thigh, a soft moan catching within your throat.

Cregan’s palm begins to drift lower, from the plush curve of your waist to your backside, gingerly kneading into the pliant flesh. He is cautious, painstakingly gentle as he lavishes kiss after kiss to your wanting lips.

There is little space between you, replaced with a heated friction that seeps into your bones. No longer tormented by the plague of the Northern chill, your betrothed is eager to take the cold away. His chest bumps into yours, peaks of your breasts snug against the plane of muscle.

Crackling firelight paints the room in a feverish glow, embers beginning to wane like that of a fading sun. It is in your kiss that he finds a semblance of peace, hunger continuing to grow until it becomes some ravenous bite.

A soft gasp inhabits your lungs, sharp like the prick of a knife as you grind against his thigh once more, feeling it brush over a particular spot. Pleasure rippled through you, a foreign sensation that leaves you raw, yearning for more.

The ruffled collar of your shift begins to slip, sagging above your bosom, soft flesh unraveled to the ogling gaze of your betrothed. Mouths ceaselessly collide, wet and fervent, prompting you to reach for his bicep in order to anchor yourself.

Entangled beneath the furs, whatever bitter chill that once grasped your bones had dissipated entirely. Wandering fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, tangling around the chestnut tresses there. Each kiss made you feel delirious, dizzy with a wanton desire.

It was then that Cregan’s large hand smoothed across your body, from the dainty curve of your jaw to your stomach, and then up once more. The sluggish drag of his caress made you shiver, hips continuing to rock against his muscled thigh.

Calloused digits find the ties of your evening shift, his grip like that of hardened steel, not daring to unravel you, not yet. With another bruising kiss, you feel him withdraw, gray hues roving across your visage, drinking you in; enamored.

Wisps of hot, labored sighs drift between the both of you, wrought with exhilaration. Slowly, Cregan’s hand wanders, gathering against your thigh, bunched into the silk. “I wish to see more of you, princess.” He rumbled, brows furrowing together.

Fingertips trace along the nape of his neck, caressing along sinewy muscle. His throat bobs momentarily, a fleeting gesture; a needy hum tears past your lips as you nod. “Please.” It is all you can manage, words turning to ash upon your tongue.

Admittedly, he cared little for himself, staunchly devoted to your own pleasure and exploration, storm-laden gaze tinged with tenderness. The hand that had so fiercely grasped at the ties of your shift gives the silk a brief pull, loosening the fabrics altogether.

Beneath his incendiary stare, your heart begins to race, slamming beneath your breast as he gingerly tugs the collar downward. There is an indiscernible devotion within his eyes, a certain protectiveness that puts you at-ease.

Warm, roughened digits gingerly pry at your garment, easing the ruffled silks along your chest, unveiling the soft peaks of your breasts to him. A low grunt of approval stirred within his throat, reveling in the sensation of your lips against his jaw.

Everything about him exuded strength, an honorable stoicism that oozed from every pore. Without pause, you continued to plant kisses against his throat, body seizing with a punctuated gasp as he cupped your breast.

Flicking the pad of his thumb over your nipple, Cregan watched as your countenance contorted into an expression of bliss, lips beginning to part. He was disarmingly tender, kneading at the soft, pliant flesh of your chest, lips pressing against your cheek.

Any sliver of distance that had existed before had been squashed, forms molded to one another, hips begging for a scrap of friction. As you urged yourself against him, you felt the growing tent within Cregan’s trousers, feeling a tendril of warmth slither across your body.

Rough lips pressed a passionate trail of kisses along your neck, nose inhaling lungfuls of your saccharine scent. A pleading moan slipped past your lips, careening into the embrace of his hand.

“Cregan,” With a breathy sigh, your back arched slightly, as if strings tethered you to him, pulling you forward. His mouth hungrily explored your throat, traveling toward the silky plane of your collarbone. “Do not stop.” You whined.

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, bolstered by the tranquil hum of your voice. Lower, and lower still; until his mouth sank between your breasts, still kneading at one, thumb circling your nipple. Your body responded with a visceral glee, continuing to grind against him.

Beyond the archaic stone of Winterfell, the blizzard raged on with its howling gales — and yet, you had never been warmer.

Continuing to palm at your breast, Cregan’s mouth began to lavish the unattended peak in a myriad of kisses, worshiping you in the way that you rightfully deserved. A string of whines left you, gown-clad core brushing over his pelvis once more.

Taking one nipple into his maw, he kissed and sucked at the sensitive bud, a low grunt reverberating throughout his chest. His hips softly collided with yours, the friction driving him to the brink of madness.

Each kiss sent dizzying waves of bliss throughout your body, wisps of air stolen from your lungs as you clung to him, legs parted by the bulk of his thigh. Your shift had hitched higher, gathered towards your knees.

Gently rolling your hardened peak betwixt his fingers, Cregan did not relent, lavishing your breasts in kisses. In the midst of his alternation, his unoccupied hand graced your haunch, caressing into your backside, toying with the hem of your nightgown.

His burly musculature nearly swallowed you whole, wafting with a warmth that you had grown addicted to, longing for his heat as you would gusts of crisp air. Delicate fingertips idly traced along his broad shoulders, hips brushing against his own.

Calloused pads began to drift beneath your shift, crawling along your leg, akin to leather ghosting against velvet. Cregan suckled at your breast, assailing your sweet flesh in a barrage of kisses. Throaty moans signaled your approval of his actions.

Caressing along your inner thigh, his thumb drew circles into the supple skin there, lingering dangerously close to your aching core. Looming above you, his mouth pressed a gentle trail toward your throat, leaving a searing fire in his wake.

Seeking the coalescing warmth between your legs, you nearly choked upon a strangled gasp as Cregan’s digits ghosted along your petals. Arousal had gathered there, akin to the sticky sweetness of honey, prompting you to shiver beneath him.

Gray hues sought yours, boring into you with a burning intensity, enough to elicit a wave of gooseflesh, one that crawled along your spine. He exuded immeasurable restraint, fixated upon your own pleasure, upon your comfort. Wordlessly, he pushed deeper still, fingers pressing into your core.

A sharp exhale pierced your lungs, ripping through your diaphragm as you gripped his bicep, nails leaving behind crimson crescents. Cregan remained unperturbed, concentrating on his new charge, digits dragging in a sluggish rhythm.

Bliss unfurled from your features, a pleasure that blossomed throughout as your hips jolted forward of their own accord. “Cregan.” A breathy whine escaped you, lips clamoring for him once more. The kiss was intimate, a flurry of devotion and desire, now entangled.

“Easy, princess,” Cregan’s husky cadence had lulled you into subservience, able to feel his hot breath fan out across your skin. “Slowly.” He uttered, mouth returning to yours with a thinly-veiled rapture.

It became difficult to stifle your movements, kiss-swollen lips delighted to find him again. Each kiss was accompanied by a swipe of his digits, exploring your nethers with an obvious gentleness.

Between fervent exchanges, his gaze never once strayed from you, steely hues drinking in the weight of pleasure that permeated your visage. Beginning to increase his pace, he stroked along your aching cunt, thumb finding your pearl.

Tracing around the sensitive bud in slow, tantalizing circles, you could do little to smother your moans, hips occasionally lurching forward. The friction that festered between you was intoxicating, something that Cregan found himself savoring.

His lips returned to the hollow of your shoulder, the velvety dip between that and your throat. A string of kisses manifested there, digits continuing to caress over your slit. This rhythm was agonizing, your body screaming with ecstasy.

Chestnut tresses brushed against your neck as he began to suck at your supple flesh, enough to create a mark that would flourish with time. “Lay with your back to me.” Cregan rumbled, watching the flicker of excitement crawl across your features.

In silent subservience, you obeyed, slowly rolling over until your back was nestled snugly against the hot expanse of his chest. He was all indomitable muscle and oozing with strength, the swell of his cock grinding into your backside.

Thick digits returned to you, burly arm looped over your front, taut with impressive muscle. They became fervent in their ministrations, a finger beginning to trace over your entrance.

Caged against him, you used his bicep as leverage, digging into his rugged flesh as he kissed across your shoulder. “Gods, you are perfect.” As the husked roll of his voice echoed within your ear, you moaned, feeling his thumb continue to play with your clit.

Cregan’s other arm had looped beneath you, caressing your collarbone as he gently eased one digit inside of you, the sensation foreign yet exhilarating. It was unexpected, and yet you craved all of it, as much as he was willing to provide.

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. As his thumb toyed with your pearl, he eased a finger in and out of you at a rhythmic pace, allowing you to grow accustomed to it.

Kisses lavished your soft flesh, seemingly endless, and you felt your bones scream for release. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Despite the awkward angle of your head, you reciprocated his kiss as best as you could, needy moans swallowed by his maw. It was then that a second finger accompanied the first, sluggishly stretching you in a way that you didn’t think possible.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits deliberately rocking themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Arousal clung to your flesh, the intensity of it only magnified, body assailed by sensations on all sides. As Cregan’s fingers pumped themselves in and out of your nethers, you felt your cunt clench pathetically around him.

“Cregan, I — I’m close,” A wanton huff tumbled from your lips, emerging as a moan against his mouth. He kissed you fervently, mouth wandering in the column of your throat, lavishing you in another barrage of kisses. “There.”

A furnace raged within you, a chasm of yearning soon to be quelled, tempered. Heat lapped at your flesh, burning with a smoldering temperature as desire washed over you. His dexterous fingers continued to circle around your pearl, causing you to stifle a moan.

Between the constant assault of lips, teeth, and fingers, you are barely able to register the white-hot rush of your pinnacle, writhing into Cregan’s hand. Thick digits stretch you still, rocking in and out of your snug cunt at a rhythmic pace.

It nearly blinds you, choking upon the cry that turns to ash within your throat. The visceral response of your body is one that Cregan longs to become intimately acquainted with, feeling you pulse around him as you reach your peak.

“That’s it, princess. I have you.” Soothing utterances slip beside your ear, bridge of his nose nuzzling your cheek, heat oozing from him like that of an open hearth. Caressing your stomach with one hand, the other works you through your release.

Through the tepid haze of your release, you begin to find your composure, sinking into his grasp as his hand begins to slow. Thighs tremble in the wake of such ecstasy, and you begin to turn back into Cregan, lips seizing his own in a soft kiss.

Unable to refuse you, the wolf indulges, reciprocating your kiss with such blistering passion that it nearly elicits a moan from you.

As you withdraw, flesh still stinging with an intense heat, you move enough to adjust your shift back into place, peering at him through your lashes. Before your palm can tend to the growing tent within his trousers, he stops you.

“Another night,” Cregan rumbled, moving to lay upon his back, allowing you to curl next to him, his arm finding its purchase around your hips. The other sprawls outward, allowing you to soak everything in. “Are you well?”

“I am,” Sitting up enough to perch your chin atop his chest, your palms draw delicate circles against his abdomen. He nearly smiles, grabbing one of them with a furrowed brow — your flesh is still cold. “Thank you, Cregan.”

A brief huff escaped him, warm palm caressing your own, attempting to provide some relief. “If you are agreeable, I would prefer it if you stay.” Cregan thoroughly enjoyed your presence, more than he ever thought he would.

A tender smile spread across your visage, a soft expression that beguiled him so, roused feelings of devotion from within. Even he seemed to blush, countenance muddied with a scarlet pallor as he caressed along your spine.

“I wish to stay, but what if something is said …” The last thing that you wanted was to besmirch the honor of an already honorable man. A twinge of amusement swirled within his gray hues, and he seemed dismissive of your worries.

“Let them gossip, princess,” Cregan reassured you, one brow quirking just enough to ensnare your attention. “After all, you are here to warm yourself.” His jest made you unbelievably flustered, and yet, he only coaxed you closer, tugging the furs around your bodies.

Heat persists where the chill does not, gone entirely; he is your warmth, and you willingly chase after him.

[moonstruckme]

Thanks for being patient with me! This is edited on about four hours of sleep so apologies for any errors <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Water sizzles on the stove. You reach over to turn down the heat, your side heating from its proximity to the boiling water, before spinning back around to keep speed-chopping onion. This is a result of poor planning. 

It’s possible that some of your nerves could be reinterpreted as excitement. Giddiness, even. You’re finally—finally—doing something to try and repay all the kindness James shows you. You’ve felt like such a mooch, eating his cooking and stealing his time with his friends, but last week had been too much for you to take. He’d discovered the stomach bug you were weathering, and James had completely devoted the next two days of his life to making sure you were looked after. 

Your fever had gotten so out of hand he’d very nearly followed through on his favorite threat (going into your phone while you’re sleeping and phoning your mum), and though you’d done your best to downplay it at the time there are admittedly gaps in your memory wherein you think you were simply too out of it to know what was going on. It’s not a very comforting thought when you’re harboring a humiliating crush on your roommate; you may well have been just as talkative as James always is, you don’t know. At least he hasn’t said anything. 

He had, thankfully, managed to avoid catching it. You’re not sure how he managed what no one on your shift at work did, but you assume it has something to do with all that kale he eats. Which is why you’re doing your best to make the thank-you meal you’re making him as healthy as might suit his standards. 

You hear his key in the door, and a little frisson goes up your spine. 

“You’re early,” you accuse as he walks in. 

“Since when do you know when my training ends?” James asks. You sound like you’re sniping at one another, but as usual the joviality in his tone is unmissable. 

The sounds of his entrance are familiar, perhaps more ingrained in your mind than they ought to be. Keys jingling as he hangs them on the hook, shoes toed off and left by the mat, heavy footsteps headed for wherever you are in the apartment. 

When he finds you in the kitchen, you both speak at once. 

“What happened to your shoulder?” 

“You know how to cook?” 

“Hurt it at training,” James answers, shrugging with the shoulder that doesn’t have an ice pack held to it. He’s probably too nice for it to occur to him to withhold his answer until you’ve given yours, as had been your first thought. “What are you making?” 

“How did you hurt it?” Worry pries at your tone. Your hands have stilled on the cutting board. 

“We had a scrimmage, and I got shoulder-barged.” He gives you a smile, a shadow of the real thing, but gentler. Reassuring. “It’s not bad.” 

You frown. “I don’t know what that means.” 

“Didn’t expect you to, love.” 

“Why do you need to ice it if it’s not bad?” 

There’s a look in James’ eyes that’s wavering between smugness and softness. You balk at the sight of it. “I need to be a bit careful with it,” he hedges, “but it’ll be good by morning. Now, you’ve distracted me. Do you mean to tell me you’ve known how to cook this entire time?” 

“Yes,” you concede with a laugh. “I’ve always said I cook for myself when you’re not around.” 

“And here you are, doing it right before my eyes.” James leans on the counter with his good arm. He looks immensely entertained. “I’m honored.” 

“This isn’t just for me,” you say, looking down to resume chopping onion as your face warms slightly. “It’s for—” Another remonstrative hiss from the stove, and you whip around, moving the pot off the hot part entirely. You’re a bit relieved for the excuse to face away from him. “It’s for both of us. Also, I just want to provide a disclaimer right now that I never said I was good at cooking, only that I knew how.” 

James’ laugh rumbles behind you, just as you knew it would. He’s too easy. You can practically feel the force of his smile hitting your back, like the sunshine brought inside. 

“Here,” he says, taking a couple of steps toward you, “let me help.” 

“No!” You whirl again, stopping him before he can actually enter the kitchen. “No way. James, I’m trying to do something nice.” 

“And it is very nice,” he says, earnest. “It just seems like you could use a hand.” 

“I’ve got it,” you insist. Your hands are up to ward him off, but you put them at your sides when you realize how close they’re hovering to his chest. “It doesn't count as doing something for you if you do it yourself. Anyway, you’re incapacitated.” 

“I’m…” James looks confused, but then he glances down to his icing shoulder. “Oh, come on. I’m hardly immobilized.” 

“For all intents and purposes, you are.” You do your best to infuse your voice with conviction. You’ve found that’s usually the way with James. If you show any hesitation, he’ll turn on the charm and have you eating out of his hand before you know what’s happened. You herd him away from the kitchen. “Go sit down. Dinner will be ready soon.” 

You can’t help but be aware of him as you finish up, knowing he has to hear the sizzling when you accidentally spill things onto the stove or the one mumbled curse you’re not quick enough to bite back. All evidence that you’re not nearly as practiced a cook as James. You can practically feel his grin from a room over. Still, when it's done you’re fairly proud of yourself. 

James is beaming as he accepts his bowl. He hikes his knees up so you can pass between the couch and the coffee table, making a show of sniffing the steam rising from the food. 

“Is this risotto?” he asks, waiting for your little nod before his mouth drops open in astonishment. “You are so sneaky! I didn’t know you could cook at all, let alone fancy shit like this.” 

“It’s not that hard to make.” You look down at your fork as you raise it to your lips, blowing. 

“Sure it is! Loads of people have a hard time with it.” 

“Do you?” 

James grins, caught. You feel your own smile tugging at your lips as you take a bite.

He follows suit, forking a bit of the risotto and blowing to cool it before taking it in his mouth. His eyes dip closed, head lolling back, and he moans. 

“Oh my god, this is good. I’m never cooking again, now that I know you can do this.” 

You take another bite to avoid a response. You’re fairly sure the heat from your face could power the apartment for a month. 

James makes a few more over-the-top compliments of your culinary skills, which you deflect as best you can. As always, you eat mostly silently while he chatters, but when you look over your attention gets snagged on his shoulder. 

He’s only using the one hand to eat, bowl resting in his lap while you hold yours up closer to your face. His ice pack sits beside him now that he can’t hold it on anymore. You catch yourself gnawing on the inside of your lip. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask. 

James looks over, following your gaze. “Yeah,” he admits. “Nothing I’m not used to, though.” 

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “You get hurt often?” 

He smiles bemusedly. “It’s rugby, love. Getting a bit roughed up is part of the deal.” 

This doesn’t sit right with you. Though you hadn’t pondered it much before, you realize you’ve sort of been thinking of James, with his muscles and constant smiles and easygoing manner, as somewhat invincible. He seems like such a source of light in the world, it hadn’t occurred to you that anything bad could happen to him. You don’t like the idea of him being hurt. In any capacity. 

You realize this is likely playing out on your face when you notice James watching you. His eyes are soft. “As much as I would love to milk this for attention and maybe a sponge bath,” he says, setting his fork in his bowl, “it’s really not that bad. See?” 

He pulls down the sleeve of his shirt, and the effort to placate you is wasted. You take in a quiet, horrified gasp at the deeply colored bruise on James’ shoulder. One of your hands raises as if to touch it. It hovers in the space between you. 

“That’s not that bad?” you look at James in alarm. “It looks broken.” 

“It’s not,” he laughs. It’s a bit awkward, as close to self-conscious as you’ve ever seen him. “Trust me, I’ve had a couple broken bones in my time. It’s only bruised, and the muscle’s a bit strained.” 

The muscle, you’re noticing now, is quite substantial. Your focus is on the bruise, but the shoulder beneath it is eye-catching as well, hefty and taut-looking, presumably from the strain. That, or James is flexing. 

You raise your gaze quickly to his. Brown eyes tinged with smugness. 

“You’re worried about me.” His lips stretch into a grin. Not your favorite one in his arsenal. “Aw, sweetheart, I love you too.” 

You direct your attention back to your food, face hotter than hot. “I have justification for worry,” you say, the teasing tone you were going for undercut by the unintentional softness of your voice. “You’re voluntarily participating in a sport that seems like it’s trying to kill you.” 

James takes a self-satisfied bite of his risotto. “I don’t know, I was pretty worried when you fainted in my arms last week.” 

You side-eye him suspiciously. “I didn’t actually do that.” 

“Guess you’ll never know.” 

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[julymusings]

Jason "California Sober" Todd who 100% smokes weed to take the edge off, per your suggestion. He tries it and it's such a game-changer. It feels like a cheat code. Constant soreness and/or chronic pain paired with PTSD— you know he's blazing it almost every night after he gets in from patrol. How else is he supposed to fall asleep? He sits out on the fire escape after stripping his armor and dressing any wounds, head leaned back against the brick wall and eyes closed with the blunt between his fingers. A pleasant numbing sensation flows through his body as his muscles loosen and the heaviness in his bones subsides. His mind clears of all unwanted thoughts and memories, the perpetual static in his head quieting enough for him to pass out for a solid 6-7 hours.

He does his research, familiarizing himself with the science. He knows Indica is better for winding down after a long night, and Sativa is helpful when he needs that extra push to get out of bed. (Both have their aphrodisiacal benefits too, he discovers, but he tries to focus his research on pain relief, no matter how much that subtopic intrigues him.) He tries several CBD oils until he finds the perfect concentration and strain blend for his muscle and joint pain. Oil massages become a staple of your routine. When the pain is too much, you lie him on his stomach in bed, straddling his hips as he makes a pillow with his arms. After warming the oil between your palms, you knead his shoulders and back, working out the knots and alleviating the tension. Multiple times he's fallen asleep mid-massage, something that is so sweet to you that you end the night with a kiss to his bare back, right between his shoulder blades, before draping a blanket over him and turning off the lights. Sometimes it takes all your weight channeled into one elbow to achieve adequate pressure, and he's gritting his teeth and squeezing the comforter as you press hard on his back, but the cooling effect of the oil matched with the sudden lightness of his muscles makes it all worth it for him.

(The squirming and high-pitched, breathy noises he tries so hard to suppress when you work your way down to his thighs make it all worth it for you, too.)

During a routine grocery trip, while he's busied with the spice racks, you wander further down the aisle when a specific row of boxes catches your eye— brownie mix. After doing the necessary research, you prepare the cannabis butter in advance, hoping to use it very soon. But with vigilante life getting in the way, it stays in the freezer for a few weeks before you finally find the time.

Cut to your next date night where you're rained in by classic Gotham weather, full on one of his home-cooked meals, and a little too excited by having him home with you tonight. You crack the eggs and stir in the powder and he watches over the butter on the stove, ensuring it doesn't exceed the temperature restriction while he melts it. You sit on the floor in front of the oven while the brownies bake, lightly massaging his stiff neck as you wait. They come out delicious, of course, and you spend the evening lazily making out in your relaxed high (clearly his research paid off) and ending the night in each other's arms where he has the best sleep of his life— they were so good you barely made it to the bed, just passing out on top of the covers. Unfortunately, as knocked out as you were, neither of you had the clarity to notice Steph and Tim climbing through the window in search of spare tactical gear and helping themselves to the leftovers on the counter. Suffice it to say, after a string of long, angry voicemails from Alfred about why his siblings came home giggly and spaced out with the urge to eat Bruce out of house and home, you and Jason decide it's best to stick to rolling up.

this idea came to me in honor of.....

yayyy!! ty LMFAOO

(pausing my hiatus for 5 minutes to post this before dropping off the grid again. my finals aren't done yet but i sure am.)

disclaimer this is not me telling you that weed will solve all your problems. idek anything about weed this is just stuff that came up upon a quick google search

[millersfinest]

two truths & a lie | e.w

tlou!ellie williams & tlou!reader

wc: 5.1k

blurb: the three run-ins you had with your favorite person didn’t always end in good form: the two times a truth was told, and the one time a lie was made (out of order). but, hey, it was all in good faith, right?

warnings: angsty teenager!ellie and reader, cat beef, vulgar language, friends to lovers, lots of exposition, holidays mentioned but barely focused, fluff, mentioning of drugs and alcohol, lots and LOTS of corny lovey stuff.

note: i genuinely love writing sweet ellie, i feel like there’s not enough of her for my liking. please enjoy, little ellie williams!! ps. this was already long enough, so i left out the new year’s party. if you wanna see that… let me know ;D

⋆·˚ ༘ *

I

The thick rubber soles of your boots creeped along the wooden floors of your friends’ lodgings. A lamp dimly lit up the corner of the room, but it’s warm brightness didn’t spread far. The closer you shifted toward her bed, the darker it got. Light poles from the street, and the moon, illuminating the side of her fatigued freckled face.

Lightly, you sat on the edge of her mattress, leaning over her. Before your fingers danced along her shoulder, to wake her—you admired her daintily scarred features. The strip of missing hair in her eyebrow, a scar. The freckles dusted along her skin, reflecting the stars in the sky. It made sense why she loved astronomy so much; she was the personification of it.

“Ellie. Ellie, wake up.” You shook her, gently.

Instead of stirring, she jolted awake. Green eyes snapping open, reaching for your forearm with a vice-like grip. Noises of fear falling from her dry lips. “Woah… Hey, it’s just me.” You placed your hand over hers, caressing her fingers. “S’Just me.”

She sat up against her pillows, sighing. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you get in?” Ellie rubbed her eyes, sleepily.

“You left your window unlocked.” You state, plainly. “Pack a bag— we’re sneaking out.” Reaching over to her bedside table, you switched on the lamp. Ellie looked at you with narrowed eyes. “There’s a patrol post not far from here. And I heard, there was an arcade in the basement.” A grin stretched across your face.

Ellie looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. “It’s twelve in the morning. We have a shift at the stables at seven.”

“We’ll be back before then.” You shrug.

“What if Joel finds out? He’s already causing me enough problems—“

“He won’t! If we leave now. So, pack a bag, and put some clothes on.” You trot to the window you entered from, swinging each leg out, carefully. “I’ll be waiting out here.” You whisper from the windowsill. The auburn-haired girl rolled her eyes, as she dug through her drawers for clothes.

Respectfully, you averted your eyes. Keeping watch to make sure everything was going according to plan. You had been planning this spontaneous getaway for days; in honor of Ellie’s upcoming sixteenth birthday. Joel and his protective antics weren’t going to stop you from having her to yourself for a little while. It was getting harder to find time to hang out. She was either with Cat, flirting and getting her tattoo completed, or training with Joel and Tommy.

Sometimes, Tommy invited you because of your excitement for patrols, but it was rarely just you and Ellie; like it used to be. When you both, somehow, wound up in the same place—Jackson, Wyoming.

Eventually, she jumped out of her window. In a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots—dressed for the cooling, autumn weather. “I swear if we get caught for this…”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes.”

Sneaking out of Jackson was made easy by your effortless planning. The guards at the front gates were too busy drinking and gambling to pay attention to the two teenagers sneaking out in the dark: with a horse. The lights attached to the straps of your backpacks illuminated the way through dense wood.

Ellie’s arms held onto your waist, comfortably. As you engaged in friendly conversation. “What’s it with you and Cat? The two of you seem… Cozy.” You spoke, raising an eyebrow that she couldn’t see. She leaned her head on the blade of your shoulder, humming in thought.

“Define cozy.”

“She likes you, Ellie.” You snort. “That’s my definition of cozy.”

She tightens her arms around your abdomen. “Well, I think you’re unfamiliar with what the term cozy actually means— because Cat doesn’t like me.”

You sigh, wistfully. “I wish I was as naïve as you.” Partially, that was true. Things would be easier if your own naïveté blocked the feelings you had for your friend. But, instead, you stayed a platonic pretender.

A few minutes later, you arrived at the patrol post. Ellie hopping down first, keeping her eyes diligently peeled. As you pull your feet out of the bronze stirrups, a hand gets offered to you. “M’lady,” She perks her eyebrow, smirking. Faking a thick southern drawl that resembled Joel and Tommy’s voice.

Shaking your head, you take her hand to dismount from Hickory. “Thank you, kind… Gentlewoman.”

Ellie boisterously laughed, keeping a hold on your loose hand. “Gentlewoman?”

“Oh, my God! Forget it.” Your cheeks flush with warmth, slipping your fingers from hers. But a small smile, still stretched onto your lips in amusement. “Come on. We do not have all night.” Entering the building, you didn’t take the time to tour the post. You ushered her with your arm around her shoulders toward metal double doors. Leading to the most anticipated room—the basement.

“Should I be nervous that you’re bringing me to a dark room?”

You look into her earthy eyes. “It won’t be dark for long…”

Pushing open the doors, you run down the cement stairs, toward the generator. You pulled the cord until the lights flickered on and the games began to speak. Theme songs and fanfares playing aloud, embracing the silence. Looking over toward Ellie with a grand smile, she mirrored you. Releasing a laugh of excitement.

“Happy early birthday, El!” You wave your hands.

She sighed, happily, approaching you. “You did all this for me?” Her thick eyebrows furrowed.

“By all this if you mean turning off this generator just so I can turn it back on to create this… Light show— then, yes, I did all this for you.” Abruptly, Ellie tackled you into a firm hug, wrapping her arms around your neck. You return the sentiment, holding onto her like it was your last day on Earth. And it very well could be.

“Ugh, I love you!” She exclaims in a fit of joy, before even realizing her words. However, you stiffen, subtly. Ellie certainly noticed, but she didn’t change her demeanor much. “Let’s play Pac-Man first— I’ve been wanting to play that for such a long time.” She pulled you by her hand toward the bright machine.

Fingers ready on the red start button.

“Good luck.”

“Don’t need it.” You grinned, preparing to put your everything into that game. It was her birthday present, but that didn’t change the fact that you are competitive as hell! And so is Ellie; it’s like a match made in heaven.

II

Christmas used to be the most exciting—and expensive— part of the year, according to Tommy and Maria Miller. Jackson had a barter system, and everyone worked to keep the community afloat. So, the holidays in Jackson were always filled with loads of joy and spirit. And, usually, you found yourself involved in the many festivities occurring. However, this year, something’s changed.

It was just after thanksgiving when the atmosphere shifted for you. Joel was iffy when it came to holidays—hosting a family dinner a full five days after the original date. December 3rd. Living with Tommy, you were expected to be there. Running late from work, you arrived during dinner. Still, in your comfortable work clothes.

Walking into the dinning room, you expected to see every face minus one—Cat. The edgy tattoo artist sat beside Ellie, in the seat typically reserved for you, with a kind smile on her shiny lips. Joel stood from his chair, welcoming you with a firm hug. “You made it just in time. Cat’s telling us about the new project she’s working on— she’s a great artist.”

You weren’t sure if he was laying it on thick for the new guest, or what—but his tone irritated you. Peering to the side, you met Ellie’s apologetic eyes.

The both of you had gotten even closer after gifting her that arcade. In ways that would consider your relationship to be complicated. Between October and early November, you shared secrets, trinkets, and even, kisses. Mostly under the influences of alcohol or weed—but that didn’t make it any less real. Or did it?

Since then, you and Ellie have barely spoken. The only times you’ve shared more than a greeting with her was when you were forced to go on patrols together. Joel and Tommy were uncertain about sending you both out with other people—they could only trust that the two of you could handle yourselves properly—so they say.

Word travels fast in Jackson. And, when Ellie and Cat went official—everybody knew. But you had your suspicions prior to. They were obnoxiously confirmed when Jesse and Dina came banging on your front door; during a movie night you were having with Maria.

When Christmas came around, there was a party every year. Children had fun in the snow, while the adults danced and drank so much the cold no longer bothered them. The only thing you were excited for was the alcohol, because you knew one thing was for sure—Ellie and Cat were going to be galavanting in front of you all lovey and annoying. And you needed something absorb the pain of it.

Dodging the genuine compliments from Maria on the way out of the house, you stalked toward the Tipsy Bison. It was decorated with holiday-colored lights from the roof to the ground. You helped put some of them up, but when your old friend came to join you; you bailed the last second.

Every time your eyes met hers—your insides crumbled all over again. It was impossible for you to understand what Ellie was to you. More so now than ever. It wasn’t the fact that she lied about her status with Cat—it was the fact that she was her fucking girlfriend in general!

You were selfish. You wanted her all to yourself, and for some reason, the universe didn’t want you to have that. The universe didn’t want you to bathe in your selfishness—even if you deserved to.

“Merry Christmas,” A young girl at the entrance of the tavern, smiled. “Don’t forget to put your ornament on the tree.” She hands you a handmade ornament, dressed in shimmery twine. The kids at the daycare were told to create ornaments for the community christmas tree. Their names were written on the back of it—Billy, spelled out sloppily, was on the back of your ornament.

“Merry Christmas.” You smiled, tightly. “Need any help around here?” Your eyes looked around the tavern, acknowledging the decorations inside. There wasn’t any work to be done, but God, did you wish there was. Distracting yourself was your favorite past time.

“Nope! Everything’s all set. Unless Maria told you otherwise…”

“All she told me was to have fun.”

The girl smiled, no younger than fourteen, playing with the pile of paper ornaments. “Then, have fun!” She teased, averting her eyes to the next guest entering the building.

It was much warmer the deeper you strolled into the bar. Jesse and Dina have yet to arrive—of course, you were too early. Waiting for them, you walked to the bar top, leaning your elbows against the surface. “Can I get a hot chocolate? No whipped cream.” You ask, kindly, to the woman on the other side. She nodded, quickly working behind the counter to get your drink prepared.

Waiting patiently, your mind wandered. You only wished you could be celebrating the holidays how you originally planned—with your best friend. Maybe you were acting out of turn; throwing a tantrum over your best friends' relationship wasn’t something a friend would do. You should’ve been happy for her. But that would mean the moments you had together didn’t mean anything to you—when it meant so much.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” Her raspy voice spoke, sliding into the stool next to you. The short strands of her hair were released from her usual ponytail. Parted to the side and pushed behind her ears. You met her eyes, halfheartedly. Barely giving a long enough glance to fully take in her appearance. It was intentional.

Making the choice not to respond, you looked forward, watching as the bartender made your drink. “Where’s your girlfriend?” You muttered, lips arching in distaste.

Ellie frowned, boring her bright eyes into the side of your face. “Working late. She won’t be here for awhile…” Her words came from her full lips like an offering. But, you were planning on taking her up on whatever it was.

The bartender handed you the warm mug with a festive grin. Greeting the girl next to you, casually. You have her a final look before, leaving the bar without a word. The Tipsy Bison became stuffy all of a sudden, so you left through the back door. Staying close by with your hot drink clenched to your chest. The brisk coolness of the air brought you back to your senses. But you still reached into the pocket of your insulated coat for the tiny bottle of vodka you took. Pouring the entirety of it into your chocolate beverage.

Sipping your drink, you didn’t realize the auburn-haired girl had followed you out. Rounding the corner of the building just as stealthily as you did.

“Can we talk?” Heat smoked from her mouth as her body heat juxtaposed the cold weather.

You sighed, pressing your lips into a stubborn line. “Talk about what?”

“…Us. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She shrugged, helplessly. Eyes glistening in remorse. Ellie stood awkwardly in front of you, playing with her fingers.

“What part? You and Cat… Or me and you?”

She paused. “Me and you…” You scoffed, eyes welling up in tears. “Let me explain—“

You stood up, still holding your mug. It was the only thing keeping you warm. “I really couldn’t care less, Ellie.”

Grabbing your wrist, covered in a fleece glove, she pleaded. “Please!”

Sighing, you shook her grip off you, caving to her plea. You gestured for her to go on, with a frown on her lips. “Just tell me whatever we had was a mistake so I can move on…” You voice cracked ever so slightly, exposing your stress.

Her thick eyebrows deepened. “What? No, y/n, no— of course, not.” Ellie shifted. “I didn’t think any of that mattered to you…” She mumbled mostly to herself.

“Ellie, we made out on your couch every other night. How could that not matter to me?” You paused, stepping closer to her. “We told each other things our other friends know nothing about—“ You cut yourself off, glancing down at her covered forearm. The one covered by the tattoo Cat did for her. “Does she know? About your chemical burn?” Indirectly, you mentioned one of the most significant secrets you shared—she shared.

She was immune to the cordyceps virus. The tattoo that covered a chemical burn, was really coverage for the scars of the bite from infected.

Her lips tightened. “No. She doesn’t.”

“What do you even talk about then?!” You throw your hands up, frustrated. “If you talk at all.”

“She likes me, okay!” Ellie exclaimed, balling her hands up by her side. “Things are easy with her… I don’t know.

“Easy?” Your heart beat in your ears.

“I mean, things are easier with her. I don’t have to worry about ruining a friendship if things go south.”

A snicker fell from your lips. “How worth it was that?” Her shoulders slumped, running her hands over her hair.

“I just miss you, y/n, okay… I miss you.” She moved closer to you, trying to reach for your hand. You let her, but only for a split moment. Feeling the warmth of her skin through her fleece gloves. You missed her, too. You missed playing video games at her place, watching movies, running your fingers through her auburn hair—

Pressing your lips into a line, you frowned. “Well… I don’t.” You slipped your hand from hers, leaving her out in the cold. It wasn’t easier to lie, but you did anyway.

III

“So, they used to drop balls when the new year came around? Like… Any type of ball or…”

You laughed as you tended to your patrol horse, Hickory. Her deep-colored fur was softer than anything you’ve ever felt—softer than a baby’s bottom. “No, Tommy said it was some structure in New York City. And they filmed it nationally; it was a whole thing.” You explained, glancing up at the boy outside of the stable. He worked with the horse's day-in and day-out—and he worked the stable a like a military camp.

He leaned on the post of Hickory’s area, crossing his arms. “I’m throwing a party later at my place— to bring in the new year… You should come.” He offered, raising his eyebrows. “It’s no national ball-dropping thing, but there’ll be booze. And a friend of mine’s bringing some other stuff.” His fingers motion smoking a joint.

Grabbing the saddle off the hook, you threw it over Hickory’s sloped back. “Sounds like fun…” You sigh, peering over at the boy. “I’ll drop by for a little while.”

You still weren’t in a partying mood, since your last conversation with Ellie. Lying certainly didn’t make the situation between you too any easier. In fact, it made it worse. Your avoidance for her increased by a thousand. And, to make matters worse, she hated you, too.

Patrols became much more difficult. Like the one you have today…

“Awesome! See you later.” He fist pumped, walking backwards. “Oh, and don’t forget to log Hick on the sign-out sheet!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved a dismissive hand at the stable hand. You were far from forgetful.

After attaching all the garments to your horse, you led him out, cooing at him. You led him out to entrance of the community, where your ex-friend impatiently waited on you. Tommy stood in the supply room, stocking up your bag. Dropping the halter, you walked into the wooden box that was storing patrol supplies. “Ah, there you are. I was about to consider you late.”

“I’m never late.” You chuckle, reaching for your bag. Although, wallowing in your own nerves, a subtle smile spread onto your lips. Reaching for your bag, he stops your hand.

“I don’t know what going on between you two…” He glances at the girl lingering by her horse. “But this is the chance to fix it. I don’t like when you girls fight.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line. “Is that why you keep sending us off on patrol runs together? So we can kiss and make up?” Snorting, you looked to the side with guilt-ridden eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, whatever’s goin’ on— don’t let that get in the way of safety. Keep an eye on each other. You’re partners.”

Partners.

“Right… Yeah. We haven’t had any problems, though… So…”

“Still, be aware. Infected wander in the winter.” He reminds, handing you the backpack. Then, giving you a handgun to secure on your waist, and a much larger gun to hook to your bag. He walks you out to where Ellie stood, adjusting the bridle on her horse. The crunching of snow under your boots caught her attention.

She barely spared you a glance, before looking at Tommy. “Joel and I are allowing the two of you to venture out a little further this morning— don’t make us regret it.” He stuffed his bare hands into his pockets.

“We won’t.” The both of you drawled, rolling your eyes.

You mounted Hickory, watching as Ellie did the same with her horse. “We’ll be good, Tommy.” Giving a tight-lipped smile, you mentally prepared for the trip.

The gates opened up, letting the two of you trot out into snowy wood. Higher in the air, it was cooler—brisker. It was no match for the teenager trotting a few paces ahead of you, though. You’ve ridden in silence before, but it was worse when she had a reason to be upset with you. Ellie’s anger was unforgiving, to say the least.

And you thought you were bad.

It was about a forty-five-minute ride of nothing but the whispers of the wind and animals jolting at the sound of their horses' feet. When you got to the post, you dismounted, jumping into the snow. “I’ll be back soon, Hick.” You whispered, kissing his jaw, sweetly.

Inhaling deeply, you were the first to enter through the buildings broken windows. The actual post was on the upper level because it actually had a working door. Ellie walked in after you, immediately beginning to survey the area. Her switchblade was clenched in a fist as she picked up miscellaneous objects.

Sighing, you began to do the same. Being sure to stay on opposite sides of the first floor. Even so, you couldn’t help but glance at her ever so often. A knit beanie was tugged over her ears, her ponytail peaking out from underneath. Thick eyebrows pushed together, focused; or still, tragically, annoyed with you.

Ugh, what should you care? Ellie was the one to walk away first… Or was she?

This place must’ve been a media store or something. It had lingering records scattered along the scruffy wooden floor, comic books, CDs—the works. The first floor had basically been picked clean. You only hoped when you made it upstairs, there was more.

“All clear…” Ellie spoke, lowly. Opening one of the heavy metal doors to the short stairwell. She let it slam behind her as disappeared to the upper level.

You frowned, tears welling up in your eyes. “I got what I wanted… Didn’t I?” You mutter to yourself, following her path. But, on a shelf, your gaze caught something of importance. It was the fifteenth edition of Savage Starlight. How could she have missed this? Not only was it one of her favorite comics to read, but it was edition that had limited in the top corner. Very few had this one.

Chewing on drying skin of your bottom lip, you swung off your bag, pushing the comic snugly inside trying to preserve it from wrinkles. The timing couldn’t be estimated when you’d give this to her. Maybe one day, you’ll leave it on her porch without a note.

Then, you navigated to the upper level, shutting the door behind you. It was more insulated up there than the first floor. The windows were still intact, and every door was shut or bolted shut by furniture.

Immediately, you approached the sign-in log. Writing your name just under the messy handwriting of your partners’. Smacking your lips together, you peer at the auburn-haired girl. Ellie was stood by the long, frosted window with her arms crossed. It looked as if she were leaning on words to say but choosing otherwise.

You fiddle with pen, rocking on your feet as you eyed her. The feeling of missing her was prevalent, again. It was intense as your eyes bored into the side of her delicate face. Her emotions were worn on the hems of her sleeves—negative or positive. But even with her features pinched, she was just as beautiful. It just sucked that you were the reason behind it. You wanted to feel her arms around you again—even if it was platonic. You wanted to hear her laugh; see her smile.

Just as she turned to meet your eyes, you began to wander around the room. Looking at the books and comics scattered around. Perhaps, you could find some other reads. Keep you busy while you were on lookout. It’s not like you talked to each other anymore.

You fingered the dusty shelves, not seeing anything worth taking back to Jackson. In the corner there was another metal door—singular with a silver handle. The door was labeled ‘other goods’. Which only made you think about what you could be missing you didn’t check it out.

Ignoring the flipped over note taped to the threshold of the door, you entered. Expecting to see boxes of comics, mangas and magazines. However, instead, you greeted by a vicious runner. Your reaction was slowed, due to the many things running through your head. Roughly, your back hit the ground, inadvertently smacking your head against the flooring.

It screamed at you, chomping violently. Strands of its hair fell onto you as it thrashed, hungrily. Moaning and groaning between every convulsion. The red veins on its skin exposed the stage of the infection—little mushroom-like structures beginning to form at the tips of its bloodshot veins.

You fought with it, yelping like a hurt dog. A glimmer of the ridged knife you cared shone from the corner your eye. It had fallen from its holster—too far for you to reach. If this was your karma for lying, then it came quick.

Only focusing on the deadly being atop of you, you couldn’t hear the rapid feet of your partner sprinting to help you, calling out your name, shakily. Using the switchblade Ellie always carried with her, she began to defensively stab the runner. Repeating the action until its body dropped atop of yours. You groaned in disgust.

Ellie helped you roll the body off you, and quickly began to search your body for bites. While your puffer jacket was soaked with blood, you were completely fine. But Ellie didn’t know that she she checked, anxiously. “Are you okay? Did he bite you?” She asked, rambling more questions. Enough to overwhelm you.

She patted your covered arms, reaching for your blood-splattered face to check for any marks. “No. I’m fine—“ You mutter.

“He was really fuckin’ close—!” She still patted you down like a nervous security guard. “Fuck! I should’ve cleared this level—“

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, grabbing her roaming hands, looking her in the eye. “He didn’t bite me— I’m okay.” Endless worry had filled her earthy irises. Flushed nose, touched by the winter, sniffling. This was the first time you were this close to her in awhile—staring intently at her. Somehow, trying to convince her without words that you were okay.

Her eyes were fixed on you, just before her arms wrapped around your shoulders, thoughtfully. There wasn’t an attack of warmth—a hug she’d given before—it was contemplated, debated, decided.

Without a thought, you returned it, wrapping your arms around her. Leaning your head on her shoulder, furrowing your eyebrows. Enveloping her touch, senselessly. Remorse revved up inside of you, prodding at your muscles. “I thought I was gonna lose you…” Ellie muttered into the hoodie of your coat.

“I thought I was gonna lose my chance…” You related, pulling back to look at her once more. Tears had welled up in her eyes, she was trembling. You both were. Reminiscent of the runner and the fear that caked up inside of you. “Ellie…” You breathed. “I lied to you.”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows deepened.

“I lied to you. At the Christmas party— you told me that you missed me, and I said that I didn’t miss you. That was a lie!” Lowering your head, you shook it, disapprovingly. “A stupid fucking lie.”

Her cold hands drifted to your frosted cheeks. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry— I’ve missed you so much I can barely breathe. If you’re happy with Cat… I should be happy for you regardless of anything. I wasn’t being a good friend—“ It was your turn to wearily ramble, fidgeting with the material of her jacket. Shaking like a flimsy sign in high winds.

It was the softness of her lips that interrupted you, warming up your skin. It was buttery sweet and chaste, pulling you from the intensity of your thoughts. Ellie tugged you into another embrace, somehow warmer than before. “I should’ve never got with her to begin with.”

“Past tense?” You raised an eyebrow.

She pulled back. “Past tense.” Taking a seat in beside you, she leaned on one of the shelves. Following her, you did the same. Scratching the back of your head, feeling the slight throb that came from the collision. “She broke up with me a few days ago… I kept bringing you up— it was annoying the shit out of her.” Ellie chortled, propping up her legs to lean her arms on. “I was so mad at you… Because it just didn’t make any sense.”

You looked down, at your crossed legs. “But then, it did. Everything did.” Ellie added, peering at you. “I love you, y/n.” She spoke with such conviction; your eyes grew hot with tears. “I was just scared to see it through— and I should have seen it through, instead of getting with someone else.”

A beat bounced between the two of you.

Shrugging off the backpack you almost forgot was on you, you dug inside, a grin painted on your face. You clench the Savage Starlight comic in your hands as you abruptly stood up. Ignoring the soreness in your muscles from being attacked. Ellie looked up at you, watching you move swiftly. “This is the part where you say you love me back.”

“Give me a second.”

You trot to the sign-in sheet, using the pen to write inside the comic: I LOVE YOU, EL. In capital letters, on the title page. She’d gotten up, following you to the countertop the sheet was on. Turning around, you thrusted the comic from your chest, smiling. “Savage Starlight?!” Ellie joyfully laughed, taking the comic in her hands.

“Limited edition.” You pointed to the cover. “I found it downstairs… You’ll never forget how much I love you because I wrote it on the first page.” Ellie flipped open the page, musing at what you wrote. “Everytime, you read it, you’ll remember.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, emotionally. Tossing the comic book to the side, she pulled you into another kiss. Less sweet, more passionate. You giggled against her lips, unabashedly opening your eyes. She pulled back, analyzing your flushed features. “Maybe, you could… I don’t know… Write it on every page? Only after I finish it, though. My memory’s a little bad.” She joked, caressing your face.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed a piece of her straggling hair under her beanie. “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Ellie…” You warned, but there was nothing that could wipe the foolish expression molded onto your features. Therefore, she was far from taking you seriously.

[aouiaa]

INTRODUCING

barista!abby x trainee!reader

warnings and disclaimers included the following

## content of sexual wlw content [mdni 18+], a slight cameo of ellie williams and joel miller, a classic frenemies with ellie pie and abby bear, a mention of parental death, a mention of male genitalia, smut with somewhat plot, softdom!abby, sorta loser!abby (cutie pie), sub!reader, public sex (break room of coffee shop), usage of petnames (pretty girl), praising, orgasm denial (once), fingering, nipple play, cunnilingus, face sitting, cum eating, aftercare (fucking finally i write some), strong language.

barista!abby who’s also a student in business dreams of opening her own coffee shop in aspiration of honoring her father and love for books.

barista!abby who argues that she’s killing two birds with one stone since she’s building skill and working for her degree.

barista!abby whose such a SHOW OFF in front of girls she finds attractive, it so feeds into her ego when it works, and the girls are all ogling over her mastery at coffee art. yeah, it’s totally not the arms that are doing it for them.

barista!abby who hates that little red or whatever color haired fuck, ellie. the two have curated non-verbally a competition on basically whose dick is bigger. who makes the best batch, who makes this, who makes that. it’s never ending with these two.

barista!abby who’s convinced ellie in another lifetime was a king’s jester with her profound tricks that amused no one, but herself. the tricks themselves could threatened the woman’s head off alone, finding herself in a fetal position, in a pit of her own laughter. when abby eagerly sits on a unsuspecting “prize” during lunch, only to hear what can be described as a gust of wind. her flushed countenance instantly transformed into anger when the palm of her hand held a whoopee cushion.

barista!abby who went so warm when she saw you talking to the manager after ellie confirmed you were a new employee that if you stuck a thermometer under her tongue in that moment, it’d earn a hospital visit. and with ellie on sidelines teasing her for the state she’s in wasnt helping, unnecessarily quoting if she’s under weather, then rain on your home.

barista!abby who at the end of your shift on your first day surprised you with a free pastry as a warm, warm welcome. a small gesture, unfortunately, came with the price of a dispute with her boss, and money taken out of her week’s pay. amidst said scolding, a surprising opportunity came up. a good one at that, to train you at the expense of ellie’s days off of work to visit in her father, joel in their hometown, wyoming. despite the fact that she hardly listened after the inviting words of you, buzzed her mind with endless possibilities. it had her practically salivating at the numerous scenarios swirling around in her head.

barista!abby who’s a few weeks into training you, was losing her MIND over the taunting questions of you flirting or not. the causal strokes of your fingertips against her biceps alone were making the job harder. she had to get to the bottom of this, and like a detective corner you and have you plead for mercy.

barista!abby who, with an ironic twist, was usually consumed with thoughts, now found her mind solely preoccupied with you. her gaze fixed on the firm grip you maintained on the wooden handle, watching how your movements harmonized with its every swing as you rigorously mopped the floor. the purpose once held by the rag now seemed inconsequential as she leaned against the counter, arms folded, absentmindedly chewing on her lip. she imagined those hands of yours grasping onto her with the same unwavering hold they wielded when she stretched you out.

"take a picture, it'll last longer." you quipped, confidence resonating in your tone, and looking over your shoulder to show off the smirk that truly sells it. you knew she had been watching the entire time, and now had the satisfaction of catching in her act. she scoffed lightly, attempting to cover up her evident embarrassment, clearly trying to play it off.

“my phone’s in the locker, care to help?” she taunts.

barista!abby who watches you, utterly mesmerized by your frenzied movements against her fingers, pinned against the locker, using your hands as support to hold yourself up. the sounds you emitted resembled a blender running at full speed, loud enough to reach the nation if anyone had been nearby. thank god, it was just the two of you for the closing shift, dissipating the risk of scaring any customers away.

her ring and middle finger slid diligently in and out of you, while her right hand teased your hardened nipple between her pointer and thumb. her chin rests on your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses on the bruises that dotted your neck. the gorgeous blues remained fixed on your mouth, agape to let her hear the sweet sounds of your pleasure. the corners of her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she watched you tremble at the touch of her curling fingers on your g-spot.

abby's precise movements brought you closer and closer to the brink, the sensation was almost too much to bear. but just as you were about to succumb to the pleasure, her fingers slipped from your grasp. confused and frustrated, you’re flipped onto your back against the metal, meeting the gaze of the master puppeteer.

"you think i’m was gonna let you come and not see this gorgeous face?" she teased, admiring your disheveled state.

you frowned in protest, "i was just about to cum, asshole."

"careful, or you won't at all." she warned, taking your hand and leading you to a bench nearby. "sit on my face, pretty girl. no holding back." she commanded, her eyes filled with anticipation.

this time, with no complaints, you willingly complied with this new plan. abby's capable hands gripped the plush of your thighs, guiding you down onto her waiting mouth. the moment her tongue made contact, a moan tore itself from your larynx as a newfound sensation washes over you. your hand streams through her mane, tugging at the strands as she laps through your petal soft lips.

your hip, limited to their range of motion, rut back and forth against her prominent features, your body orchestrating itself towards it’s imminent. it wasn't long before the tension building in your abdomen snapped, sending you through the throes of your orgasm. your release painting the lower half of her face.

talk about a clean up in aisle seven!

barista!abby who makes sure you’re beyond comfortable, delicate caresses and praises when taking care of you. she, even going the extra mile, makes you hot coco, watching the liquid slosh within the mug, as she approaches you with a soft “there you go.” in response, you flash a smile and gratitude. she stood there, hands on her hips, observing you savor the drink. a grin tugging at her lips as she took in the sight of her oversized jacket draped over your shoulders.

intrigued by her smile, you raise an eyebrow and playfully inquire, "hey, what’s got you smiling over there?"

she chuckles softly, a light hue of pink painting her cheeks as her gaze momentarily wavers. looking everywhere but you, she brushes it off with a scoff, scratching her cheek. “nothing, just…” there's a brief sight of contemplation before she inevitably hesitates, shaking her head with a sigh. "nothing, forget it.” she dismisses.

you let out a hearty laugh, setting your mug aside. leaning forward playfully, you tease gently. "are you really going shy on me? like werent you just eating me out a second ago.“ a smirk adorning your features as you tilt your head.

her smile grows nervous, scratching the back of her neck as her blush deepens. mumbling a curse under her breath, she gathers the courage to ask, "i was just wondering if you'd like to go on a date with me?"

i’ll let you be the judge of that. part two?

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED !

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm, @lvlymicha, @brackishkittie, @loveyru, @drunkonnatasha, @leosw0rld, @visupremacysstuff

[navybrat817]

It's Cold Outside

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky reflects while standing out in the snow and meets an angel... you.

Word Count: Over 700

Warnings: Slight angst, Bucky remembering the past, instacrush of sorts, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: For @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge: the first day of snow. May do a few more ficlets for them ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he was happy to see snow. It reminded him too much of that fateful day on the train. The snowflakes falling from the sky was as if he was falling again, this time in slow motion. The crystals were beautiful, but fragile. They could easily break or spell doom for people who weren’t careful. And it was cold. Very cold.

He rubbed his metal arm absentmindedly under his coat. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine warm flesh instead of an instrument of destruction. Maybe he would’ve gotten a tattoo to honor his unit or family. The needle piercing his skin would’ve been pain he welcomed instead of the pain he didn’t ask for others to inflict on him. He didn’t just lose his arm when he fell. He lost himself.

The life of Sergeant Barnes ended, and the Winter Soldier began.

Tilting his head toward the sky, he couldn’t remember why he went outside to begin with. Maybe the bitter cold would freeze over the gaping mental hole in his heart long enough that he’d stop bleeding. Or maybe he wanted to feel the sharp wind blowing in his face to prove that he was still alive and standing. That no matter how many times the world knocked him down, he’d get up again.

But, God, why did it have to be so cold?

And why did he have to face it alone?

“Hi!”

Snowflakes gently fell around you and made you shine like the brightest star in the sky. So did your smile. It was so blinding he almost looked away, but he was afraid if he did so that you’d disappear.

A beautiful voice drifted to his ears and he was certain his heart stopped, but not in a way that made him afraid. Turning toward the source of that sound, he found himself staring at you. And his heart never beat faster.

Where did you come from? Were you an angel who landed safely from heaven? Did angels exist? He was ready to become a believer.

And it was the first time he felt warm all day.

He grudgingly tore his gaze away to make sure you weren’t looking at someone else, but he was the only one on the sidewalk. “Hi,” he croaked.

“Do you live here? I’m moving in,” you said, nodding to the building behind him. “Figures the day I do would be the day it snows and no one can make it out here to help,” you added teasingly when he didn’t answer right away.

He was too captivated by you to speak.

Blinking and telling himself not to gawk at you like a creep, he then noticed the box in your hands. “Yeah, I do,” he said, his feet moving on their own accord. “Can I help?” he asked, offering to take the box. Any excuse to continue to be close to you.

“Oh, thanks,” you smiled, making him lose his breath. “I really appreciate it, um…”

“Bucky. I’m Bucky,” he said, wishing he could shake your hand.

You gave him your name as a snowflake touched the corner of your mouth and melted. He no longer wanted frost over his heart. He wanted your warmth to fill his heart instead. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he smiled back, spotting the small truck nearby. He understood why the weather might keep people away, but having to move by yourself? He didn’t want you to freeze or risk you falling with the many trips. “And, listen, if you need help with more of your stuff, I have time.”

“Really?” The next smile you gave him was a bit shyer than the previous, but was just as beautiful. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he promised.

You briefly touched his left hand, and he could blame the gasp on the chill in the air if you asked. He didn’t have to close his eyes to imagine the warmth. It moved from his fingertips to his shoulder and he wondered if you really were an angel.

“That would be amazing. Thank you.” You turned around to get another box. “I’ll have to find a way to repay you.”

Maybe you’d join him for dinner one night. That would be repayment enough for him. And seeing you smile over your shoulder, for the first time since he could remember, he didn’t mind the cold. Or the snow.

Lovelies, I think Bucky deserves some love for Christmas. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sommerbueckers]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐞𝐝

___________________________________________________________

✰ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮

✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟐𝐤

✰ 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭...𝐰𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

___________________________________________________________

EVERYTHING WAS EXACTLY HOW it was supposed to be. All the guests had arrived on time and were clad in an array of pastel colors, the menu had been carefully crafted to cater to everyone's dietary restrictions, and the weather was forecasted to be warm and sunny throughout the entirety of the day. You should've been ecstatic, and yet you could hardly breathe.

You sat hunched over in a chair, a worn bucket positioned in front of you in case you needed to vomit. Tears welled in your eyes, on the verge of spilling down your cheeks and ruining your meticulously applied makeup. The prospect of falling ill just moments before walking down the aisle was a dreadful scenario, yet you couldn't compose yourself. You clutched your hand to your chest, your face contorting in a painful grimace.

"I can't do this..." you mumbled, more so to yourself than to the other women in the room, your bridesmaids, "I can't do it."

Your best friend, and maid of honor, had been at your side since the moment you started feeling sick. Her hand hadn't left your back, soothingly rubbing up and down as she barked orders at everyone. It was always like her to take charge and ensure things remained intact when you started to crumble, it was the reason you two worked so well together. It was the reason you could trust her to put you back together whilst you sat still and helpless.

"Somebody get Paige," she said aloud.

"No!" you cried, looking frantically at her, "No, no I don't want her to see me like this, she can't."

"Honey," she wore a look of sympathy as she spoke to you, "you gotta breathe. I'm gonna leave and she's gonna come in here, you're gonna be fine."

You could only nod in response. Morgan had always been adept at reassuring you, persuading you that everything was fine even when it felt like your world was unraveling. As the room gradually emptied, leaving just the two of you, you finally gave in to the tears, allowing the warm droplets to slowly trickle down your face.

Morgan held you tightly, her own eyes pricking with tears at the sight of her best friend in shambles.

You felt frustrated with yourself. Today was meant to be the happiest day of your life; after seven years of dreaming about it, you and Paige were finally getting married. It was the start of a new chapter you had eagerly anticipated. Yet here you were, on the verge of ruining everything because you couldn't manage your emotions. Why couldn't you just get a grip? Why couldn't you just focus on everything good that was to come instead of everything that could go wrong?

What if this doesn't work out?

What if she falls out of love?

What if she feels like you're trapping her?

Paige could hear your sobs through the door, and her own nerves rose at the mere sound of it. She hadn't been told why you were crying, all she knew was that you had refused to leave the room multiple times. Her hands shook as she grabbed the doorknob, twisting it open to reveal you and Morgan sitting in the corner. She could've sworn she felt her heart break in that moment, she had never seen you this pained.

Morgan stood to her feet, placing a kiss to your temple before approaching Paige at the door.

"What happened?" Paige whispered with furrowed brows, her eyes bouncing back and forth between Morgan and you.

"I have no clue," she shook her head, "she said she couldn't breathe and then she just broke down...I don't know what to do Paige." It was the first time in her entire life that Morgan had no idea how to calm you down, she was beginning to panic as well.

"I got it," Paige reassured her, watching her leave and then shutting the door after her.

As she carefully approached you, she could hear you mumbling frenziedly into your hands. Your bouquet was on the ground beside you, a combination of pink and white hibiscuses all tied together with a blush colored bow. The two of you had gone out to pick them yourselves, Paige wanted them to be just right for you. They were perfect, everything was perfect, why were you crying?

"'M'sorry," you sobbed, "'m'so sorry."

She comfortingly wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer to her.

"What happened baby? Tell me what's wrong," she whispered.

"I can't do it," you repeated for the second time that day.

"Can't do what?" she frowned. She didn't want to jump to conclusions, to assume that by 'I can't do it' you meant marrying her. She couldn't lose you, she wouldn't.

"What if...if this is a mistake?" you panted, avoiding her eyes as she fought to catch yours. "What if later on you meet somebody else or you realize that i'm not enough for you?"

It was then that she realized this wasn't about you at all, it was about her. You were scared that she was getting cold feet, that she was having second thoughts, that her mind wasn't made up. She held you closer to her, kissing the top of your head as her own tears began to fall. She wondered if it had been something she had done to convince you that she wasn't all about you, that she wouldn't pick you in a room full of every other woman in the world.

She pulled away from you to get a better look at your face, holding either side of your face with her hands. "Stop talking like that, stop. That shit is never gonna happen and I know that for a fact. I can sit up here right now and tell you that falling out of love with you is several levels above impossible."

You blinked out more tears, staring silently at her as she professed her undying love for you.

"I am so in love with you it scares me. Every day that I wake up and can't be with you because i'm away for basketball or i'm out with some friends or anything else, all I do is think about you. And even when i'm with you, i'm still thinking about you. I can't even keep my hands off of you, like i'd need to be physically restrained for that to happen. You make me wanna do things i've never done before like jump out of a plane or swim in that little ass cage with the sharks around it because all I wanna do it impress you. I want you to stare at me with those big brown eyes and tell me how much you love me, and I wanna record your laugh so I can listen to it on repeat whenever you're not around.

I want you to force me to watch romcom movies that you've seen a thousand times and are only watching again because you want me to see them. I wanna come home really late at night and find you sleeping on the couch in my clothes because you missed me, and then in the morning I want you to tell me how you tried to stay up to see me when I came home. I'm planning to take you to all the countries that you've dreamed about visiting and just haven't had the time yet. I'm gonna be front row at your med school graduation with a huge poster of your face that blocks everyone behind me from seeing you. I wanna go back and forth with you over what to name our first kid, and I wanna combine all of our money so we can build an obnoxiously big house.

I swear to God, and I never swear to him so that's how you know I'm being so serious, I'll be damned if I spend my life with anyone other than you. Nobody else is worth my time. All I need is you baby, that's fucking it."

You and Paige were bawling together, both of your makeup needing desperately to be redone. It would push the wedding back for sure, but that didn't matter now, Paige loved you.

You pulled her in for a kiss, ignoring the way both of your tears were mixing together. She wouldn't touch anything other than your arms, not wanting to ruin your dress.

"I love you. I'm not leaving this spot until you understand that," Paige said firmly.

You nodded your head, swallowing the lump in your throat that had begun to shrink since the moment Paige stepped in here.

"I understand it."

"Do you still wanna do this?"

You shook your head, watching intently as Paige let out a sigh but nodded nonetheless.

"I'm kidding! Fuck, let's fucking do this!"

Paige playfully pushed your shoulder, narrowing her eyes as she stood up. "I'm gonna go grab that fancy makeup lady and tell her to get you right, and then i'm telling Morgan to work her magic and impress everybody with one of her weird talents to buy us time," she explained quickly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes! I'm fine, now go and fix the mess I made," you laughed.

She placed another quick peck on your lips, hurrying out of the room and leaving you alone with your thoughts again. This time however, they were a thousand times more collected than before. You laughed at yourself, you were silly to second guess Paige's love for you. She had never, not once, given you a reason to. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your face was a wreck and it'd take a miracle to hide the swelling of your eyes. But again, none of that mattered.

Paige loved you.

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[velarisdusk]

Beneath the Vines

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

word count: 6.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, sex pollen (so, dub-con), unprotected PIV, public sex (forest setting), language, rough sex, biting/marking ] summary: Seeking refuge from court politics in a secluded part of the forest, Lucien meets a female from the Summer Court searching for a hidden spring. He offers to guide her, but their journey takes an unexpected turn when he comes into contact with a mysterious pollen... author's note: this idea has been cooking in the back of my mind since i finished the first book back in december, so i'm happy to finally share it :) writing some of his lines and the narration had me swooning i love him your honor ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

Lucien let out a long breath as the sounds of the court faded behind him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with warm patches that shifted in the gentle breeze. He closed his eyes, focusing on the soft rustling of branches and distant birdsong. It was rare to find such quiet moments, free from the constant dance of court politics and expectations. As the tension in his shoulders slowly eased, Lucien allowed his thoughts to wander, no longer needing to guard every expression and word. 

His brow furrowed as he mulled over the latest reports from their border scouts. Hybern was growing bolder, their movements more frequent and less concealed. He’d tried to discuss it with Tamlin, but the High Lord seemed more concerned with maintaining the illusion of peace, instead focusing his people and efforts on the upcoming Calanmai festivities. 

A twig snapped beneath Lucien’s boot as he began to pace. Rumors were swirling through the courts. Whispers of Hybern’s king sending one of his most cunning generals to Prythian. Amarantha, they called her. The name tasted like ash on his tongue. 

He paused, leaning against a tree trunk, its rough bark grounding him. How long could the Spring Court afford to turn a blind eye? How long before the fragile peace between the courts shattered under the weight of this looming threat? Lucien’s gaze swept across the peaceful forest, so at odds with the turmoil in his mind. He’d seen firsthand how quickly alliances could shift, how devastating the fallout could be. This time, he vowed silently, he’d be prepared. Whatever storm was coming, he’d do everything in his power to ensure Spring weathered it. 

His ears pricked at the sound of rustling leaves, followed by the snap of a twig. In an instant, his posture changed from relaxed to alert. His hand flew to the dagger at his hip, drawing it in one fluid motion as he spun towards the source of the noise, russet eyes scanning the brush.

A figure emerged from behind a large oak, and Lucien found himself face to face with a female High Fae. She froze, eyes wide, clearly not expecting to encounter anyone else in this secluded part of the forest. Lucien’s grip on his dagger loosened slightly as he took in the unexpected sight before him. The female stood there, clearly startled, holding a woven tote bag over one shoulder. Her hair flowed slightly in the wind, and she wore a sheer, cream-colored crochet cover-up that did little to conceal the black swimsuit underneath. The ensemble was revealing for a trek through the forest. 

“Sorry to interrupt, kind sir,” she said sarcastically. “Just passing through.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“How could you possibly know that? You don’t even—”

“You’re looking for the spring, right? It’s not that way.” He gestured to his left, far ahead. “It’s hidden, and not in the direction you were headed.”

She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “And you know this because…?”

Lucien chuckled softly. “Because I’ve spent more time exploring these woods than I’d like to admit.”

She started walking off in the direction he signaled, and he jogged a bit to keep pace with her. “I can show you the way, if you’d like.”

After a moment’s hesitation, came a shrug and a nonchalant response. “Alright, lead the way then.”

He didn’t try to hide his smirk at her casual demeanor. 

As they fell into step together, he couldn’t help but notice the graceful way she moved across the uneven forest floor. He broke the silence after a moment.

“You’re not from the Spring Court, are you?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. 

Her lips formed a small smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m visiting from the Summer Court. I heard tales of the hidden natural springs here and couldn’t resist seeking them out,” she replied. “And the heat wave made the idea of a cool spring irresistible.”

Summer, he mused. She had a brightness about her, a warmth that seemed out of place in the cool shade of the forest.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Just beyond those trees over there, through the vines. I must admit, Summer, you certainly know how to find the most intriguing places.”

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “‘Summer’?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Seems fitting for a female as radiant as yourself.”

An eye roll failed to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her soft lips. 

“I’m Lucien,” he said, extending his hand with his palm up. 

She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand gently in his. “(Y/N),” she replied, her eyes meeting his with a spark of curiosity and amusement. 

“A pleasure, Summer,” Lucien said, his voice low and smooth. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across the back of it.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed to blend with the sounds of spring around them. “Nice to meet you too, Lucien.”

He lingered for a moment, their hands still lightly clasped, before finally releasing her. “Shall we?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes twinkling with intent. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Their conversation flowed easily as they walked, with Lucien pointing out various plants and sharing tidbits about them.

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to a vibrant blue flower.

“That’s moonbloom. It only opens at night, used in sleeping draughts,” Lucien explained, pleased by her interest.

“And that? The tree with the silver bark?”

“Whisperwood. The Court’s best instruments are carved from it.”

Their exchange continued, with Lucien sharing more about the flora they passed. Eventually, he turned the conversation to her.

“Tell me about the Summer Court. I’ve spent some time there, though I suspect there’s always more to learn.”

“It’s vibrant and full of life. There are endless festivities, stunning beaches, and exquisite food. I may be biased but of all the courts I’ve visited, Summer definitely has the best cuisine. People are already preparing for the solstice even though it’s barely March.” A soft sigh. “But… the constant activity, the heat… it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Time seemed to slip away as they walked, the forest around them a lush backdrop to their discussion. Eventually, they reached a curtain of vines hanging between two ancient trees. 

Lucien stepped forward gently parting the greenery. A fine, glittering pollen dusted his hand as he brushed against the vines. He blinked, momentarily disoriented by a sudden rush of warmth through his body, but he attributed it to the day’s heat. 

"After you," he said, holding the vines open with a slight bow, trying to shake off the lightheadedness.

Amusement and appreciation danced in her eyes, accompanied by a warm smile as she stepped through the vines. Lucien followed, letting the vines fall back into place behind them. As they walked, a sweet scent filled his senses — warm vanilla mingled with honey and a hint of sea salt. He found himself inhaling deeply, drawn to the aroma.

As they rounded a large boulder, the spring came into view, its serene beauty unfolding before them. The sight before them was breathtaking. A lush, verdant oasis spread out in a natural amphitheater, encircled by towering trees draped with cascading vines. The milky white pool at the center was fed by a small, delicate waterfall, its gentle cascade a soothing murmur that filled the air. Vibrant moss cloaked the surrounding rocks and tree roots, forming an ethereal green expanse that stretched to the water’s edge. Exotic flowers in vibrant hues dotted the landscape, their colors a stark contrast to the predominantly green surroundings. Above, the canopy formed a natural dome, with sunlight filtering through the intricate patterns of leaves, casting a magical glow over the alcove. 

"It's beautiful," her words were hardly more than a breath, eyes widening in genuine awe as she tentatively stepped deeper into the sanctuary.

Lucien nodded, his gaze drawn between the spring and his companion. "The minerals in the water give it that color," he explained, his voice taking on a rich, velvety quality that surprised even him. He cleared his throat and leaned against a tree, arms crossed. He watched as she  set her woven tote bag onto a nearby rock. Reaching over her shoulder to unfasten the tie of her cover-up, the delicate fabric slipped off her shoulders, revealing soft, smooth skin. The way the bikini she wore fit every dip and curve deliciously. His breath hitched as his russet eyes lingered on her, watching her with an intensity that surprised him. 

Flip flops discarded, she dipped a toe into the water, a shiver running up her spine as the coolness contrasted with the warm air. “Oh, that’s refreshing,” she murmured, taking a tentative step into the spring.

The water was unlike any she had ever felt, a soothing mixture of cool and silky, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. She fully submerged herself, the refreshing sensation washing over her as she disappeared beneath the surface. When she emerged, droplets of water clung to her skin, shimmering in the sunlight. 

A warmth spread through Lucien’s veins, his pulse quickening as he watched her. The way the sunlight played on her skin, highlighting the gentle curves and the elegance of her movements, captivated him. His thoughts grew hazy, his usually sharp focus dulled by the inexplicable urge to be closer to her. His gaze traced the line of her neck, watching as the breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. Every subtle shift, every graceful motion seemed to draw him in further. The serene pool and vibrant surroundings had practically faded, leaving only the mesmerizing vision of his Summer Court visitor before him. 

His…?

Lucien shook his head a bit, a useless attempt to rid himself of the growing intensity of his thoughts. It had to be the heat, it was getting to him. 

“You look hot,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Lucien blinked, momentarily flustered as he took in the way her wet hair clung to her, the bathing suit now a shade darker and clinging to her curves. She looked exquisite, the milky white water droplets glistening on her skin like tiny jewels. “So do you, Summer,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

She laughed, the sound like a light, bubbling brook. “I meant you’re dressed too warmly for this weather. Why don’t you join me and cool off?”

Lucien felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, as he began to undress. His fingers deftly unfastened his tunic, revealing a chiseled chest and toned muscles beneath. The sunlight filtering through the leaves cast tantalizing shadows across his skin, highlighting every ridge and contour. 

As he shrugged off his tunic, he noticed the sticky pollen coating his hand. He tried to rub it off onto the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to his skin. He frowned slightly. No matter, it would come off in the water. 

He continued undressing, kicking off his boots and undoing his belt, letting it fall to the forest floor. As he slipped out of his trousers, now standing in just his boxers, he couldn’t help but notice her eyes following his every move.

Lucien caught her gaze and held it, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He had been watching her watch him the entire time, a fact she only realized when she tore her eyes away from his body and looked up to meet his gaze.

With deliberate grace, he stepped into the water, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat bubbling beneath his skin. The spring’s translucent white waters swirled around his calves as he waded deeper, his eyes never leaving hers. 

He finally submerged himself, the water rippling around him as he moved closer to her. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, the playful smirk returning to his lips.

She felt her pulse quicken, the sight of him, all muscle and smooth confidence, stirring something deep within her. “Much,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. 

They floated together in the cool water, the soothing embrace of the spring relaxing their muscles. Lucien watched as she dipped her head back, letting her hair float around her like a halo. She closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“This place is incredible,” she said softly, her eyes still closed. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

Lucien smiled, his own tension easing in the tranquil atmosphere. “It’s one of the Spring Court’s hidden gems. Not many know about it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a flicker of curiosity. “How did you find it?”

He shrugged, moving closer. “I stumbled upon it years ago, during a particularly stressful time. This general area of the forest has been my escape ever since.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the coolness of the water. Lucien felt a tingling heat spreading through his body, no longer the gentle warmth of before. His thoughts kept drifting back to the female in front of him, the way her skin glistened with water droplets, to the curve of her lips when she smiled. He wanted to feel those lips.

He tried to push the thoughts aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more intense it became, his desire for her was becoming harder to control, the need to touch her, to feel her against him, was almost overwhelming. 

“This spring is said to have unique properties,” he continued, his eyes lingering on her face, her eyes, her lips. “Some say that bathing in its waters can bring good fortune, or help with one’s artistic talents.” He chuckled softly. “But others speak of it being enchanted in a more intimate way.”

This provoked a turn of the head and a raised eyebrow, curiosity peaked. "Well, I never cared much for fortune, and I’m a sorry excuse for an artist,” she laughed softly. “So what have you heard? About the intimacies of the spring?” An almost knowing smile graced her lips. 

He swallowed, trying to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug. “They say,” he began, slowly, “that the waters can awaken one’s deepest desires. Enhance one’s… physical urges.”

She smirked at that. “Sounds to me like whoever came up with that got to this spring already horny,” she laughed. At the shit-eating grin on his face, her laughter grew infectious. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, playfully shoving his shoulder.

But the touch was searing. He hissed, a jolt of electricity shot through Lucien’s body, his skin burning where her fingers made contact. His pulse quickened, and he felt a raw, primal need flare up inside him. The laughter faded, replaced by a charged silence. Every muscle in his body tensed as he struggled to keep composed. 

“Lucien?” Concern laced her voice. She reached out for him, but he flinched away from her touch, bringing his hands up to stop her. Hurt flashed across her face until she noticed… “What’s that on your hand?”

She reached out again, but he pulled his hand back, glancing at the sticky pollen coating his skin. Suddenly, it clicked. He knew what this was, had heard tales of its effects but had never encountered it personally.

“It’s… it’s this pollen,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It must’ve been on the vines at the entrance. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together…”

A mix of curiosity and concern filled her eyes. “What does it do?”

Lucien took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could hear his heart thrumming in his ears and wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw himself at the female mere feet across from him. “The pollen is known to,” he pauses with a sigh, choosing his words carefully. “It causes arousal, an intense arousal, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. It heightens every sensation, makes my skin feel like it’s on fire whenever you touch me.” She could see his chest rising and falling more shallowly, could hear his breaths coming more rapidly, could see his pupils dilate each time he looked at her. He hesitantly added, “The only way to get rid of its effects is through… physical intimacy.”

Her eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on her. “You mean…?”

He nodded, though his regretful expression barely concealed his longing. “Yes, but don’t concern yourself. This isn’t your problem to solve,” he said, his voice strained yet resolute. “I’ll return home and find a way to… handle this. You’re under no obligation here.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, clearly struggling with the pollen’s effects, but his eyes remained steady. “I apologize, it was careless of me not to recognize the signs sooner.”

With that, he turned, moving to exit the spring and retrieve his clothes. The cool water swirled around him as he took a step, but he felt a hand grasp his bicep, halting his retreat. The contact sent a shockwave of heat through his body, as if her hold would be permanently marked on the flesh there. His muscles coiled tightly beneath her touch, and he had to force himself to contain a whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Every sensation was amplified, transforming the simple gesture into an exquisite torment. He glanced back, his eyes darkening, surprise giving way to raw, unadulterated need. 

“It’s not such an inconvenience,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

His eyes widened in surprise, but she rolled hers, a playful smirk forming on her lips. “Don’t act so surprised, Lucien.” His name on her tongue sent a jolt of arousal through him, and he only realized now how painfully constricted his cock was. “It’s obvious I want you, and I think you wanted me even before the pollen?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I did. I do.”

Her smirk turned into a gentle smile as she reached out again, tracing a finger down his chest. “So let me help you.”

Lucien’s body tensed, caught between desire and restraint. “Wait,” he said, his voice husky. As he spoke, his hand dipped beneath the water, fingers flexing unconsciously. “You should know… I’ve managed to control myself thus far, but if we continue…” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice dropping to a low, strained growl. “Once I feel you, I won’t be able to stop.”

His fingers curled into a fist underwater. Most of the visible pollen had washed away, leaving only faint traces on his skin, but its effects still coursed through his body. The cool water did nothing to dull the rush of his blood pumping in his ears. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he refocused on her, his eyes full of want. 

“The pollen… it’s mostly gone now,” he managed, his breath nothing more than rhythmic, short pants. “But it’s like it’s under my skin, in my blood. I can feel it everywhere.” He unclenched his fist, watching as the last remnants of the pollen dissipated into the vast pool, now diluted and rendered harmless. “You won’t be affected, but I…” His eyes bore into hers, desperation in his voice as he spoke, “I’m burning for you, (Y/N).”

With a tender smile, she closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. Lucien's breath caught in his throat, her touch igniting sparks beneath his skin. His hands remained steadfast on the large stone submerged beneath the water behind him, as though touching her might shatter what fragile self-control he had left.

"It's okay," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "I've got you."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with exquisite softness. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a stark contrast to the fire raging within him. Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the sensation. Even in the cool water, heat radiated from his skin, and where her lips met his, it felt as though he might combust.

She drew back slightly, placing feather-light kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. Each touch was like a brand, marking him, stoking the flames of his desire. Seeing his hesitation, she gently guided his trembling hands to her waist. The sensation of her bare skin beneath her fingertips sent a shiver through him, and he instinctively bucked his hips against her, a long, deep whine escaping his lips like a plea. The sound shot straight to her core. 

"(Y/N)," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips. 

A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “Not ‘Summer’ anymore? I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name,” she spoke against his neck.

Lucien’s gaze was unfocused, looking at the vines on the other side of the spring, pupils dilated as he struggled to process her words. His breath came in short, ragged pants, and a fine tremor ran through his body. “Forget your name?” he murmured into her ear, his voice hoarse. Each word seemed to cost him great effort, as if speaking required immense concentration. “Darling, it’s the only word my mind can form right now.”

His fingers tightened on her waist, seeking an anchor as the world around him seemed to blur, leaving only her in sharp focus.

The gentleness of her actions was both a balm and a torment. His body screamed for more, for friction, for release from this exquisite agony. Yet he found himself surrendering to her pace, allowing her to lead him through this intoxicating haze. 

She returned to his lips, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Lucien responded with a low moan, the sound vibrating through both of them. The gentle waves of the spring embraced them, their cool touch contrasting with the heat building between them, intensifying every sensation.

Without breaking the kiss, Lucien’s hands tightened on her waist, subtly guiding them towards a shallower part of the water. He felt the solid presence of a smooth, submerged stone beneath him and sank down onto it, pulling her closer. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his, pressing her body against his so deliciously that he couldn’t help it when his hips bucked up hard against hers. She gasped in surprise, the sound mingling with their shared breath.

“I’m sorry, I—” he began, but she silenced him by grinding down onto him, her movements deliberate and slow, a wordless reassurance that sent yet another pulse of need crashing through him. His mind spun, every point of contact between them sent his nerves into a frenzy. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, warm and inviting. He let his hands roam, tracing the curve of her back, feeling the subtle shift of muscles beneath her skin. The way she moved against him, the soft gasps and moans escaping her lips, were a symphony that played directly into the hot coil within him. His hands wandered further, exploring every inch of her, committing the feel of her to memory. He caressed her sides, ran his fingers along the edges of her swimsuit. His touch was gently yet firm, reflecting his reverence for her as well as the uncontrollable hunger that coursed through him. 

But it wasn’t enough. The burning within him grew fiercer with each passing second. He needed more, craved more. The sensation of her grinding against him was driving him to the edge of sanity. It was sweet torture, the ache of unfulfilled need becoming almost unbearable. Lucien’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for more, for release — demanding it. The longing was a physical pain, a fire that consumed him from the inside out. 

“Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and low, a powerful undercurrent of desperation threading through it. “I need more, (Y/N). I can’t take it… I need you.” His eyes locked onto hers, a fierce determination in their depths, even as his words pleaded for relief. His grip tightened on her waist, guiding her movements with urgency and restraint, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. “Please,” he repeated, his voice a pained rasp. 

“You need me?”

A single, tense nod.

She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the same need. “Then take me,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Lucien captured her lips once more, much more hungrily this time, their bodies moving together in the water. Her hands raked over the expanse of his back, nails lightly digging in. She relished the feel of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Every contour and ridge of his body seemed sculpted for her hands alone. The power in his frame, the way he responded to her every touch, sent a thrill through her. Her hands wandered, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, and the tautness of his abdomen. Each caress was deliberate, savoring the sensation of his body and the way it reacted to her. 

Lucien's breath hitched as her hands moved lower, feeling the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the edge of his waistband. Her touch was both curious and confident, a gentle exploration and bold possession. 

With a low groan and little thought, Lucien's hands moved to her bikini top, tugging it up just enough to expose her chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, only taking a moment to admire them before descending upon them, his mouth eagerly finding her exposed skin. He left a collection of red and purple marks across them, and she couldn't help but hum softly at the sensation.

Smiling, she pulled the bikini top the rest of the way off, tossing it to the shoreline. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she remarked, her voice breathless and not nearly as teasing as she’d hoped it’d be.

Lucien looked up at her, his eyes so different than when they’d first encountered each other not an hour prior, a smirk playing at his lips. “Only for you,” he murmured before his mouth returned to her skin, his kisses hungry and possessive, leaving a trail of marks across her chest. He shifted slightly, the water lapping at his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his shoulder, not ceasing the movement of her hips. 

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, concern evident in her voice.

He straightened, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s unbearable. Every touch, every breath…I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.” He swallowed hard and brought her hand to the nape of his neck, leaning into her touch as if it were a lifeline. 

“Are you sure this is helping…? Maybe we could try—”

“(Y/N),” Lucien interrupted, his eyes wild and craving. “Doing anything but this would destroy me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, but I know… I know that I need you. All of you. I need to feel every inch of you against me.” His gaze locked onto hers, pupils dilated. “Your touch,” he choked out, “is both torment and salvation. I crave it like I crave air to breathe.” Lucien’s hands trembled as they moved to her hips, urging her closer. His fingers splayed across her skin, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between them. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the soft lapping of the water.

She shivered against him, not from the water, but from the raw emotion in his voice. She brought her hand from the back of his neck to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. 

“Lucien,” his name on her tongue was so pleasing to his ears. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, lean into her touch.

Her other hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, finally reaching the waistband of the only thing keeping all of him from her. 

“Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over his ear. Her hand traveled further yet, getting ahold of him, cupping him, squeezing him, feeling the size and weight of him.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, muscles taut. A strangled moan escaped from his lips, closing his eyes and rolling his head back. He dug his fingers into her hips, only vaguely aware of the frustrating barrier of her swimsuit. “(Y/N)...” Her touch, her ministrations, it was all so intense. “You’re driving me insane,” he growled.

A low chuckle emanated from her. “Say my name like that again, let me hear it.”

He obliged, her name falling from his lips like a reverent prayer, drawing out each syllable like a sinful plea. 

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Whether it was from his voice or the fact that he was tugging her bottoms off, he had no idea. But the sounds she let out were mouthwatering. He watched as she shuddered and moaned beneath his touch, letting out grunts and curses of his own. “Gods,” he rasped, his voice thick. “You sound so beautiful when you moan for me.”

She squeezed him sinfully at that bit of praise, moaning his name quietly. 

“Please touch me, (Y/N)... It hurts…”

In that moment she caved, both of them lifting up a bit to allow the other to rid them of their last bits of clothing. She tugged him a few times, grip tight and movements long. He rocked into her hand, a string of curses falling from his lips. Normally he wouldn’t unravel so quickly, but with every sensation magnified, he’d be surprised if he lasted another minute. 

“Sweetheart, you have to… Gods, please don’t stop,” he managed to gasp out, his hips rocking eagerly, his face scrunched in concentration. 

She met his gaze, her eyes darkening with desire. Nodding slightly, her breath coming out in puffs, she continued, increasing her pace while he maintained his movements into her hand. Lucien’s breath caught, his muscles tensed as waves of pleasure washed over him. He clung to her desperately, burying his face into the crook of her neck to muffle his increasingly vocal responses. His release coated her hand, but quickly washed away into the water as she continued stroking him through it. She murmured soft encouragements all the while. 

She felt his weight slumped against her, heard his breathing slow, found herself wondering if it had passed. She held him close, running a soothing hand along his back, through the hair and the nape of his neck.

When he finally lifted his head, she was ready to greet him with a warm smile, but where she expected either newfound calm or lingering distress, she found neither. On the contrary, it almost seemed as if their actions amplified his hunger. 

Lucien wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and found himself rutting his hips up, thoughtlessly trying to find her entrance. She gained purchase on a stone behind him, her chest hovering over his face. With a groan, he released one of his arms from around her, using the hand to guide himself. But when his fingers brushed against her and she let out the softest, most helpless whimper he’d heard in his life, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear more from her. He replaced the head of his cock with his fingers, shakily grazing over her folds. 

Her repeated mantra of “oh’s” and “yes’s” goaded him on, and as he dipped his fingers further through them, he slowly thrusted the still-hard length of himself along her cunt. The caress of both on her sensitive skin getting to be too much. “Lucien, why don’t you just—” What bordered on a wail interrupted her words when he let his tip brush against her clit, the first meaningful relief of pressure she’d gotten there all this time. 

“Wanna feel you, wanna make sure you’re alright,” she could hardly recognize his voice, it sounded pained, his words slurred. “Don’t want… to hurt you.” When he went to slip his fingers into her, she pulled them away, moving to seat herself on him.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him she was alright. “I’m helping you, just worry about yourself, okay?” But he shook his head, insisting that he wanted her to feel just as good as he did. “I will. I am.” With that, she lowered herself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Their faces were a mirror of shared ecstasy, expressions soft with contentment. They were entwined — she cradled in his embrace, he sheathed within her warmth. 

Lucien's world had narrowed to this single point in time and space. Any remaining semblance of coherent thought dissolved entirely. The feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the scent of her hair — these were the only realities that existed for him now. Nothing else mattered — not the court, not his duties, not even his own name. There was only her, only this. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he tightened his hold, desperate to remove any open space from between them. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving only base instinct and overwhelming need.

“(Y/N),” he huffed, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t… I need…”

Words failed him, but his body spoke volumes. Trembling muscles, racing pulse, sharp breaths. He was a male consumed. Lucien heard her voice distantly. 

“It’s okay… Take what you need, Lucien.”

As she pulled herself up, something primal awakened in him. Lucien drove his hips up into her and moved with fervent intensity, his actions far beyond conscious control. Every fiber of his being sang with pleasure, drowning out all else. Nothing beyond this moment.

He was dimly aware of sounds escaping him — groans, gasps, fragmented words of reverence. There was only feeling, only her, only them. 

The spring water surged around them, disturbed by the frenzied movements of their bodies. Each trust was relentless, powerful, driven by an urgent need. Lucien’s hands guided her by the hips with a force that left no room for gentleness.

He groaned her name, told her he needed more of her. He didn’t know how it would be possible, in this moment she was his everything. 

Her responses were lost in a series of breathless moans and gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to match his relentless rhythm. “Lucien… don’t stop… please…”

The words spurred him on, his pace now frantic. His eyes bore into hers. Every thrust, every movement, was a raw expression of his need, amplified by the pollen’s effects coursing through his veins.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. She clung to him, feeling the intensity of his desire in each powerful motion. The friction and pressure were overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her body responded to his instinctually, her moans and cries echoing through the trees around them.

“So… damn good… So tight,” he groaned into her.

She gasped, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rode him, rode the pleasure coursing through her. “Lucien… oh gods… you’re so deep, I can’t,” she buried her face into the crook of his neck. All she saw was the tanned color of his skin, the golden red of his hair, and smelled the earthy scent of cedar and fresh rain, mingling with the faintest hint of smoke and spice.

He shook his head. “Don’t hold back… Let me hear you. Tell me—fuck—tell me how good it feels.”

Her voice came out in broken gasps, each word punctuated by a moan. “It’s… so good… you’re so good... I can't... I need…”

Lucien's lips found her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before he sucked hard, leaving a mark. "Need what, darling? I want to hear you say it."

"Need you... need you to make me come," she confessed, her voice trembling with need. "Please, Lucien... I’m so close."

He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. "Anything for you, love." His mouth trailed down to her chest, his lips closing around one of her nipples. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. "Lucien... yes, just like that... don't stop..."

His free hand snaked between their bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. He rubbed in firm, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The combined sensations of his mouth on her nipple, his fingers on her clit, and the relentless drive of his hips were too much.

Her body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she teetered on the edge of release. Lucien bit down gently on her nipple, the sudden spike of pain mingling with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing her over the edge. She shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that left her breathless and trembling.

Lucien didn’t slow, riding out her climax, his own release following swiftly. With a final, powerful thrust, he let out a primal roar, spilling into her with a force that made stars dance behind his eyelids.

For a moment, they were locked together, their breaths harsh and mingled, hearts racing in unison. Slowly, as the intensity of their climaxes began to fade, they slumped into the water, still entwined, the spring's cool embrace a stark contrast to the heat of their encounter.

Lucien pressed his forehead against hers, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Are you... alright?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse with lingering desire and concern.

She nodded weakly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "More than alright," she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "That was... incredible."

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through both of them. 

She lifted her head slightly, looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling now?"

Lucien took a deep breath, still holding her close. "I still feel it," he admitted, his voice softer now, more controlled. "But it's much more manageable.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I was worried for a moment there."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his eyes softening. "You were amazing," he whispered. 

They lingered in the water for a few more moments, their breaths slowly returning to normal. But the connection between them, the raw need, was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

And then Lucien moved again, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "But I think," he said, his voice taking on that rough, hungry edge once more, "that we have a bit more to take care of."

She shivered in anticipation, her own desire flaring up once again. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

His answer was a low growl as he shifted their positions, lifting her up and guiding her onto a nearby rock. He took her again there, their bodies moving together with a renewed intensity. Then, he turned her around, bending her over it, her cries echoing through the spring as he thrust into her from behind.

They moved to the water's edge next, Lucien pulling her onto his lap as he sat on a submerged boulder. She rode him hard, the water splashing around them as their movements grew more frantic.

Later, he laid her down on a bed of soft moss, hovering over her as he entered her again. The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one pushing them both closer to the edge once more.

And when they finally left the spring, sated but still hungry for each other, Lucien carried her back to his chambers. He laid her on his bed, driven by a deeper need, something more enduring. There, in the privacy of his room, he took her yet again, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and connection, free from any enchantments, driven only by their desire for each other.

[ladyddanger]

thinking about the events of the dsmp hundreds of years later being just a bunch of stories.

In a village nestled between tall pines children play Manberg Vs Pogtopia, the names of nations and reasons for war long forgotten as they hit each other with sticks and tackle their friends to warm summer grass.

When their mothers tuck them in that night they tell them stories of a snowy wasteland, so ancient it still holds the scars of long wars forgotten. They tell them of the wasteland’s inhabitant, the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. His name is lost to history but warriors still pray to him on the eve of battle and tie ravens feathers in their hair in his honor.

If the children misbehaved that day their mothers tell them a different story, one of a masked man who steals bad children and drowns them in the sea.

There’s a crater a few miles east of the village in the middle of the marshlands up by a glittering ocean. The crater is so deep that you can throw rocks off the edge and never hear them hit the bottom. Legend says that once upon a time the goddess of death had a son who walked this earth and when he died in her rage and grief she tore into the city that once stood there with her bare hands and ripped it from the earth leaving nothing but a crater behind.

On long sunny evenings in the inns that dot the coastline bards tell stories of a cursed city of gold and glass buried in the heart of a desert where it snows. They whisper the city is full of riches but nobody who looks for it ever comes back.

On stormy nights the Bards tell a different story, a story of a town that sits over a slumbering god. Strange things happen there. Red vines sport up over night. If you listen closely, the people say you can hear them talk. Everyone there has red eyes and cold cold hands.

If you start at dawn and ride in the opposite direction of the carter you can reach the vault before nightfall. The locals claim it used to hold a faceless god guarded by a king but time has weathered the vault’s defenses and the towns children dare each other inside its walls, running though the tight passages.

An old fairytale says if you follow a small barely visible path from the doors of a vault beyond you’ll reach a forest full of trees so overgrown they block the sun. The fairytale says if you walk to the heart of the forrest there’s a prince sleeping there, nestled in the flowers and weeds. The fairytale says his true love and his knights are long dead. The fairytale says he dreams the whole world in existence. The fairytale says a lot of things but nobody really believes it.

[andreawritesit]

can i request cregan and targ reader where he gets her a wolf and its all sweet and stuff ❤️

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen Reader

Synopsis: You had been living in the North for quite a while now but nothing felt quite as welcoming as receiving a warm bundle of joy as a present.

It was not morning yet. Or perhaps it was. Wrapped in the dark grey clouds, the sun often played hide and seek in the Northern skies. It was difficult to tell what time of the day it was. You got out of bed and immediately, the sudden chill enveloped your entire body, down to your bones. Quickly grabbing the fur blanket from the bed, you wrapped it tightly around yourself. The cold was your worst enemy, your soul was forged out of fire after all. Even after an entire month, you still couldn't understand why your mother would betroth you to a Northern lord. You were the same girl on the side of whose bed she had spent countless nights awake. As soon as the weather became colder, you'd catch a fever. Throughout your childhood and even now, in your adolescent years, Rhaenyra has been on her toes constantly because of how the cold affected you. And yet she had sent you to marry Lord Cregan Stark. Why? That's not to say that your betrothed wasn't the most respectable man you had ever met. Cregan was cold and stoic as Northerners tend to be, but he was also honorable and extremely kind to you. As soon as you had arrived at Winterfell on dragonback, he had done all he could to make sure you were comfortable. He made sure you got plenty of warm clothes and furs and despite being the lord of Winterfell, he came to your chambers every day to see if you needed anything.

You had both decided that you would marry only after the war was over. He didn't want to tie you to himself knowing very well that he could die in the war and leave you by yourself. And you didn't want to marry him so soon either because you still wanted to partake in your mother's efforts to get her throne back from the usurpers.

You walked to the window and looked outside. Everything was covered in pristine white snow. It was so different from Dragonstone and Kings Landing. Instead of the hustle and bustle of the South, there was a calming silence in the North. Soon enough, the sun's rays began to pierce through the dense clouds, casting a golden hue over the snow-covered landscape. You couldn't help but smile at the view outside. The tranquility was suddenly broken by a soft knock at the door.

"Come in", you called, walking away from the window.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing the Lord of Winterfell. His tall and imposing figure was contrasted by a warm smile on his face, a sight you had come to cherish over the past month.

"Good morning Princess. I hope I didn't disturb your rest."

You shook your head, "Not at all, my Lord. I was already up." Your eyes went to a bundle of blankets in his arms. "What brings you here so early?"

Cregan's smile widened as he walked to where you were standing. "I come bearing a gift for you, my Princess." He stepped closer, revealing a small, furry creature nestled in the crook of his arm. "I hope this will make your stay here easier. He's a wonderful companion." He removed the top blanket a little and a small head peeked out.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "A dire wolf pup?" you breathed out as you reached to gently stroke his fur. "He's so precious and small."

"One of the she-wolves gave birth to many pups this morning. When I saw this one, I knew I had to give him to you." The dire wolf pup, with its striking blue eyes and white fur, nuzzled into your touch, eliciting a soft laugh out of you. "Here, hold him", Cregan whispered as he softly passed the pup into your arms. You cradled him close and looked up at Cregan, your heart swelling with affection.

"Thank you. He's perfect."

"Much like you", he said while stroking the pup's head gently.

"Is that why you brought him to me? Because he's perfect like me? Or was there any other reason?"

Cregan let out a small chuckle at your words. "It's one of many reasons I decided to gift this one to you. You see, just minutes after being born, he was already jumping around and causing mayhem in the yard. Reminded me of you and your dragon quite a lot."

You punched his arm lightly and a laugh left your lips. The pup nuzzled your neck and you couldn't help but giggle. Cregan's gaze softened as he watched you bond with the dire wolf. "He's strong and brave, much like you," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "I thought he could be a symbol of the North's acceptance of you."

You felt a rush of gratitude and warmth, not just from the direwolf but from Cregan's thoughtful gesture. He had once again won you over, something that had happened quite a few times already.

"I know it's not easy for you to settle down here in the North. But I'm grateful that you're trying and I promise you, I will take care of you. I will make sure you won't have to miss the warmth of your home. Winterfell will be your abode one day and I hope I will become your family, someone you'll be able to trust and perhaps even love one day."

You shifted the pup into your right arm and held Cregan's hand with your left hand. "You have no idea how much you have already done for me. When I first came here, I was a scared little girl who was being separated from her family but now I feel like I was always meant to be here, with you. I can assure you that I will also do everything I can to be there for you. I am ready, to accept Winterfell as my home and you as my husband."

Cregan's expression softened, and he squeezed your hand lightly. "I'm glad to hear that," he said sincerely. "I'm glad you came here."

"Me too."

Suddenly, the pup stirred, letting out a small, contented yawn. You and Cregan both laughed softly. The moment was broken but no less sweet. "I suppose he's tired", Cregan whispered as he covered the pup with a small blanket.

"Have you named him yet, my Lord?"

He shook his head, "No. He's your companion. You should name him."

You took a long look at the white fluffy ball of fur in your arms. "I'll name him Winter," you decided, looking up at Cregan with a smile. "To remind me of the kindness and strength of the North."

"Winter it is, then," he said. "May he bring you joy and protect you always."

Your heart swelled with emotion as you held Winter close. "He already has," you replied, your gaze locked with Cregan's. "Thank you, Cregan."

In that moment, the chill of the North transformed into the warmth of new companionship and a realization that perhaps your feelings for the Northern Lord had evolved into something deeper.

[velvettte]

series masterlist

nanami kento never called himself a bored man.

sure, he’d admit, his normal routine had gotten quite monotonous. every morning he’d rise at six a.m and go for a morning jog to collect his thoughts. he’d get back by seven to shower and wear his attire for the day — always some suit that he’d preplanned for the week, matched with his signature tie.

he’d make the commute to the office by eight, where he’s accompanied by his assistants and secretaries all greeting him a good morning and giving him his agenda for the day. he’d get into his private office and seclude himself, working for the entire day before returning home again.

nanami thinks he’s had the most boring day yet so far, that is, until you stumble into his office just as he’s about to leave.

you’re shivering, soaked from the rain, and your clothes stick to your skin. he can see every part of your silhouette in this dim light, and for a moment, he’s speechless.

“hello,” you say almost shyly, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “i’m so sorry for the intrusion but it’s pouring outside. do you know anywhere i could find a ride? or wait this out.”

almost cinematically, a thunderbolt ripples through the air, rain splattering against the glass paned windows.

you shiver a bit, and nanami has a sudden urge to cover you somehow.

you’re the most angelic person he’s ever seen, he decides, when the light hits your face just right. he sees your features, defined and perfect, accompanied with lips so plush, he’s unsure how anyone could ever resist.

“i could offer you one,” he says, taking off his blazer and draping it over your shoulders. “my car is just outside. it would be an honor to accompany you home.”

“thank you,” you beam, and his heart palpitates at how your smile brightens the whole place.

the two of you walk together, with him opening the door of his car to allow you inside.

he takes the turn out of the office building and turns to face you, bathed in city lights and looking ethereal. he feels lucky— his day wasn’t boring anymore.

“just another two rights,” you say, soaking in the warm air from his car. “my apartment should be around here.”

he follows your instructions, only to be led to a luxurious establishment. outside the plants were beautifully manicured, holding up despite the harsh weather.

“eden apartments,” he says, slightly in awe when you grin at him. “isn’t this where atlantis solution’s ceo lives?”

you smile even more, and he catches the slightest flush on your cheeks. “ah…that would be me.”

his heart nearly stops.

“well. thank you for the ride mr. nanami,” you say, and he wonders if this ride was a strategy or genuine interest. “i’m indebted to you. i look forward to seeing you all dry tomorrow.”

with that you wink and grin, walking into your apartments and leaving him there, a surprised man.

read part two

feedback is so appreciated!! send an ask or comment to be a part of the taglist <3

[imaginestuffs]

phases- Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Word count:3,721

Warnings: language, angst, fluff

Summary: Reader thinks over moments in her relationship with Tyler. All the good, and of course the bad.

A/N: I don't usually put an author's note, but I thought I should this time. This isn't my best writing honestly. I wrote this on my phone on a long drive. It all just kind of spilled out of my brain, and I liked it, but it's kind of all over the place. So, if you're willing to ignore some flaws, and bear with me I thank you!

(gif not mine)

You never knew what it meant to love and be loved; by the one person you had waited for your whole life. 

The moment you met Tyler your life changed, your perspective was altered, so much so that you couldn't remember what it was before him. 

Every shade of sky, every mood, you had experienced with him—frustration, fury, embarrassment, love, admiration, and best of all acceptance. 

Through him, came your found family. The group of people you had the pride and honor of knowing and loving. Just being with them gave you a sense of freedom, respect for the unknown, and an acceptance of what's to come. No matter the difficulty you'd have them to pull you through. 

Before you met Tyler, you feared the storms, it didn't matter how many you weathered. The chance they could take everything from you in seconds was terrifying to you. 

He held you through the night. being your shelter for as many storms that made you tremble, and grip him tighter than you ever had. 

---

Your fear of storms originated when you were a little girl. You could remember the sirens going off and having to hide in your basement. You weren't able to get outside in time to get to the shelter. So your father rushed you into the basement. it was completely dark as your father guided you to the pipes he knew were in the corner of the pitch-black room. 

He instructed you to wrap your arms around them, and no matter what happened not to let go. 

You weren’t sure how long you were down there. But every slam against the house rang in your ears. Each creak of the foundation caused a jolt of fear to course through you. 

You could hear the raging wind decimating everything in its path. You knew that so much that you loved would be swept away. The town you grew up in would be devastated, it would never be the same. 

When everything went completely still, no wind could be heard, and all things seemed to have stood still, your father gently pried your hands from the piping. 

Your hands shook from how hard your grip was. Even now, they still shake during storms.

You hadn’t told Tyler about what happened when you were a little girl. Thinking that if a storm came you would cover up your fear. He had told you that he was a storm chaser but you hadn’t gone on any chases with him. So he was never around for storms. 

But it seemed that wouldn’t be the case for this one. You saw the dark clouds looming in the distance and the air smelt of rain. You just knew there was no avoiding this. You’d just have to do your best to hide your fear. 

Tyler walked into the kitchen and saw you looking out the window. He padded across the floor to wrap his arms around your waist. 

You felt his arms twist around you and jumped. You heard Tyler chuckle and felt him press a kiss on your cheek. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you heard the smile in his voice. You forced a soft giggle and placed your hand over his. 

He could tell that something wasn’t right, there was no quip or witty response to him. You were tense, and he felt your hands shaking. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Tyler's breath warmed your cheek as he spoke to you. 

Your heart began to race, “Nothing. I’m-uh-I’m just fine. Are you excited for the storm?” you turn in his arms to face him. 

You reached your hands up to play with his hair and you felt the slightest bit of relief as he looked at you so softly. Yet you couldn’t stop the tremble in your hands. His hand moved a strand of hair from your face as he studied your behavior. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that right?” his hand rested against your face and you leaned into his touch. You nodded at him, “I know Ty,” you assured him with a kiss on his palm. 

The first clap of thunder sounded and you yelped, your hands covered your face and you slightly shook. The sky sounded off again and instead of sliding to the floor, Tyler pulled you close. 

“C’mon (y/n), let's get to bed now huh?” his voice was calm. 

“You’re not mad at me?” Tyler could hear the nerves in the way you spoke. 

He took your chin between his pointer finger and thumb gently having you look at him. “I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you,” he nudged your nose with his. You smiled weakly, and he guided you up the stairs and to your bedroom. 

His shirt lay discarded on the floor along with your sweats. He knew you hated wearing too much to bed. You had always said it made you feel too closed in. So there you were lying next to him in one of his shirts and your favorite polka-dot underwear. 

He allowed you to wrap yourself around him and promised that he would show you there was nothing to be scared of when he was there.

The thunder rolled and lightning struck. Rain pelted the roof and windows. The wind blew and whistled through the old oak outside your window. 

Each boom caused you to shake. Every gust of wind and blinding flash, had your heart pounding against your ribs. 

But there he was, secure, steady, and warm. Whispering assurances in the dark. Holding you close, unwavering. 

Your face buried in the crook of his neck, and his hand warm and rough against your back. 

His lips soft against your hairline, "I've got you, sweetheart. Nothing's gonna hurt you." He breathed out. 

A particularly strong gust of wind rattled the window. You let out a cry and wrapped yourself around Tyler. 

He felt warm tears drip on his skin. He lightly tugged you away so he could see your face.

"Please don't, please don't let go," your voice broke. His heart ached at your plea. 

"I'm not going anywhere. Look at me," he said. Softly brushing a piece of hair from your face. 

You didn't budge. "(Y/n), baby, look at me. You've got nothing to be afraid of," he said and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

He gently did his best to coax you out of your hiding spot. 

"C'mon sweet girl, I've got you," he reminded you. Slowly but surely you shifted so you could look at him. 

He saw the tear stains on your cheeks and the fear in your (e/c) eyes. His gaze softened, and he leaned forward to kiss your red nose. 

"I'm sorry Ty," he heard your uneven breathing. 

He placed his hand on your cheek and rested his forehead against yours. His lips were just a whisper away. He placed a messy kiss on your mouth. Your breath hitched at the soft gesture. 

"You have no reason to be sorry," he mumbled before he pulled you back in for a real kiss. 

Albeit short, it was enough.

---

Now after 2 years of being with him, your fears lessened. Still, there were times you got scared, but with his hand in yours you never felt safer. Even when you weren't in the truck with Tyler. Dexter and Dani would have an arm around your shoulder. They knew watching the live streams made you nervous. 

You’d always cheer and celebrate but once the sky cleared you let out the breath you were holding.

---

You stood next to Dani who had their arm secure around your shoulders. 

You saw Tyler, Boone, and Lily getting closer to the oncoming storm. The sight was still as unbelievable as it was when you first saw it. 

Looming dangerously close to the people you loved. Even so, the smiles on their faces, and how they shouted in excitement spoke volumes. Eyes wide with a sense of wonderment. 

The all too familiar fearlessness etched on your boyfriend's face. It brought a smile to your face. 

As they anchored the truck into the ground, your heart raced. You shouted along with Dani and Dexter. You heard the fans around you cheer too as they shot fireworks up into the funnel. 

You watched as the sun came back into view, and they jumped out of the truck. You let out a sigh of relief. 

"Woo! Did you see that?!" Boone shouted and you laughed. Dani laughed out loud and picked you up in excitement. You held on tight to them and laughed as well. 

"She was gorgeous!" Tyler shouted. "Just like you babe!" He pointed at the camera and you knew he was talking to you. 

You blushed and smiled. 

As soon as the group reunited, you leaped from the RV. 

"Tyler!" You shouted as he stepped out of the truck. 

He quickly turned toward you with a huge smile. "Hey, baby!" He held his arms open and let you run into them. 

What he didn't expect was you to jump into his arms. He caught you and laughed, your face was buried in his shoulder and he placed a kiss on your neck. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, he held you up underneath your thighs. You looked at him with a big smile, that mirrored his. 

He set you on the tailgate, before bending down and pressing his lips to yours. One hand traveled to your hip, the other hitched your thigh higher over his hip. Your slender fingers ran through his hair, gently tugging at the strands. Your thumb affectionately stroked his cheek.

A low whistle sounded behind you and you smiled against Tyler's lips. 

"We know it was a good chase but damn, didn't think you would be that excited." Dani teased. 

You giggled and hid your face in his chest. He looked down at you in adoration. He let you go and helped you hop down from the bed of his truck. 

The group looked at the two of you knowingly. Boone winked at Tyler who rolled his eyes. 

"Use protection!" Lily shouted as you pulled Tyler up the staircase, and to your room for the night. 

---

Sometimes things got rough. For a brief moment in time, you felt forgotten. Forgotten by the one person you never thought would forget you. 

You thought it was over.

---

Tyler woke you up one morning. He was already dressed and ready to head out the door. 

"Where are you going T?" You asked in confusion. Trying to rub the sleep from your eyes. 

Tyler looked over at you with a sad smile. 

"What's wrong?" Your voice had grown concerned. 

"I'm going to check on Kate. She left in a hurry, and I'm worried about her." He said and fiddled with the arcade ring on his finger. 

Your brows furrowed together, "what?" Your voice was softer than usual. 

He shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face. 

"She went through hell last night. Dexter remembered her name from the paper a few years ago. I'm going to see if she's ok," he sighed.

"Alone?" Wondered aloud. He shifted his weight. "Were you even going to tell me? Or were you just gonna leave?" Your voice shook.

"I was gonna leave a note..." he trailed off and cringed at how shitty that sounded. 

"Fine, go." You said and pointed at the door. 

You did your best to hold back your tears, of both frustration and hurt. 

He tried to take a step toward the bed but you pushed yourself further back. 

"Baby, please understand, she needs someone right now," 

You huffed and shook your head. "Right, then leave. It's not like anyone here needs you," you mumbled. 

He watched as you stepped past him and walked into the bathroom. The door wasn't slammed shut but closed softly in a way only you did when you were hurt. 

Tyler stepped up to the door and placed his hand against it. "I love you (Y/n)," he said. 

With no response from you, he walked out the door. 

Having heard the door shut you let a few tears fall. You didn't want the team to see how upset you were so you pulled it together. 

You slipped into your jeans and a tank top before heading out the door. 

The door shut behind you, and before walking down the stairs to greet everyone you plastered on a smile. 

"You guys ready to chase some storms?!" You called down the stairs. The group turned to face you and they all whooped as you jumped the last few steps. 

You ran over to them and asked if there were any possible storms. 

As soon as you asked Dexter shouted. "I've got one! This cell to the east is looking strong, we gotta go!" 

You all piled in the RV as best as you could. It was nowhere near comfortable but it would have to do. 

Staring at the sky turning gray, and the horizon being blurred by the tornado picking up speed. The thought of Tyler running off to comfort a girl he barely knew, was eating away at you. 

Despite not being able to drive straight into it Liliy's drone picked up all you needed to see.

You wanted to jump out of the RV, let the wind whip your hair and the rain lash your face. You wanted to scream until you couldn't anymore, but if you did your friends would surely know that there's something wrong. 

You stayed silent as the tornado dissipated. 

It had been 2 days since you had seen or heard from Tyler. You had put on the performance of a lifetime. Each time Boone or Lily asked about Tyler, you just told them that everything was fine. You acted as if it was no big deal, and continued to smile.

"Tyler! Man, where have you been?" Boone cried down the phone. Your head turned to see him on the phone. 

"Wait, wait. Kate did what?" Boone questioned in confusion. He went silent as Tyler spoke to him. 

"Where do you want to meet?" Boone listened to his friend's instructions. 

He called everyone over and explained what was going on before rallying you all into the RV. 

Everyone chatted about Kate's plan, and you chose to stay silent. You didn't have much to say. All you thought about was Tyler, staying with her for 2 days. Her riding shotgun while they chased a tornado. 

They hugged and celebrated the rush of adrenaline after the storm passed. 

Before you knew it you arrived at the place he told you to meet him. 

Everyone exited the vehicle and went to greet Tyler. You stepped out of the RV and made your way over to the group. 

Tyler saw you hanging back and smiled softly trying to break the tension. 

"Hey Sweetheart," he said and opened his arms hoping you'd run to hug him. He knew he had messed up the second he reached Kate's house. 

He didn't know why it took him so long to realize the actual damage he had done to you. But he couldn't have turned back then. It was too late, you were already hurt. 

You sent him a curt nod before Kate came walking toward you. 

"Finally ditched the losers huh Kate?" Boone grinned at her and she smiled. 

The rest of the team greeted her with smiles and open arms. She looked over at you and tried to send a smile your way. 

You weren't a terrible person so you, just like you did with Tyler, gave her a curt nod. 

You listened as she and Tyler explained their plan to you all. You understood, and couldn't lie that you were impressed. But it didn't hurt any less when he smiled at her excitement.

Seeing her work so easily with everyone made you insecure. It took you a while to settle in when you met everyone but with her, it seemed like they had known each other for years. 

You leaned against the back of the RV as you tried to get a moment for yourself. 

You didn't hear his footsteps until they were right next to you. 

You looked away from him and did your best to not let your emotions get the best of you.

His shoulder bumped yours as he leaned back. His hand brushed yours and your heart jolted. 

"(Y/n), will you look at me?" His voice was soft. 

"Why?" You shrugged still avoiding his gaze. 

"Because I want to talk to you. I need to hear your voice," it came out almost as a plea. 

“If you wanted to hear my voice, you should’ve called. You should have stayed,” you refused to look at him.

“I know, I messed up. I was an asshole and I-I” he didn’t know what to say.

The sound of his voice made your stomach turn. "Please," he tried one last time.

You reluctantly turned to look at him. The man you loved. 

He could see the dark circles under your eyes and you looked like you hadn't truly rested in days. His heart lurched at the thought of this being his doing. 

"Baby..." his eyes filled with concern as he reached up to place a hand on your cheek. You stopped his hand before it reached your face. 

"Now you care?" Your voice was harsh. He could see the hurt and frustration in your tired eyes. 

"What do you mean, "now"?" He narrowed his eyes at you. 

You rolled your eyes and laughed bitterly. 

"You were going to leave me in our motel room, with a note telling me that you went to be with a girl you hardly knew because she needed you. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You went radio silent for 2 days." You barked. 

You threw your hands up, and he began to speak up. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I admit what I did was stupid, but look where we are now. We can help, we can make a difference!" He raised his voice. 

"I guess you found your match huh? Someone as smart as you. Not some girl who doesn't always understand what you're talking about. You found someone to make a difference with. You don't need a stand-in for the right person anymore." You didn't mean for your voice to waver at the end, but you couldn't help it. 

His eyes widened, and you could see what you said hurt him. 

"That's really what you think? You think you're a stand-in, you're just temporary?" His heart broke.

Tears threatened to fall, as you looked at him. 

"That's exactly what I think. You've acted differently ever since you met Kate, and now I realize that you found the one you really want." You stated.

He threw his hands up and ran them through his hair in frustration. 

"You're crazy, you're actually crazy." He looked at you in shock. Shocked that you believed he thought of you as a placeholder while he waited for “someone better”. 

His words broke the dam of tears you'd held in since the moment he left. 

He saw tears pour down your cheeks and grabbed you to pull you close. His arms were wound around you tightly and no matter how much you tried to push him away. No matter how much you struggled he held you.

"Let me go, Tyler!" You cried but he didn't let go. "I'm not letting you go." He stated.

"I love you." He said and looked down at you. Your face was wet with tears, and he could see how much he hurt you. But with his words you let yourself fall against his chest. Your tears soaked his shirt, and you clung to him. You didn’t know how much you needed to hear that until now. After feeling second best since Kate showed up, all you needed to hear was that he loved you. Just you.

He pressed his lips to your head. "God, I love you so much, Sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I love you," he whispered in your ear. He felt your frame shake in his hold, and he didn't know if it was possible to hold you any closer. 

You pulled back and looked up at him to see tears in his eyes. 

"You're so fucking stupid Tyler Owens. I should hate you, but I just can't," you said and pulled him down to kiss you. His hands immediately found your waist. 

He kissed you as if his life depended on it. Like you were the only thing he needed to live.

Your hands touched him anywhere they could. Wanting to memorize every part of him. 

He gripped your hips, ran his hands under your shirt, and traced every inch of your skin. Grabbing at the flesh of your waist. Doing anything he could to commit your body to his memory. His lips wandered to your cheek and left a trail along the column of your throat. He savored every sound, every sigh, every whisper of his name. 

The slam of a car door snapped you back to reality. He pulled away from you, with a soft smirk on his lips. You knew you must have been a sight. 

"Help me?" You asked him. He knew what you meant, and immediately ran his hands through your hair, as you wiped your cheeks.

He fixed the collar of your shirt and smiled before leaning down once more to kiss your plush lips.

"You still have a lot of making up to do," you pointed at him. 

"I'll do anything for you," sincerity dripped from his words. 

"Alright, love birds. We get you made up but we have to go!" Boone yelled. 

You chuckled as you ran towards the truck. Tyler helped you in, kissed your hand, and rounded the truck to get in the driver's seat.

---

Things after that day had changed drastically. Tyler had done everything he could to gain your trust back. 

He took a week off from chasing to stay home with you.

The time was spent tangled in sheets. It was spent in sundresses having a picnic in the field by your house. It was spent falling in love all over again.

---

-Hope you liked it alright! thanks for reading if you made it this far! <3

[wholoveseggs]

hi! ik youve done smth similar to this but i'd like to request like an enemy-to-lover elijahxreader with him just being an asshole. with eventual smut and teasing. ty!

The Gardener {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

The relationship between witches and vampires has always been fraught with complexity— a toxic mix of power and revenge. Raised to preserve nature’s balance, you’ve been taught that vampires are a perversion of life itself. You have a duty and a purpose, to eliminate all vampires. You're willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill it, even if that means falling into bed with the enemy.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon! This is a story I've wanted to tell for a while, I hope y'all enjoy it...♡♡

3.7k words - Warnings: no smut in this one, but lots of drama, angst, violence and deception... reader is a bit of a fanatic, witches, magic, murder && vervain...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

{Elijah Mikaelson Tag-List }

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

You wiped the sweat off your brow before picking up another bag of soil. Entering through the front gates of the compound, you dropped the bag next to the others and paused to catch your breath. You took a few more steps down the hall, entering a lavishly decorated courtyard. You had always been curious about what the compound looked like on the inside; you were not disappointed. Beautiful ivy laced up the old walls, spanning over arched balconies and expensive antique furniture was thoughtfully placed throughout. It was cozy, fantastical, and a little medieval; the only hint of modernity was string lights artfully hanging about.

It was easy to get swept up in the beauty of the place, so you had to remind yourself of all the evil the people that lived here had done. It was a sobering thought and you felt a surge of righteous anger. Your mind raced back to the countless people who had been hurt by these monsters. The innocent lives lost.

The ancestors had bestowed a glorious mission upon you and you were honored to be chosen. To take down one of the oldest and most powerful families of vampires was no small feat. It was not something you took lightly.

You returned to your task and carried on with your work. Gathering your tools from your car and retrieving the last bag of soil from the trunk. It was all very heavy, and the warm Louisiana weather was making you thirsty. You lugged the remaining supplies back inside the gate, dropping them down into a pile. Letting out a relieved sigh, you leaned against the wall and took a long sip from your water bottle, then another, then a third one to finally quench your thirst. You pooled a bit more of the water into your hands and splashed it on your warm face.

"Can I fetch you a wheelbarrow?" said a smooth voice from across the courtyard.

You spun around to find an amused looking gentleman, dressed in a three-piece suit. The infamous Elijah Mikaelson. He was not exactly what you had imagined, though it wasn't entirely surprising. A good predator hides behind a pleasing facade.

He was attractive, that was certain and he had the sort of charisma that could disarm you. He was smiling, his eyes dark and intense, like he could see right through to your skin and bones.

You put on your best smile, trying to be friendly and non-threatening. "Yes, that would be very helpful, thank you," you said breathlessly, wiping the water and sweat from your face.

He nodded and disappeared down the hall. You watched him go, admiring his handsome features as he left. You had a good feeling about this, he could be your way in.

You stepped further into the center of the courtyard, straining your neck trying to get a look at the opulent rooms beyond the second-floor balconies. What you were looking for was probably up there somewhere, just waiting for you to take it.

Elijah returned, pushing a large wheelbarrow before him.

"Thank you," you said, as he handed it off to you.

"It's nothing," he replied with a soft smile.

"Are you Klaus? I'm the one you hired to plant your garden," you replied politely, extending your hand. You needed to play the part of the naive gardener, clueless to who and what he was.

He chuckled, glancing at the bags of soil piled at the entrance. "No, I'm not Niklaus, but I did deduce what you were here for. My name is Elijah; Niklaus is my brother," he took your hand and shook it gently.

You knew exactly who he was, practically learning his name not long after you learned your own. He was the poised one, the liar, the deceiver. You had been taught to be wary of him, for his soft words and empty promises always led to death.

You didn't let any of this show, smiling back at him and saying, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Elijah."

It was a simple performance, all you needed to do was maintain it, add a bit of sincerity to your mannerisms. You pretended to be flustered by his charm, reaching up and twiddling the piece of verbena you had braided into your hair.

"So do you two own this place? It's beautiful," you remarked, looking up once again at the stunning architecture. "The ivy is incredible."

"Thank you; it's been in our family for years. Would you like a tour of the place?" He said, his eyes on your twiddling hand. You immediately put your arm down.

"I would love to, but I promised your brother I would finish setting everything up before the end of the day," you replied, pointing to the pile of supplies.

"It's quite alright, I will help you."

"Oh no, it's okay, I can manage-"

"Please," he said, his brown eyes looking deeply into yours.

This almost felt too easy, a part of you was suspicious, but you couldn't deny the thrill of playing the game. If you could win the favor of a Mikaelson, it would certainly help your cause.

"Alright," you replied with a nod. "Could you show me to your greenhouse?"

"Of course, follow me," he replied, walking ahead.

You picked up your bag of fertilizer and began the task of wheeling the heavy materials across the courtyard. Elijah glanced back at you with a concerned look on his face.

"Let me," he offered.

"That's alright, I've got it," you said, pushing the wheelbarrow with a grunt.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the matter further. He led the way towards the back of the estate, opening the doors for you. He had a way about him, a posture and stride of a man who had the confidence to do anything.

Because he wasn't a man, but a beast, and the world was his prey. You had to remind yourself not to be intimidated, even if it was difficult. You had trained for this, prepared yourself to face the most vile of creatures.

The greenhouse was large, with old, wooden tables full of tools and gardening supplies. The sunlight shone through the glass, illuminating the rows and rows of empty flower beds. You smiled, admiring the beauty of the space. It was the perfect place to create, to nurture life. The irony of it being located at the center of the den of death made you laugh.

Elijah gave you a curious look. "Is something funny?"

"It's nothing," you replied. "I'm just excited to get started. The weather is perfect."

He raised an eyebrow, looking a bit skeptical, his eyes traveling down your body, taking in your appearance. You looked a bit eccentric, with a pair of overalls covered in colorful patches and flowers braided into your hair. It was all a part of the persona, an act, and it worked. He relaxed his stance and gave you a smile, then he took the wheelbarrow from your hands and unloaded the soil with ease.

"You didn't have to do that. If you keep helping me like this, I might have to pay you and not the other way around," you joked, setting down your bag of tools on the workbench across from the door.

He smiled, taking a step back and raising his hands playfully in mock surrender. He leaned against the door frame, surveying you as you unpacked your things. "How long have you been a gardener?" He asked.

"I've been doing this professionally since I was eighteen, but I've loved it my whole life," you replied honestly, setting the seeds you had brought with you on the table. "I own a shop not far from here."

He nodded, glancing at the bags of fertilizer and plants, then back at you. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Of course. What's not to enjoy? Being able to create something beautiful, nurturing it, watching it grow. I love it."

You were being sincere and honest this time, no need to change everything about yourself. He studied you carefully, then made his way towards you, pulling out his handkerchief and gesturing for you to take it. "You have some soil on your forehead."

You blushed, taking the fabric and cleaning yourself; that was entirely on accident, but it was working well for your act. "Hazards of the job," you said, giving him a sweet smile and handing it back to him.

He smirked, sliding the used handkerchief into his pocket with a practiced grace. "It's no problem at all; I'll leave you to your work," he moved to leave when he suddenly paused and turned back to face you. "I don't mean to be impolite, but what do you have in your hair?"

"What?" You replied, feeling the side of your head where your hair was braided. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but it was important to feign innocence. "Oh, it's verbena, one of the plants your brother asked me to grow," you pulled the flower out of your hair and twirled it between your fingers. "It's an herb, and it smells nice, too," you lifted the blossom towards him.

He didn't make any move to take it from you, and you knew exactly why. Verbena was known for repelling vampires, you had braided the sprigs into your hair and woven it into the band of your hat. They were small enough to be ignored, but they were powerful.

"Out of curiosity, what else did he ask you to grow?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hmm, let's see," you turned away from him searching for the list you had left in your bag. "Monkshood, Sage, Yarrow, Verbena, and Winter bloom," you read off to him. "Klaus told me he liked the colors together."

You both knew that was utter bull shit. All of the plants were herbs with various magical properties, especially in the hands of a witch.

"Hmmm, of course he did, my brother can be very particular," he replied, looking a bit uneasy.

"It sounds like a diabolical witch's brew straight out of a fairy tale," you laughed, and so did he, but the tension was still there.

"It does, doesn't it." He paused for a moment, as though he was debating whether or not he should say something. "The verbena suits you. You should keep wearing it in your hair."

You smiled, blushing and twirling the flower between your fingers, "Thank you, I think I will."

"I will leave you to your work. My brother will be returning shortly, so if you have any questions, please feel free to ask him."

"Thank you," you replied cheerfully, "I appreciate that."

With that, he walked out of the greenhouse, shutting the door behind him. Once you were alone, the smile dropped from your face. Your hands were shaking and the adrenaline was coursing through your body. You were scared and excited all at the same time, the rush was overwhelming. It had been a risk, to flirt so brazenly with danger, but it had paid off.

Soon you would have your prize and the ancestors would honor you for generations to come.

You had your headphones on, humming along to your music as you worked on planting a row of winter bloom. It had taken a couple of hours to organize all the flowerbeds and fill them with soil. Now, the hardest part was getting everything planted.

You felt a large vibration through the floor, then another. You stood, pulling off your headphones; a blood-curdling scream echoed through the hallway, along with a loud crash coming from the courtyard. You quickly shut off the music and crept towards the door, peeking your head out. You heard angry voices and saw the shadow of a fight moving along the walls.

You stepped out into the open, walking slowly towards the noise, your spade clutched tightly in your fist. You peeked around the corner to find a gruesome sight.

Crumbled on the floor was what looked to be a pile of bodies, blood pooling out around them. Another scream came from above. You looked up to see Klaus on the third floor, holding a woman by her neck as he dangled her over the railing. Her feet kicking erratically as she helplessly struggled.

"You know the rules, no magic in the quarter," he yelled, his voice crackling with rage, pulling the woman close to his face. "You witches think you can make moves against my family and live," he said in hushed fury. "Now I have to use you and your conspirators as an example."

The woman gasped and clawed at his arm. Her face was turning blue, and her eyes were bulging. Klaus glanced down, meeting your eyes. Then he dropped her, her scream cut off as she hit the floor, a loud crack reverberating through the compound.

Suddenly, Klaus was in front of you. You tried to use the spade to defend yourself, striking out in his direction. He laughed and grabbed it from you with extreme ease. He then planted both of his hands against the wall on either side of your head. His eyes were black with murder, blood dripping from his grinning mouth. You tried to look away from his horrifying face, too frightened to even scream.

It was him, the fabled beast, the abomination. You could hear the voices of your ancestors, thousands of voices yelling out in anger, screaming at him.

Kill him, kill him, kill him, they chanted, louder and louder until it was all you could hear.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his eyes and all the chanting turned to screams of fear and agony. Like they were being slaughtered by him all over again.

"Hello love, you must be the new gardener," he said, his words soft and gentle, "I'll be sure to give you a generous tip, for services rendered."

You wanted to tell him that he was the devil, the monster, the bringer of death. That you would be the one to end him. But you were paralyzed with terror, the screams and images were too much. You shut your eyes tight, trying to block it all out, but it was impossible. You started to sob, tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the dirt on your face.

"Look at me," he said softly, his fingers digging painfully into your cheeks.

You opened your eyes, your vision blurry and your head spinning. He had a strange look on his face, half amused, half concerned. He brushed away your tears with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"You won't remember anything about today; all you know is that you did another excellent day of work and finished all the planting," he said slowly, staring deeply into your eyes.

He let go of your face and offered you the spade. You looked down, taking it from his steady hand with your shaking one. He believed he could compel you, and you had to convince him that was true. You swallowed, taking a deep breath, remembering your training, focusing on slowing down your heart, relaxing your muscles. You couldn't panic, or you would die.

You looked back up at him, and he seemed pleased with himself, smiling brightly, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Go back to your work," he said, patting you on the shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you tried to compose yourself. You were so scared you could barely stand. You had faced the beast, and you had survived. The screams in your head were deafening, the images of the dead witches flashed through your mind, the pain of their deaths searing through your body. But slowly, all their garbled words turned into one unifying chant.

Death to all vampires, death to all vampires, you whispered, echoing their words, clutching your spade tightly in your fist.

You half walked, half ran from your car to your shop, scrambling inside. You threw your tool bag behind the counter and headed to the back room. You faced the stone wall, and with trembling fingers, you slid aside the brick that hid the hidden latch. Your hand was shaking so hard you could barely get the door open.

Once it swung open, the scent of incense wafted through the air, filling your nose. The others had already gathered, all seven of them, the other witches who were brave enough to make a stand against the vampire scourge.

You rushed into the small room and shut the door behind you, turning to face them. They were waiting for you, looking at you expectantly.

"Report," Agnes demanded, her eyes narrowed and her hands gripping her cane tightly.

"They don't suspect a thing," you said, your voice still a little shaky. "The abominations bought my act,"

"And the ash?" Agnes asked.

"Location still unknown," you replied.

She nodded, seeming satisfied with the news, "very well,"

"How was it? Facing them, what were they like?" Your friend Beatrice asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.

"It was horrible," you replied, "they are just as ancestors say,"

"We need to plan the next steps," Maeve interjected, she was always impatient, wanting everything to happen as soon as possible.

"Maeve," Beatrice chastised. "If they suspect something is amiss, this could all fall to ruin,"

"We have a way in, that's the first step completed, we should not waste any time," Maeve argued. "Y/n can only plant a garden so slowly, when she is done we will lose all access to the compound."

Agnes was about to reply, but the door chime of the shop rang, cutting her off. "I will handle this," you said, taking a deep breath.

You looked to your sisters and nodded, leaving them and going back out into the shop. You would be right back to finish the meeting, you just had to quickly deal with a customer.

You put a smile on your face and rounded the corner, only to come face to face with one of the monsters you were just talking about.

Elijah.

He was standing by a shelf, looking at a potted plant. You swallowed, composing yourself before walking towards him.

"Mr. Mikaelson," you said as cheerfully as you could, "what can I do for you today?"

He looked up at you and smiled, putting the pot back down.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he said politely. "I wanted to see your shop, it's lovely," he gestured to the display shelves and many plants hanging from the ceiling.

"Thank you, I've spent a lot of time making it this way," you replied, feeling a bit proud.

"Your work in the greenhouse is quite impressive," he said, looking back at you, a curious expression on his face.

"It was nothing," you laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck, trying not to meet his gaze.

"I wanted to ask you something," he continued, walking around the store, looking at the various plants.

"Ask away,"

"You're a witch," he said casually, picking up a pot of herbs, taking in their fragrance.

You felt your heart stop, but you tried to remain calm. You had prepared for this, bumps in the road are to be expected.

"That's more of a statement than a question." You said as calmly as you could.

"Yes, well, you've done a very good job of hiding it, so much so that my brother didn't even suspect," he glanced at you, his brown eyes dark, almost black. "It seems strange that you would take a job as a gardener in a vampire's home."

"Why does that matter?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He stepped closer, and you backed up, bumping into the shelving behind you. Leaning down, his face hovering inches from yours, you could feel the heat of his breath on your face, and you were frozen in place.

"I like you," he whispered, "and I want to give you a chance to explain yourself."

You stared him directly in the eye, trying not to flinch or show any emotion. "It's important to protect yourself in these times,"

He chuckled, looking amused. "You speak of the ban on magic? My brother's rule of the quarter?"

"Yes," you replied simply.

He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "And how would you like to change that?"

You swallowed, the voices of your ancestors ringing in your ears. Lie, lie, lie, they commanded.

"I'm simply trying to survive," you answered, it wasn't a lie, just an incomplete truth. "I have no love for my kind,"

"Hmm," he mused, his dark eyes studying your face. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. "So, tell me, are you planning on harming my family?"

You could feel his energy, his power. He was ancient, powerful, and deadly. "Of course not," you replied, looking up at him, praying your face didn't betray you.

He didn't respond, his gaze searching yours. He was close, so close, you could smell the cologne on his skin, the subtle hints of soap and shampoo. You knew the stories, the horrors, here you were, staring into the eyes of death himself.

You leaned in and kissed him, placing a hand on his chest. It was a wild gamble, but one that you hoped would explain your nervous energy.

He stiffened, surprised at the sudden contact. Then, as if he remembered himself, his hands grabbed you, pulling you in tightly against him. You had been told over and over that vampires were monsters, cold and heartless, but the heat radiating from him was overwhelming. He was so gentle and his lips were so soft. He pulled away, his eyes boring into yours. You were sure that he could see into your soul, see all the secrets and plans you were hiding. But, if he did, he didn't say anything.

"Well," he said, releasing you and straightening his suit jacket, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

You were about to say something when he was gone. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the shelves.

"Shit," you whispered.

You could see your path now, the way forward to victory, to eliminate the world of vampires. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. You couldn't fail, not now, not when you had come so far.

All that was required was that you seduce a monster.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

[saddleups]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

★ STATUS . . . ongoing, arthur morgan x f!reader. 18+ smut mdni !!

★ CW . . . voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, arthur's kind of a meanie.

★ SUMMARY . . . recently welcomed into dutch van der linde's gang, has a tense first encounter with arthur morgan, who is suspicious of her and questions her trustworthiness. after a sharp exchange, she withdraws to her tent to find solace. meanwhile, arthur, tasked with returning her forgotten journal, approaches her tent but hesitates when he sees the intimate silhouette of her body through the illuminated canvas.

★ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . really don't know what washed over me. this was initially meant as a drabble , but somehow bloomed into what is going to be a continuing story. as the start of the story, it's loaded with "setting the scene" mostly to establish a dynamic between the reader and arthur. however , it does get spicy towards the end ;)

An orphan, a wanderer, and most notably, a thief for hire. Your occupation brought you countless adversaries, shaped by a lifetime of hardship. The Wild West wasn’t forgiving, especially for someone like you. It forced you to compromise whatever moral compass you’d developed, exchanging it for a life filled with unsavory characters. Your skills became notorious in Lemoyne, earning you a wanted poster of your own—though the paltry $3,000 bounty made you wonder if the authorities truly knew your worth.

One man, however, saw your potential: Dutch Van der Linde. Knowing Dutch’s reputation, you were well aware there was no honor among thieves, but the price he offered for your services was one you couldn't afford to refuse.

"I'm a man who keeps his word," Dutch said, locking eyes with you. You stiffened momentarily, your guard raised.

"And if you don’t, I’ll have you dead," you warned, your voice steady.

Dutch chuckled, raising his palms in mock surrender. "I'll take you to my camp, introduce you to my people," he said, patting his chest for emphasis. "I take care of my own. I'll take care of you too, ma’am, ya hear?"

You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard before releasing a sigh. Camps, people—these weren't things you were accustomed to. Yet, the promise of a warm fire and a decent meal was hard to ignore. Stepping forward, you motioned with your boot. "Be a gentleman and lead the way."

Dutch quickened his pace, guiding you to his horse. Retrieving your own, you both rode off toward the confines of Clemens Point.

As you arrived at the secluded camp, the thick forest enveloped the intimate commune. Pulling on the reins, your horse came to a halt behind Dutch’s. He dismounted and extended a hand to help you down. You ignored his gesture, earning another chuckle.

"Your independence is admirable," Dutch said, amused. "Maybe you'll set a good example."

"I won’t be staying long," you replied curtly.

Dutch nodded, unfazed. "Come on, now, lemme introduce ya."

You followed behind him, scanning your surroundings, planning your escape if needed. Clemens Point had its rustic charm, much like the rest of Lemoyne, but it wasn’t a place you intended to linger. As you approached the heart of the camp, the residents began to take notice. Some watched from a distance, while others stepped closer. You stayed close to Dutch, observing the crowd.

"Bring a lady for the night?" one man jeered. You tried to get a glimpse of the man behind such a crude remark, catching only the sight of a weathered hat adorned with a feather.

"It ain’t like that," Dutch countered.

"Well, if she’s with you, she sure ain’t cheap," the man sneered.

You felt anger flare in your chest.

"Arthur!" Dutch barked.

So, that was his name—Arthur.

Stepping out from behind Dutch, you made yourself visible to the Van der Linde gang, especially the man at the center of it all.

He was tall, built like a seasoned gunslinger, with the brim of his hat pulled low, hiding much of his face. But from your shorter vantage point, you could see beneath the brim—strands of sandy brown hair fell just above his eyes. You squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the man responsible for the comment.

"My, my," Arthur drawled, his voice low. "What do we have here, then?"

You stared Arthur down, unfazed by his comment. “What you have here,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “is someone who doesn't take kindly to men who don’t watch their tongues.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bold. I like that.” He crossed his arms, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “But talk’s cheap out here, darlin’. You gonna back it up?”

You took a step closer, not backing down. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough, cowboy.”

Before things could escalate further, Dutch stepped in between the two of you, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Now, now, let’s all calm down, shall we?” He chuckled as though this kind of exchange was nothing new. “Arthur, meet our new friend here. She’s more than capable, I assure you. She’s got quite the reputation—thief for hire, and from what I’ve heard, she’s damn good at it.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered to Dutch, then back to you. His smile faded, replaced by a skeptical scowl. “A thief, huh?” He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “And you’re just gonna bring her into camp, just like that? You don’t think maybe we oughta vet her a little first? Or better yet, see if she’s worth her salt?”

Dutch sighed, clearly accustomed to Arthur’s protective nature. “Arthur, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t bring someone into our fold if I didn’t believe in their abilities. You, of all people, should trust me on that.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “It ain’t about trust, Dutch. It’s about common sense. You’re always bringing in strays, but how do we know she’s as good as you say? How do we know she ain’t just gonna take what she wants and bolt?”

You folded your arms, feeling the heat of Arthur’s scrutiny, but before Dutch could respond, you cut in.

“If I wanted to bolt, I wouldn’t be standing here listening to you question me like some washed-up lawman,” you said flatly. “And as for being good at what I do… Why don’t you give me a chance to prove it?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable for a moment. The tension was thick between the two of you, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Dutch clapped his hands together, cutting through the silence. “See? That’s the spirit! Let’s not get too hung up on doubts and suspicions. Besides, Arthur, you know better than anyone—we all had to start somewhere.”

Arthur shook his head, still unconvinced, but his tone softened slightly. “Fine. But if she messes up, Dutch, it’s on you.”

Dutch grinned. “I’ll take full responsibility. You’ll see, Arthur—she’s gonna fit right in.”

Arthur gave you one last look, his blue eyes hard, but he stepped back, leaving the matter for now. “We’ll see,” he muttered, turning his back to head deeper into the camp.

As he walked away, Dutch leaned in close, speaking just low enough for you to hear. “Don’t worry about Arthur. He’s always cautious with new faces, but once you prove yourself, he’ll have your back. Just give it time.”

You nodded, though your eyes remained fixed on Arthur’s retreating form. “I’ll prove myself, alright. To everyone.”

Dutch patted you on the back, his voice light once again. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get you settled in.”

Your shoulders relax slightly when Dutch introduces you to another, kinder member of the camp—Mary-Beth. With a warm smile, she takes it upon herself to show you around. As she guides you through the camp, she explains the delicate intricacies and rich history the Van der Linde gang has accumulated over time. Her warmth is disarming, and though you find her friendliness endearing, your guard remains firmly in place.

As the day gives way to night, the camp grows lively. The smell of roasting meat fills the air, and the sound of laughter and clinking bottles echoes around the fire. Everyone seems to be enjoying the night, drinks in hand and plates full. You sit beside Dutch, notebook in hand, writing down the events of the day—your observations, the faces you’ve encountered, and your thoughts on the gang’s dynamics.

Dutch glances over your shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “Writing a novel already?” he teases.

You smirk but keep writing. “Just taking notes, is all.”

With a chuckle, Dutch pats your shoulder. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your musings. I’m gonna get myself another drink.” He stands, leaving his spot beside you empty for just a moment.

Before you can settle back into your thoughts, Arthur takes Dutch’s place without so much as a word. You immediately tense, looking up from your journal in annoyance.

“I didn’t invite you to sit,” you snap.

Arthur leans back, crossing his arms, clearly unbothered by your protest. “I’m just doin’ my due diligence,” he says with a casual shrug. “Lead enforcer and all that. Gotta make sure you ain’t some rat lookin’ to get us all killed.”

You narrow your eyes at him, anger bubbling up. “A rat? You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know enough,” Arthur retorts, his gaze hard. “You waltz in here, Dutch vouches for ya, but me? I don’t trust anyone that quick. Seen too many faces come and go. Some good, some… not so much.”

You bite your tongue, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t have anything to prove to you, Arthur.”

His stare lingers on you, unflinching. “Maybe not. But until I see otherwise, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

The tension between you is palpable, and despite the fire’s warmth, you feel a chill settle in your bones. This is why you hated dealing with people. No matter what you did, someone was always suspicious, always trying to dig into things that weren’t their business. You snap your journal shut, your patience worn thin.

“I’m done here,” you mutter, standing abruptly. “I didn’t come here for this.”

You walk away from the campfire, the weight of Arthur’s gaze following you as you disappear into the shadows. As you distance yourself from the group, you hear a voice call out.

“Arthur, you really can be an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

It’s Hosea, who had been watching the exchange from a distance. His tone is firm, but there’s an edge of disappointment in it. Arthur grumbles in response, shifting uncomfortably.

“Just doin’ my job, Hosea,” Arthur mutters defensively, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—regret, maybe.

Hosea shakes his head. “Yeah, well, you could stand to be a little more welcoming.”

As Hosea walks away, Arthur notices something on the ground beside him—your journal. You must have left it behind in your rush to escape the conversation. He picks it up, flipping it over in his hands, his expression softening for a brief moment. He exhales a long breath while he debates with himself, glancing in the direction you disappeared, wondering if he should bring it to you.

Storming away from the campfire, you mutter under your breath. "Should've known better than to get mixed up in this." The tension Arthur brought upon you still burns in your chest. Now, away from the glimmer of the camp you question why you even agreed to Dutch's offer.

Quickly the weight of reality sets in. The promise of money looms heavy, more than you've ever made in one place. Enough to change your life, if things go smoothly. And then there's the camp —more than just a place to lay your head. It has food, shelter, warmth, and plenty of drink, luxuries you haven’t had in a long while. The thought alone makes your stomach growl, reminding you of the times you’ve gone hungry for days on end. A little discomfort with people like Arthur might just be the price you have to pay to survive this.

With a resigned sigh, you make your way toward your tent, situated near the lake, away from the central campfire. The sounds of laughter and idle chatter slowly fade, replaced by the gentle lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees in the night breeze. The solitude brings you a moment of peace.

Inside the privacy of your tent, you begin to undress. Shedding your coat, shirt, and pants, you remain in your undergarments, your body finally relaxing after a long day. You sit down on the edge of your bedroll, running a hand through your hair, letting yourself unwind. The faint sounds of the camp are distant now, just a quiet hum in the background. For the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.

You sink deeper into the quiet, trying to escape the frustration that still simmers after your run-in with Arthur. His suspicion and brash attitude had only amplified the uncertainty you already felt about your place here. But in this moment, alone in the privacy of your tent, you allow yourself a rare moment of vulnerability.

The day’s exhaustion has left your body aching, and as you lie back on the bedroll in nothing but your undergarments, your mind drifts, seeking comfort in the solitude. The warmth of the lamp glows around you, its light illuminating the canvas tent, casting your shadow against the fabric walls.

Meanwhile, outside Arthur approaches the tent with your journal firmly in his grasp. His steps are quiet, almost hesitant has he nears. From the outside, the soft light from your oil lamp betrays the outline of your figure through the thin material of the tent. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he makes out your shape, it stops him in his tracks.

"What in the hell is she up to?"

As the glow from the lantern outlines your curves, you move with an intensity that betrays the calm facade you usually project. Your guard is down, and in this moment of vulnerability, your form is unmistakable. Your hands roam freely over your body, pressing, squeezing, tugging at the fabric of your undergarments. Even in solitude, you tease yourself, building anticipation for the release that awaits.

Your fingers reach up to hold your breasts, pinching the hardened buds as a loud moan escapes your lips and echoes through the tent. Arthur watches silently from outside, his breath catching as he realizes what's happening. His initial intention of returning the journal completely fades away as he becomes transfixed by the intimacy of the scene unfolding before him. He feels like an intruder but can't bring himself to look away.

Lost in pleasure, you lie back and let your hand trail down to your center, seeking refuge in the coarse hair. Gripping tightly, you insert a single digit into your core and feel a rush of wetness surround it as you sink deeper and deeper. Your breathing quickens and unbeknownst to you, the quiet rhythm of your movements is not confined to the tent. You whimper for more, "ple-please, give it to me. i want more," caving release from the stress that has consumed you since arriving here.

Watching from afar, Arthur feels his primal instincts kick in but fights them off with all his might. His sense of honor wavers as he struggles against his own desires. The tightness of his jeans and gun belt only add to his physical discomfort as he closes his eyes tightly, trying to resist temptation.

Meanwhile, inside the tent, you continue to lose yourself in ecstasy, completely oblivious to anything else in the world. Your moans grow louder and more desperate as your fingers quicken their pace inside of you. The sounds of squelching flesh mixed with your cries fill the night air as you beg for more.

Arthur finally gives in to his conscience and with one last look at the tent, he pulls away and retreats into the darkness. "The hell you doing, you pervert?" he curses himself as he walks away, leaving you to your privacy and pleasure. The intense moment has passed, but the memory lingers in Arthur's mind, igniting a curiosity about what else lies behind that sharp tongue of yours.

A man still had his urges.

Your journal finds its temporary home in Arthur's pocket. The heat of the moment lingers in his chest, an ache he can’t quite shake. His body tenses, and the desire to escape the situation grows stronger with every step. He moves quickly through the camp, intent on retreating to his own quarters and pushing away the thoughts still buzzing in his mind.

But just as he rounds a corner, he spots Dutch leaning against a post, nursing a drink and chatting with one of the gang members. Dutch’s keen eyes lock onto Arthur almost immediately, and before Arthur can disappear, Dutch calls out.

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice cuts through the campfire chatter. “Where’d our new friend wander off to?”

Arthur stiffens, his eyes darting briefly before he forces himself to face Dutch. “She, uh… she’s at her tent,” Arthur mutters, his tone gruff as he shifts his weight awkwardly. Hands firmly grasp his gun belt and a satchel that once sat on the side of his hip is awkwardly placed at the center of his core, disguising what throbbed underneath.

Dutch raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing something off. “You sure about that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or… something else.” There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of Dutch’s mouth, amused by Arthur’s discomfort.

Arthur avoids eye contact, the urge he’s trying to suppress making it difficult to keep his composure. “Ain’t nothin’. Just tired, Dutch. Been a long day.”

Dutch takes a swig of his drink, watching Arthur closely, clearly enjoying the rare sight of Arthur flustered. “Right, right. Well, if you see her, let her know she’s always welcome to sit by the fire.”

Arthur grunts, eager to end the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Dutch takes another sip and, with a knowing chuckle, waves him off. “Get some rest, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

Without another word, Arthur quickly shoos Dutch away with a curt nod and makes a beeline for his tent. The moment Dutch turns his attention back to the campfire, Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his footsteps quickening.

Finally reaching the safety of his own tent, a shaky hand, Arthur pushes through the canvas flap. He collapse onto his cot with heavy breaths. Images rush through his mind like a raging river - your body outlined in flickering light, the softness of your movements, and the burning desire that he can't seem to shake.

He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling with shallow breaths as he replays the memory over and over again. His fists clench at his sides, frustration and longing coursing through him. It's been too long since anything has affected him this deeply.

As someone no stranger to temptation, Arthur knows the pull of the flesh all too well. But this moment with you felt different - more intimate, more real. The vulnerability he saw in you makes it impossible for him to simply brush off the encounter.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he tries to push the thoughts away, but they cling to him like thorns. The tension in his body only grows, refusing to let go even in the quiet of the night.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath, rolling onto his side in an attempt to distract himself. But it's no use - your silhouette, bathed in lamplight, is burned into his mind.

Sitting up abruptly, Arthur grips the ends of his cot tightly as he stares at the ground beneath him. He lets out a frustrated sigh and runs a hand over his face, trying to rub away the persistent thoughts. But they only intensify in the darkness of his tent, driving him to take action.

Without hesitation, he untucks his flannel and removes his gunbelt before freeing himself from his trousers. His arousal is already evident as his length throbs against his palm. Unlike you, who sought relaxation in these moments alone, Arthur seeks indulgence.

Spitting into his palm for lubrication, he grips his cock tightly and sinks his weight onto the cot, groaning at the sensation. His ankles are freed from his trousers as he spreads his legs wider, giving himself more room to move. With each stroke of his hand, he can feel the tension slowly dissipating, replaced by a raw need for pleasure.

His hand moves with urgency and desperation, his thumb frequently visits the tip of his cock gathering the liquid before slipping it down his length. The sounds of your pleasure entertain his memory, your gentle pleas for pleasure make him whimper, "take it, woman. t-take it all." He feels like a fool but he can't suppress the praises he's eager to provide, "like a g-good girl."

His moans were deep and gravelly, resonating with the same desperate desire that you had been yearning for. As he released his essence into his palm, the sticky substance leaked between his fingers. He caught his breath with his eyes tightly shut, murmuring a curse under his breath, "damn woman." Somehow, this was all your fault.

Arthur reached for a handkerchief to clean himself off, wiping away the evidence of his passion. He adjusted himself before settling onto his cot with a sense of contentment, ready to spend the evening in peaceful slumber. The quiet rustle of the sheets echoed through the room as he settled in, still feeling the lingering effects of your intense encounter.

NEXT CHAPTER.