#like sun on her shoulders wind in her hair the smell of the flowers she held in her hand

[flintmirandas]

sometimes i forget how good the lyrics for nytw hadestown were and then i listen to nytw epic iii and broadway epic iii back to back

like come on…

[seafarersdream]

Cregan x reader where the reader is betrothed to him but he gets close to Alysanne Blackwood and she feels insecure. But he then reassures her that he loves her. Could be fluff or smut, whatever you feel fits

Big Bad Wolf | 18+ (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

Y/N knows exactly why she has been sent to the frigid North: her grandsire, Otto Hightower, intends for her to secure Cregan Stark’s loyalty to the Greens with a proposed betrothal. A union that would bind the North to her family’s cause and strengthen her brother’s claim. She can’t help but wonder what he would sees in her—a willing pawn, a coveted prize, or perhaps, an unexpected adversary?

TW // Strong language and profanities, mild sexual content, mention of injuries and wounds, slow burn romance.

Note: I took a slightly different approach than originally requested to better align with my brainstorming ideas. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! And fair warning—it ended up being around 10k words because I got carried away and so into it😂

The wind howls around her like a beast, its icy fingers clawing at her cloak, desperate to strip her bare. Y/N Targaryen pulls the fur-lined fabric tighter around her shoulders, her silver hair whipping against her face as she stares out into the endless expanse of white that is the North.

The cold is sharp, biting against her skin, a relentless assault unlike anything she has ever felt in King’s Landing. There, the sun always warmed the walls of the Red Keep, the gardens bloomed with vibrant flowers, and the salty sea breeze carried the smell of soils from distant lands. Here, in the North, all of that feels like a distant memory—a dream now buried under layers of snow.

She shivers, and not just from the cold.

Being a Targaryen means something. Being a Targaryen princess means the realm is her oyster. She has always known this. The daughter of the late King Viserys Targaryen and the sister to the current ruler, Y/N has never wanted for anything. Born under the banners of black and red, her birthright is as weighty as it is illustrious. In the courts of King's Landing, her name alone is a force that can command, bend, and break. The Valyrian blood coursing through her veins has bestowed upon her an otherworldly beauty—hair the colour of moonlight, eyes that burn like molten silver. She is used to men and women alike vying for her favor, hanging on her every word, their desires evident in their eyes. She is used to being adored, admired, even envied.

But here, in the North, none of that means a thing.

The North is a different world, an ancient one with a heartbeat of ice and snow. It is a world where the name Targaryen carries little weight, where dragons are the stuff of nightmares, not symbols of power and strength.

For thousands of years, the North stood as its own kingdom, ruled by House Stark of Winterfell—a house older than her own, as old as the First Men themselves. The North submitted to Aegon the Conqueror’s rule, but submission is not the same as surrender. She can feel the weight of that history in every flake of snow, every gust of wind that threatens to unseat her from the back of her horse. The North remembers.

And the North does not care for Targaryen princesses.

The men and women who stare at her from the edges of Winterfell’s courtyard do not see a daughter of kings. They see a southerner, a foreigner, an outsider draped in silk and furs too fine for their taste. They see someone who has never felt the bite of a northern winter, who does not understand the constant struggle for survival that defines their lives. To them, she is the very embodiment of everything they disdain—the soft courtly life, the excesses of the south, the endless games of backstabbing and ambition that mean nothing in the face of a harsh winter. Her beauty, her title, her blood—none of it matters here. She is a stranger in a strange land, and they watch her with eyes that are cold and calculating.

It is a stark contrast to the life she has known. In King’s Landing, courtiers flocked to her side, eager for a smile, a kind word, a glance that might change their fortunes. But here, no one bows or scrapes, no one offers her flattery or fawning attention. Instead, they glance at her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, their expressions as unreadable as the frozen ground beneath her feet. Even the cold here seems to seep into their bones, hardening their faces into masks of stone.

Her gaze shifts to the man standing at the center of it all—the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark. He is as unyielding as the walls of Winterfell, a man carved from the very ice that surrounds them. His dark hair is touched with frost, his grey eyes piercing through the flurries like a direwolf scanning the wood for prey. He regards her with a guarded expression, his features stoic, as though he is measuring the weight of her presence in his hall. There is strength in his stance, a raw, quiet power that seems to ripple beneath his skin like a river beneath ice.

She knows why she is here. Her grandsire, Otto Hightower, has sent her north with a proposal for a betrothal, hoping to secure Cregan Stark's allegiance to the Greens. A marriage alliance that would bind the North to her family, to her brother’s cause. But she also knows that such an alliance is easier proposed than accepted. The Starks are proud, stubborn as the wolves on their banners, and they are not easily swayed by promises or threats. She wonders what Cregan Stark sees when he looks at her—a pawn, a prize, a potential enemy?

Y/N squares her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze with the same intensity. Her breath mists in the cold air between them, mingling with the snowflakes that drift down from the leaden sky. She is a Targaryen, born of fire and blood, and she will not be cowed by the cold.

She takes a step forward, her boots crunching in the snow, and inclines her head with a grace born of years at court. “Lord Stark,” she begins, her voice steady despite the chill that bites at her skin, “I bring greetings from my family and an offer that I hope will interest you.”

For a moment, there is silence, broken only by the distant howl of the wind. The Northmen are watching, waiting for their lord’s response. Cregan Stark’s grey eyes remain locked on hers, his expression unreadable, and she feels the weight of the North pressing down upon her.

“Princess,” Cregan replies at last, his voice a low rumble that echoes across the courtyard. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

And with those words, the game begins.

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Y/N Targaryen has always been more her grandsire’s granddaughter than her mother’s daughter—or her father’s, for that matter. Not that it has been much of a choice. King Viserys had been many things in his life—gentle, soft-hearted, more comfortable with scrolls and histories than with the complexities of ruling—but present, he was not. His love for Rhaenyra, his firstborn, was the love of a man whose affections had been spent long before Y/N was ever born. So, she learned quickly that if she wanted attention, guidance, or even a semblance of familial warmth, she would find none of it in her father.

Instead, she found herself drawn to Otto Hightower. He was a man of purpose, of ambition, of decisive action. With her mother’s soft words and frail smiles failing to shape her in any meaningful way, it was Otto who taught her the art of politics, of maneuvering through a court filled with predators. In him, she saw a mirror of her own aspirations—always looking forward, always plotting the next move. It was from him she learned that power is something you seize, not something you wait for. She knew he would never coddle her, never tell her she was beloved just for being herself; he only valued what was valuable, and that gave her a clarity she found comforting.

Her siblings, however, were a different matter entirely.

Aegon, her eldest brother, was a fool. Self-conscious, always craving their parents' love like a starving child reaching for a morsel of bread. For years, he had hoped to be the shining star in their father’s eyes, only to discover that no matter what he did, he would always be in the shadow of their half-sister, Rhaenyra—the daughter Viserys truly adored. That realization had driven Aegon to the brink. He had spiraled into self-destruction, numbing his pain with Arbor Red, drowning in the company of whores and sycophants who fed his illusions of being liked, respected even. She had watched him become a hollowed-out shell of a prince, playing at being a king among the rats and the vipers of the Red Keep. Aegon was a king now, a ruler in name, but he wore his crown like a noose.

Aemond, on the other hand, was a different creature. Where Aegon sought love, Aemond sought approval, validation—something to make the gods’ cruel joke of his birth order feel less like a curse. He set impossible standards for himself, always striving to outshine his elder brother, to rise above his station as the spare. He immersed himself in philosophy, warfare, Westerosi customs, determined to be the best in every field, the most learned, the most skilled. And yet, no matter how many strategies he mastered or how many books he consumed, he would always be the second son. Aemond may have won the favor of their grandsire, may have been admired by those who valued intellect and ruthlessness, but in the end, Aegon’s incompetence still carried the weight of the gods' favor. And that knowledge gnawed at Aemond like a wolf at a bone.

Helaena and Daeron, bless them, were different. Y/N could say nothing ill of those two. Helaena, with her strange, prophetic dreams and her love for insects, was perhaps the only light in their shadowed family. She lived in a world of her own, a world of strange riddles and hidden truths that no one else could see. Daeron, meanwhile, had been smart enough to remove himself from the poisonous atmosphere of the Red Keep, carving out a life for himself in Oldtown.

As for herself? Y/N had always considered herself a performer, a mirrorball reflecting the light of others, knowing exactly where to place her foot in every dance. She did not crave her parents’ approval or love; she never had. She knew her worth, not in how many times her father called her his precious daughter or how often her mother sighed with the weight of unspoken affection. No, her worth came from the power she had managed to accumulate on her own, the alliances she had forged, the influence she wielded like a blade. She had held her own court, commanded attention, respect, and fear. She had learned to survive, to thrive, to be more than just another pretty Targaryen face.

And now, she had none of it.

Here in this frozen wasteland, she was stripped bare of everything she had built. The North was a godforsaken, heretic country in her eyes—a land of rigid codes and old gods, where men did not bow easily, where words were weighed like precious stones, and secrets were buried beneath layers of ice and snow. She had no court, no power to wield, no influence to peddle.

And then, there was Cregan Stark.

A man whose reputation preceded him like a cold wind. Honorable, they said. A man of principle, a man who lived by his word, who believed in truth and duty as if they were his religion. There was no room for subterfuge in his life, no space for half-truths or hidden motives. His gaze was like steel, unbending and severe. It was almost appalling, really, how saintly he was. Mother above she thought more than once, he would be eaten alive in King’s Landing.

In the South, where smiles masked daggers and every word dripped with double meaning, a man like Cregan Stark would be a lamb led to slaughter. His sense of honor would be his undoing, his truthfulness a weapon turned against him. She had never met a man like him. A man who looked at her not with lust or ambition but with a quiet, steady gaze that seemed to see right through her. He seemed entirely unimpressed by her. It was infuriating and fascinating all at once.

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let her irritation show. She would learn this place, learn its people, and most of all, she would learn Cregan Stark. She would find the crack in his armor, the flaw in his honor, the chink in his unyielding principles. Everyone had one; it was just a matter of knowing where to look, how to press, how to push. She was not here to be swallowed by the North—she was here to conquer it, one way or another.

She knew that the path to Lord Cregan Stark’s cold, cold heart was not a direct one. It was not a road paved with smiles or adorned with sweet words. It was a labyrinth, and the only way through it was by understanding his people.

She had watched him long enough to know this much: Cregan Stark was a man who put his people above all else. The North had a way of making even its leaders humble before it. They were not like the nobles of King’s Landing, always scheming for personal glory or clawing at each other’s throats for favor. Here, in this frozen hell, survival depended on something far simpler, far more primal—on loyalty, on unity, on trust.

So, she began to snake her way into the hearts of his people.

It started small, with gestures they would not expect from a southerner, least of all a Targaryen princess. She knew how they saw her—pampered, delicate, with hair too fair and hands too soft to have ever known true work. She could feel their eyes on her wherever she went, could hear the whispers as she passed by, wrapped in her fine furs, a dragon in the land of wolves.

The courtyard was busy that morning, the ground slick with melting snow and the air thick with the sounds of work—axes splitting wood, the clang of blacksmiths’ hammers against anvils, the shouts of men and women hauling barrels and crates. She approached the group of women gathered near the cookfires, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism in their gazes. Y/N took a deep breath, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and stepped into their midst.

“Is there something I can do?” she asked, her voice clear and carrying over the noise. A few heads turned, eyes narrowing in surprise. She saw a woman in her middle years, broad-shouldered and with arms like tree trunks, squinting at her as if she were a curious animal. The others paused, their hands stilling in their work, glances exchanged.

The woman, who she had come to learn was named Mildred, finally spoke, her tone rough as gravel. “Princess,” she drawled, dragging the word out like it was something distasteful in her mouth. “I don’t think there’s much here a royal lady can handle. Unless you’ve got a mind to ruin that fancy cloak of yours.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ve more cloaks, Mildred. And if it gets ruined, well, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with another one, won’t I?”

A snort came from somewhere in the back of the group, and Y/N’s eyes flicked to the source—a younger woman with a mess of red hair and a skeptical expression. Y/N kept her smile, but she let a hint of a challenge creep into her tone. “Besides, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

The women exchanged glances, weighing her words. Mildred shrugged at last, tossing a hunk of dough onto a wooden board. “Fine then. Let’s see how you fare kneading bread. Got to feed half the damned keep today, and we’re short on hands.”

Y/N stepped forward without hesitation, rolling up her sleeves. The cold bit at her exposed skin, but she ignored it. Her hands, unused to such labor, moved awkwardly at first, pressing into the dough with less confidence than she wanted. Mildred watched her, arms crossed. “Too gentle,” She grunted. “You’re not petting a dragon. Put your weight into it.”

Y/N did as instructed, leaning into the motion, feeling the resistance of the dough against her palms. It was a small thing, this task, but it was a start. She could feel their eyes on her, hear the whispers quieting, turning into something more like curiosity than derision.

Hours passed, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the courtyard. The women began to loosen up around her, laughter breaking out now and then. She let herself laugh with them, leaning into their banter.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N made it her mission to weave herself into the fabric of Winterfell. She found her way to the blacksmith's forge, where the air was thick with smoke and the clang of metal. She watched as the smiths worked, their faces streaked with soot, and asked questions—many, many questions.

“Why do you use that angle with the hammer?” she asked one of the younger smiths, a boy not much older than.

The boy, startled at first, blinked at her, then answered, “To shape the steel, Princess. To make it stronger, to give it an edge that lasts.”

She nodded, watching his hands. “Show me,” she demanded. The boy hesitated, glancing around nervously, but she stepped forward. “Don’t worry. I can hold a hammer.”

He did as she asked, and soon enough, she was holding the hammer herself, mimicking his movements. Her strokes were clumsy, awkward at first, but she learned fast, and with every thud of the hammer, she felt the eyes of the smiths soften just a little more.

In the great hall, she would sit with the lords and their wives, listening to their woes, their concerns, their petty grievances. Y/N had a mind sharpened by the best—her grandsire, Otto, had seen to that. She listened carefully, offering her thoughts, her solutions, often to the surprise of those around her.

“The river’s dammed up, and it’s ruining the fields,” one lord grumbled, a beefy man with a thick beard.

"Then undam it," she replied, her tone smooth. "Divert it, instead of letting it run its course. Build channels to guide it where you want it to go."

The man blinked at her, surprised. “Aye, well… that could work.”

“It will work,” she replied, a small smile playing at her lips.

She advised them on how to better store grain, how to rotate their crops, and how to reinforce their defenses with minimal resources. She made suggestions that saved money, improved efficiency, and most importantly, earned her a grudging respect. To her, these Northerners were like sheep, clueless and slow-witted. But she smiled, she helped, she solved their problems. She was always in the middle of things, her presence a constant in the great hall, the courtyard, the kitchens, the stables.

She even joined the hunts. The Northmen had mocked her at first for daring to ride out with them. “A princess in the snow?” they laughed. “She’ll freeze before we see a single stag.” But she proved them wrong. Her dragon’s blood kept her warm, kept her defiant in the face of the bitter cold, and she was the first to draw her bow, the first to bring down a deer.

“By the gods, she’s got a steady hand,” one of the older men muttered to Cregan as they dragged the deer back to Winterfell.

Cregan’s gaze had flicked over to her, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there had been a flicker of something there. Amusement? Respect? She couldn’t tell, but it was enough.

Bit by bit, she felt the change. The Northmen, these stubborn, superstitious heretics, began to soften, to open up to her. They began to speak to her not with suspicion but with interest, their words less guarded, their gazes less cold. They valued her now, saw her as something more than just a prim and proper southerner.

It was at a feast that she noticed it—how the lords and ladies began to speak of her in hushed, respectful tones, how they sought her out for advice, for a kind word, for counsel. She saw how Cregan watched from across the hall, his grey eyes narrowing, the faintest flicker of something akin to admiration crossing his face.

She caught his gaze, held it across the room. He didn’t look away. Instead, he raised his cup to her, a silent acknowledgment. A challenge, perhaps.

Y/N raised hers in return, a smile playing at her lips. The North had begun to bend, and soon enough, so would he.

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One afternoon, Y/N had just returned from Winter Town, cheeks flushed from the biting wind and the smell of pine and smoke still clinging to her cloak. The snow had begun to fall heavier now, thick flakes drifting down like soft feathers, blanketing the world in a quiet that felt almost sacred. She pushed back her hood as she stepped into the warmth of the great hall, her eyes scanning the room out of habit, looking for something—anything—that could further her cause.

She spotted a cluster of handmaidens seated by the hearth, their heads bent in concentration. They were mending and embroidering clothing, fingers working deftly with needle and thread. Y/N noticed the familiar shapes taking form on the fabric—the direwolves.

She glided toward them, her steps light, her expression warm and inviting. She had perfected this look over years at court—the doe-eyed charm that could disarm even the most hardened of men. “Oh,” she said with a bright smile, her voice a melodic lilt, “working on the Stark sigil, are we?”

The handmaidens looked up, a bit startled at her approach. They were used to her presence by now, but not so much to her sudden interest in their needlework. A girl named Caragh, her brown hair tied back in a braid, nodded. “Aye, milady. Lord Cregan’s cloak was torn on the last hunt, and his tunic needs a new embroidery. Wolves, of course.”

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with interest. “How lovely,” she murmured, kneeling down beside them. “May I see?”

They hesitated for a moment but eventually passed her the cloth, the direwolf stitched in silver-grey thread standing fierce against the dark fabric. She studied it with a discerning eye, her fingers tracing the lines of the stitches. The work was good, but plain—functional, as was the way of the North.

A smile danced on her lips as an idea took shape. “Do you know,” she began, her voice soft and conspiratorial, “I’ve always been rather good with a needle myself. Perhaps I could try my hand at it? Just a little, of course. I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

The women exchanged glances, unsure, but intrigued. “Princess, you’d do that?” asked Caragh, her tone curious. “We’d be honored to see southern stitchings. They’re said to be… well, far more intricate than ours.”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound like a chime in the quiet hall. “Oh, we do have a flair for the elaborate, it’s true,” she agreed. “But I promise, I won’t change it too much. Just add a bit of finesse.” She reached for the thread, selecting a shade of grey that was just a touch darker than the one they had been using. “Here,” she said, threading her needle with practiced ease, “let me show you.”

She set to work, her hands moving with ease. Her stitches were tiny and precise, the needle dancing in and out of the fabric as if it were silk and not the heavy wool of the North. The handmaidens watched her, their eyes wide with fascination as she added delicate touches to the direwolf—tiny knots that gave the illusion of fur, subtle shadows that made the beast look as if it might leap from the cloth at any moment.

“How do you make it look so… alive?” one of the younger handmaidens breathed, her cheeks flushed with awe.

Y/N smiled, enjoying their attention. “It’s all in the details,” she said with a little wink. “You have to see the wolf in your mind first, imagine the way its fur moves, the way its muscles shift beneath the skin. Then, you just… follow the thread.”

The hours passed, and the handmaidens were more than happy to let her work, their questions and chatter filling the space around them. They asked her about King’s Landing, about the fashions of the court, about the kinds of silks and velvets they had only heard of in stories. She answered them with good humor, spinning tales of the South that made their eyes shine with wonder. And all the while, her needle moved, faster and faster, until the direwolf on the fabric seemed to almost snarl, its eyes fierce and intelligent, its body coiled as if ready to pounce.

By the time Cregan Stark returned from a hunt, the hall was warm with the crackle of the fire and the murmur of soft voices. He strode in, snow still dusting his dark hair, his cloak heavy with ice. His boots left wet prints on the stone floor as he shook the cold from his shoulders and glanced around.

He stopped short when he saw her—Y/N, seated among his handmaidens, needle in hand, a small, satisfied smile on her lips as she worked on his clothing. His eyes narrowed, and he made his way over, curious despite himself.

“Princess,” he greeted her, his voice a low rumble, “I see you’ve taken to mending clothes now?”

Y/N looked up, her expression unruffled. “Lord Stark,” she replied, her tone light, teasing almost, “I thought I might be of some use. Your handmaidens were kind enough to let me practice a little of our southern needlework.” She held up the fabric for him to see, the direwolf now a striking, almost lifelike creature that seemed to leap from the fabric with a ferocity that had not been there before.

Cregan’s eyes widened, just slightly, his gaze moving over the stitching, his expression unreadable. “It’s… well done,” he said finally, and she could hear the surprise in his voice, grudging though it was.

She smiled, pleased. “You sound surprised, my lord. Did you think a Targaryen’s hands were only meant for taming dragons or holding goblets of wine?”

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound like gravel grinding together. “Not surprised,” he corrected, his gaze meeting hers, steady and unyielding. “Impressed. You’ve a fine hand.”

Y/N's smile widened. “Why, thank you, Lord Stark. I’m glad my work meets your approval.”

He nodded, his gaze still on the cloth, the direwolf that now seemed to pulse with life. “Aye, it does,” he admitted. “Though I wonder, Princess… are you looking to become a seamstress now?”

She laughed, a bright, ringing sound that filled the hall. “No, my lord. I’ve no desire to take up a needle permanently. But I do find it’s useful, from time to time, to show that a princess’s hands can be skilled in more ways than one.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, a challenge in them. “Is that so?” he asked quietly. “And tell me, Princess, what other skills do your hands possess?”

Y/N’s smile did not waver. “Oh, many things, Lord Stark,” she replied softly. “Many things indeed.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes, before he nodded again. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And with that, he turned away, but not before she caught the slightest curve of a smile on his lips. She watched him go, feeling a thrill of satisfaction course through her veins.

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Her scheme had worked flawlessly. Piece by piece, the North was falling into place just as she’d planned. The people were warming to her, Cregan's gaze was lingering a little longer than before, and Y/N could feel the iciness of Winterfell slowly starting to melt in her favor. Everything was moving toward the outcome she desired.

Well until it wasn't.

The disruption arrived in the form of Alysanne Blackwood—Black Aly, they called her. Y/N watched her ride into Winterfell with a certain swagger, a confidence that bordered on arrogance. A member of House Blackwood, the aunt of young Lord Benjicot Blackwood, Alysanne had come north under some pretense Y/N didn't care to know about. At the time, it had seemed inconsequential. She had dismissed it, too caught up in her own plans to pay attention to this new player on the board.

A mistake. A rare, foolish mistake. Her grandsire would have scolded her for being so pliant, so hasty, so unguarded. Never underestimate a rival, he would have said. Never take your eyes off the board. And Y/N had done just that.

She should not have misconstrued this woman.

Alysanne was everything Y/N was not. Tall and lean, with thick black curls that tumbled past her waist, she had a wildness to her that seemed to embody the very spirit of the North. Her long legs and strong arms marked her as a woman who spent more time in the saddle than at a hearth, more time holding a bow than a needle. She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense—her features were sharp, her smile wide and often mocking—but there was something about her. Something raw and fearless, a fire that seemed to burn just beneath her skin. And that smell…woodsmoke. It clung to her like a second skin, as if she had been born in the midst of a bonfire.

Y/N had heard the whispers—how Black Aly was a legend in the North. An excellent hunter, a horse-breaker, an archer with a keen eye. She was bold and outspoken, with a tongue sharp enough to cut through steel and a wit that could match the sharpest of minds. The Northerners adored her. They loved her for her wildness, for her lack of pretense, for the way she embodied everything they valued: strength, courage, a disregard for the fripperies of southern court life.

She could see it in their faces as Alysanne moved among them, laughing and jesting with the men, sharing bread and soup with the women. Y/N could almost feel the tides shifting, the winds changing, as this woman—this picture-perfect embodiment of Northern virtues—threatened to ruin everything she had worked for.

Cregan Stark took to Alysanne immediately. Of course, he did. Why wouldn’t he? He took her hunting, riding out into the forest with her at dawn while Y/N was left behind to smile and make small talk with his bannermen. He brought her to his war councils, included her in his patrols, took her to meet the northern lords. Wherever he went, Black Aly was at his side, her sharp, barking laughter echoing off the walls of Winterfell.

Y/N could see it in the way he looked at Alysanne—a gleam of admiration, of respect, of something deeper, something raw. He valued her opinions, sought her counsel. And that stung more than Y/N cared to admit. Did it truly come down to this? Y/N Targaryen, a princess of the realm, having to compete with some backwater nobody?

She could feel her temper simmering beneath her skin like a slow-burning fire, the frustration building with each passing day. She thought of confronting Cregan directly, her hands curling into fists as she imagined the scene. She would demand to know why he spent so much time with that woman, why he found her so intriguing, so worthy of his attention. But no—she knew better than that. She couldn’t afford to appear desperate, to show him how much this rankled her. Instead, she kept her face a mask of calm, her smiles as practiced and serene as ever, even as she felt herself cracking.

One evening, as Cregan returned from yet another outing with Alysanne, Y/N was waiting for him in the hall, her posture regal, her eyes gleaming in the dim firelight. “Lord Stark,” she called out, her tone light but firm. “You’ve been busy.”

Cregan paused, glancing at her, his expression unreadable. “There is much to do, Princess,” he replied evenly. “The North doesn’t rest.”

She offered him a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So I see. And it seems you have found quite the companion to help you with your duties.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Alysanne is a trusted friend,” he said. “She knows these lands as well as I do.”

Y/N felt a flicker of irritation but kept her voice smooth. “Of course. She is a fine… huntress. But surely, you don’t need her for every task, my lord. I’m certain there are others who could serve just as well. Perhaps even better.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his grey eyes searching her face. “Are you offering to join me on my next patrol, Princess?” he asked, his tone challenging, with the faintest hint of amusement.

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter, but inside, she felt a surge of frustration. “If you think my skills would be of use,” she replied, matching his tone. “I am, after all, more than just a… court ornament.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her skin prickle. “I’ve never doubted that,” he said softly. “But the North is not a place for games or tricks. It demands strength and a willingness to face the unknown without fear.”

Her smile wavered, just a little. “I am not afraid of the unknown,” she replied, her voice edged with steel. “Nor am I afraid to prove myself.”

Cregan’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, his voice lowering, more intimate. “But Alysanne… she knows this land, these people. She knows how to speak to them, how to move among them. That is not something you can learn in a few weeks.”

Y/N felt the sting of his words, but she masked it with another smile, her eyes flashing. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but I have learned much in a short time. And I am still learning, Lord Stark. Every day.”

Cregan nodded, as if considering her words. “Then learn, Princess,” he said quietly. “But do not think you must compete with Alysanne. She is… unique, yes. But so are you.”

The words were meant to placate, to soothe, but they only made her feel more cornered.

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The doors to the great hall swung open with a loud creak, and a chill wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of snow and iron. Y/N turned, her eyes narrowing as she saw the commotion. Cregan Stark had returned, his presence commanding attention even as he limped slightly, his dark hair damp with sweat, his face streaked with mud and blood. His men flanked him, some of them leaning on one another, their expressions grim, their clothes stained with the same mixture of dirt and crimson.

Her heart lurched at the sight, but she quickly schooled her features into a mask of cool indifference. The skirmishes with the wildlings had been growing more frequent, their raids bolder, and it seemed today had been no different. The maesters were already scrambling, rushing forward with their apprentices and assistants, trying to assess the most grievous injuries, their faces set in strained concentration.

Y/N took in the scene with a practiced eye, her mind already calculating. There were too many injured, too much blood soaking into the stone floor of the hall. She could see that the maesters were stretched thin, their resources and patience fraying at the edges. Cregan, of course, was insisting on helping his men, despite the fact that he was clearly favoring his left leg, a nasty gash visible on his right thigh, and his arm hung a little too limply at his side.

Typical. The man was as stubborn as a mule.

She moved closer, catching sight of the way he clenched his jaw against the pain, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look older, wearier. He was trying to wave off a young apprentice who was attempting to guide him toward a bench.

“I’m fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “See to the others first.”

The apprentice looked helplessly at Cregan, clearly torn between obeying the Warden of the North and following the orders of the maesters. Y/N, sensing an opportunity, pushed through the crowd, her chin tilted upward, her eyes sharp.

“Really, Lord Stark?” she called out, her voice loud enough to carry over the clamor. “You look about as fine as a roast pig on a spit.”

Cregan’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing at her. “Princess,” he said, his voice edged with irritation, “this is no place for jesting.”

She smiled, a sharp, knowing smile. “No, but it is a place for common sense. Something you seem to be sorely lacking at the moment.” She turned to the apprentice and gestured toward the other men. “Go. Help the others. I’ll take care of your lord.”

The apprentice hesitated for a moment, glancing between them, but then scurried off, clearly relieved to be free of Cregan’s stubbornness. Y/N stepped closer, folding her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on the injured lord.

Cregan grunted, his expression darkening. “I don’t need your help, Princess. I’ve had worse than this.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she replied. “But forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment on your own health, seeing as you’re bleeding all over the floor and insisting you’re perfectly fine. Very lordly of you, I’m sure, but also incredibly stupid.”

He scowled at her, a deep line forming between his brows. “I can take care of myself.”

“And yet,” she countered, stepping even closer, “you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you? Sit down, Cregan, before you fall down and make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue further, but then he winced, a flash of pain crossing his face, and Y/N seized the moment. She reached out, gripping his uninjured arm with a strength that belied her slender frame, and guided him toward a nearby bench. “Sit,” she ordered, her voice firm, and to her surprise, he obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

He dropped onto the bench with a huff, glaring up at her. “I don’t need a nursemaid, least of all a princess from the South who’s never seen a real fight.”

She laughed, a sharp, sarcastic sound. “You’re right, I’ve never fought wildlings or raiders. But I have spent plenty of time in the Red Keep watching men bleed out because they were too stubborn to accept help. So, unless you want to be one of those men, shut up and let me work.”

His gaze flickered with something between annoyance and grudging respect. “Fine,” he muttered, “but make it quick. I have men to see to.”

“Quick?” She snorted. “You don’t give orders here, Stark. Not while you’re under my care.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your care? And what makes you think you’re qualified?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she grabbed a nearby cloth, soaked it in a basin of water, and began to clean the wound on his thigh with swift, precise movements. Cregan hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing beneath her hands, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’ve shadowed Grand Maester Orwyle countless times,” she said as she worked, her voice steady. “I know what I’m doing. And more importantly, I’m not about to let you bleed out just because you’re too pigheaded to admit you need help.”

He grunted again but said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. She could see the pain in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened with each touch, but he stayed still, letting her do her work. She carefully cleaned the wound, her hands moving with a skill that surprised even herself, then reached for a needle and thread.

“This will hurt,” she warned, threading the needle with practiced ease.

“I’ve had worse,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Of course you have,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it after I’ve saved your life.”

His lips twitched, almost as if he were fighting a smile. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess.”

“And you’ve a thick skull, Lord Stark,” she shot back. “Now hold still.”

She began to stitch the wound, her needle moving with swift, precise strokes. Cregan watched her, his eyes dark and intense, but she didn’t falter. For once, she was not the southern courtier, the diplomatic princess with honeyed words and gentle smiles. She was herself, sharp and unyielding, meeting his stubbornness with her own.

When she finished, she tied off the thread with a quick, efficient knot and sat back, wiping her hands on the cloth. “There,” she said, satisfaction in her voice. “You’ll live to fight another day.”

He stared at her, a mix of surprise and grudging admiration in his eyes. “You did well,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

She arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Was there ever any doubt?”

He chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. “Plenty,” he admitted.

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Winter is coming.

No, not the Stark words, spoken like a prayer or a warning. Winter is truly coming, and Y/N can feel it deep in her bones, creeping through the stone walls of Winterfell like a living thing.

The air has grown sharper, biting at her cheeks with every gust of wind, and the snow falls thicker now, each flake heavy and deliberate. The trees are bare, their branches skeletal against the grey sky, and the cold seems to press down on her, seeping into her skin with a relentless chill. It is a different kind of cold than she has ever known, a cold that seeps into her lungs and settles there, making each breath feel like an effort.

The North has always been harsh, but now it feels like it is preparing for something more—something darker, more unforgiving. Even the men and women of Winterfell, who have spent their entire lives in the shadow of winter, seem more guarded, more wary. There are murmurs in the great hall, anxious whispers in the corridors. Wildlings have been sighted more frequently, their numbers growing bolder and more desperate as the long night approaches. The skirmishes along the Wall have increased, and the night fires are lit earlier and burn longer.

Y/N pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she crosses the courtyard, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She knows what is coming. She can feel it in the very marrow of her bones. Winter is coming, and with it, something more—a tension that hangs in the air like a drawn bowstring, taut and ready to snap.

That night, as she sits by the fire in her chambers, a raven arrives. The black bird flutters through the window, its wings dusted with snow, a rolled parchment tied to its leg. Y/N takes it with a frown, untying the message with cold fingers, her eyes narrowing as she recognizes the seal. Hightower.

She unfurls the parchment and reads the message, her eyes scanning the words with a growing sense of unease.

Return to King’s Landing at once.

The words are simple, direct, and she can almost hear Otto’s voice behind them, calm but commanding. He has received reports of the incoming long winter, of the increasing sightings of wildlings, and he deems it no longer safe for her to remain in the North. He urges her to leave before the roads become impassable, before the snows deepen and the wildlings grow more desperate.

Y/N exhales slowly, a plume of breath escaping her lips in the cold air of her chamber. She should feel relieved. Glad, even. No longer required to linger in this frozen wasteland, where the people are as hard as the ground they walk on, and her plans have slowly unraveled like thread from a worn tapestry. She should be glad to return to the South, to the warmth and intrigue of King’s Landing, where the games are played on her terms.

But instead, she feels a sharp sting of frustration. She berates herself for failing to secure the North for her family, for not weaving a strong enough web to catch the loyalty of these proud, stubborn people. A true Targaryen, she should have bent them to her will, but the North is as unyielding as its lord, and she has not succeeded in making it hers. It is a bitter pill to swallow.

“Failure,” she murmurs, her voice a low hiss in the dim light of her chamber. “And what would you say to that, Lord Hand? That your granddaughter, for all her cleverness, could not win the North?”

She lets out a soft, mirthless laugh, crumpling the parchment in her hand. “It’s a matter for another day,” she tells herself. She will return to King's Landing, regroup, plot anew. There are always other pieces to play, other moves to make.

Yet, her thoughts drift back to Cregan Stark. The brooding wolf of the North, with his grim expression and unyielding sense of honor. She won’t admit, even to herself, that she is fond of him. Or likes him. Or anything of the sort. No, certainly not. But… there is something about him that lingers in her mind like a half-remembered dream, something she can’t quite shake off.

After being surrounded by the snakes of King’s Landing, the liars and flatterers, the power-hungry and the depraved, she finds something strangely compelling in Cregan Stark’s righteousness. It comes to him as naturally as breathing, as naturally as wielding that massive Valyrian steel sword of his, the one he calls Ice.

She has seen him wield it with ease, watched him cleave through the air with a power that seems almost otherworldly. She has watched him ride out with his men, fearless and unyielding, his face set in determination. There is a strength in him that is not just physical, but something deeper, something that runs to his very core. A strength that does not waver, that does not bend, even under the weight of the North’s endless cold.

And she hates it. She hates how it seems to make everything about him… uncomplicated. How he carries his honor like a shield, how he speaks his truth without hesitation, without guile, as if the very concept of deception is foreign to him. It is infuriating. It is intriguing. And it has left a mark on her, whether she likes it or not.

Y/N folds the letter and tucks it into the folds of her gown, her fingers lingering on the soft fabric for a moment longer than necessary. She knows what she must do; her place is back in the South. But as she rises to her feet, her eyes drift around her room, taking in the rough-hewn walls, the cold stone floor, and the fur pelts draped across her bed. There is a part of her—small, quiet, but undeniably present—that resents leaving this place. Resents leaving him behind.

She sighs, pushing the thought away, and begins to gather what little she had brought with her. No handmaiden to help her, not that she would ask. She has always preferred to do things herself when it comes down to it. She moves about the room with a swift efficiency, her hands quick and sure as she folds her scarves, places them neatly in her travel bag.

She is in the midst of folding a deep green scarf, the color of pine needles, when a knock sounds at her door. She freezes, her fingers still gripping the fabric, and for a moment, she considers ignoring it. But then she rolls her eyes at her own hesitation and strides to the door, swinging it open.

Cregan Stark stands on the other side, looking as rugged and battered as ever. There is a bandage wrapped around his arm, another at his side, but he stands tall, his posture straight, his face unreadable. He looks better than he had when she had tended to him earlier, but not by much. His grey eyes flick to her, and she can’t quite read the expression in them.

“Lord Stark,” she greets, her voice carefully neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He inclines his head slightly. “I came to thank you,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “For earlier. For tending to my wounds.”

She raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh? Didn’t think you’d bother with gratitude.”

He snorts softly. “I’m not so stubborn as to ignore a kindness when it’s given.”

“A kindness?” She smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I think you’ll find I had very little kindness in mind when I forced you to sit down.”

His lips twitch, just slightly. “Perhaps not,” he concedes. “But you did help. I owe you that much.”

Her gaze softens, just for a moment, but before she can reply, his eyes shift past her, taking in the half-packed bags and scattered belongings strewn across the room. His brows knit together in a frown.

“What is this?” he asks, his tone sharper than before.

Y/N shrugs, affecting a nonchalant air. “I’m going home,” she replies, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “A happy bit of news for you, I’d wager.”

He is silent for a moment, his frown deepening, his eyes fixed on hers. “No,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “I take no joy in this news.”

She blinks, momentarily caught off guard. “No? I thought you’d be delighted to see the back of me.”

His expression softens, and he steps further into the room, his gaze never leaving hers. “Believe it or not, Princess, I’ve grown accustomed to your… presence.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you on about?” she demands, her voice sharper now, a hint of frustration creeping in. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a fondness for me, Cregan Stark.”

He hesitates, then, with a sigh, says, “Perhaps. Or maybe I’ve simply developed a soft spot for your relentless stubbornness.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Oh, do spare me,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “The Wolf of the North with a soft spot for a Targaryen? Is that supposed to flatter me?”

He gives a half-smile, his eyes holding hers. “It’s not meant to flatter, just the truth.”

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Right. And I suppose this has nothing to do with your other northern… interests?” She tilts her head, her voice laced with mock sweetness. “Surely, Black Aly is more up your alley?”

His face hardens slightly, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Alysanne is a friend,” he replies, his voice calm. “A trusted one. But you—”

“But me?” she interrupts, stepping closer, her eyes blazing. “But what, Cregan? Do you think I’m going to stay here in this frozen wasteland to be your latest curiosity?”

He shakes his head, his voice rising just a fraction. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?” she snaps. “Because I have no desire to dance around whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

He exhales, frustration lining his features, but there’s something softer there, too. “I meant,” he says slowly, deliberately, “that I have come to respect you, Y/N. To… care for you, in ways I did not expect.”

She laughs, sharp and incredulous. “Care for me? Truly? You’ve a strange way of showing it, taking Black Aly on all your little adventures while I’m stuck here playing house with your bannermen.”

Cregan’s eyes darken, his expression turning serious. “It wasn’t meant to slight you.”

“But it did,” she fires back, her voice lower, more intense. “It did. And now, you stand here, acting like you don’t want me to leave, when all you’ve done is—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he cuts her off, his voice firm, his gaze unyielding. “Not now. Not like this.”

There is a beat of silence, the air between them taut and electric. Y/N feels something twist inside her, something she doesn’t want to name.

“Why?” she finally asks, her voice almost a whisper. “Why, Cregan?”

He takes a step closer, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. “Because,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “for all your southern games and sharp words… you’ve gotten under my skin, Y/N Targaryen.”

She meets his gaze, searching his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of deception, but finds none. She swallows, her throat tight. “And what do you suggest I do about that?” she asks, her tone still edged, but softer now.

He glances around the room at her half-packed bags, and then, with a determined expression, begins to pick up her things, placing them back where they were. “For a start,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind, “you can stop packing.”

She watches, incredulous, as he calmly folds one of her scarves and places it back on the table. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

He looks up at her, his eyes twinkling with a challenge. “Undoing a mistake,” he replies simply.

She shakes her head, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re very difficult, you know that?”

He grins, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “So I’ve been told.”

They stand there, close enough to touch, the tension between them crackling like a fire waiting to ignite. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them is thick, charged with something that neither of them can quite name. She lets out a sigh, breaking the silence that has settled over them.

“My grandsire has called for me,” she says finally, her voice softer than before. “It’s more of a command, really, than a request.”

Cregan’s brow furrows, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. “Is Otto Hightower the King of the Seven Kingdoms now?” he asks, his tone dry, laced with a hint of disdain.

Y/N chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver through him. “He might as well be,” she replies, a faint smile playing on her lips. “He certainly acts like it.”

“Seems he’s got a hold on you too,” Cregan mutters, his gaze never leaving hers.

She shrugs, a half-smirk curving her lips. “I wouldn’t survive a winter here, would I? You said so yourself, Lord Stark. Even Vermithor and Silverwing refused to fly beyond the Wall of their own accord. Those ancient, powerful creatures wouldn’t dare. So whatever lies out there…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It must be damning.”

Cregan’s expression is unreadable, his jaw tightening for a moment. “I can keep you safe,” he says quietly, but there’s a firmness to his voice, an unyielding resolve that makes her chest tighten.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Oh, how kind of you, my big, bad wolf,” she drawls, her tone mocking but playful, her fingers reaching out to brush lightly against his arm. “But how about you start with something simple?”

His eyes narrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Simple?” he repeats.

She steps closer, so close that her breath mingles with his, the warmth of her skin brushing against him. “How about, for starters, you try keeping me warm?” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carries between them like a challenge. “It is awfully freezing here… Can you do that for me, Lord Stark?”

For a moment, Cregan says nothing. His eyes search hers, as if trying to discern whether she’s serious, or just toying with him as she so often does. Y/N isn’t expecting much—she knows the Northerners, with their prudish notions of honor and virtue, probably see this as a surefire way to eternal damnation. She expects him to laugh it off, to turn away with a huff, to remind her, once again, that he is not some Southern lord to be trifled with.

But he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t turn away. Instead, his gaze darkens, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips, the line of her throat. He takes a step closer, his body towering over hers, and she feels the heat radiating from him, the intensity in his stare. Her breath catches in her throat, her heart thundering in her chest as he reaches out, his hand cupping her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sends a thrill down her spine. “For me to keep you warm?”

Y/N swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected the Wolf of the North to respond to her challenge with anything but stern disapproval. “I—” she starts, but the words catch in her throat as his thumb brushes over her lower lip, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

He leans in, his breath warm against her skin, and she feels the heat of his body pressing against hers, the rough fabric of his tunic brushing against the softness of her gown. “Say it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost desperate. “Say what you want, Y/N.”

Her heart pounds, and she feels a rush of something she can’t quite name—fear, desire, defiance—all mingling together in her chest. “I want…” she begins, her voice wavering, but then she catches herself, lifts her chin, her eyes flashing. “I want you to keep me warm, Cregan Stark.”

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile, and before she can draw another breath, his mouth is on her throat, hot and insistent. She gasps, her hands instinctively flying to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tunic as he kisses her skin, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of her collarbone, his teeth grazing against her pulse.

“Gods,” she breathes, a mixture of surprise and pleasure washing over her. She hadn’t expected this—not from him. But he is relentless, his mouth moving against her skin, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, his tongue tracing patterns that make her shiver. He smells of the woods and leather, of smoke and something wilder, something purely him, and it makes her head spin.

She feels a hot rush of sensation flood her body, a fire igniting deep within her belly as he kisses and nibbles at her neck, her collarbones, his hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” she gasps, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging just a bit.

He chuckles against her skin, the sound vibrating through her, and she can feel his grin. “I am good at playing my part too, Princess,” he mutters, his voice rough, raw with hunger.

She arches against him, feeling the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his beard against her skin, and something inside her snaps. She doesn’t care about the cold, or the North, or even the damned wildlings anymore. She only cares about the way his mouth feels on her, the way his hands move against her, the way he’s suddenly, inexplicably, decided to abandon his precious restraint.

“Oh, so you’re not a prude after all?” she teases, her voice a breathless whisper, but there’s a tremor in it she can’t quite control.

He bites down gently on her shoulder, making her gasp, and she feels him smile against her skin. “Careful now,” he growls softly, his lips trailing up to her ear. “You might just find out how much I’m not.”

She laughs, a low, sultry sound that makes his grip tighten. “Well then, Lord Stark,” she murmurs, her voice daring. “Show me.”

And he does. All night long.

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The next morning, chaos erupted in Winterfell. The dawn broke over the snow-covered battlements, but there was no sign of the Lord of Winterfell. Cregan’s chamber was found empty, his bed undisturbed, and his bannermen immediately feared the worst. The cold winds carried whispers of possible attacks, of kidnappings, of wildlings breaching the walls in the dead of night.

“Where is he?” one of the lords muttered, his voice tight with worry. “I saw him head to his chamber last night. He should be there!”

“But he’s not,” another snapped, his face pale. “And there’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing.”

Maids and guards exchanged nervous glances, and the tension in the great hall thickened like smoke. Servants hurried through the corridors, peering into every nook and cranny, while a group of bannermen began to search the grounds, checking the stables, the armory, anywhere he might have gone.

The panic spread quickly, growing like wildfire. Hushed voices turned into frantic shouts, and soon enough, a full search was underway. Every room, every corridor, every shadowed corner was combed through with increasing urgency.

“Maybe he’s gone to the Godswood?” one bannerman suggested, and a group ran in that direction, boots crunching against the snow.

“What if he’s been taken?” another whispered fearfully. “The wildlings—”

“No, he’d never be taken without a fight!” a grizzled old warrior barked, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. “Keep looking!”

And so they did, their desperation growing as each minute passed without a trace of their lord.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the servants hesitantly approached the door to Y/N’s chamber. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle as if unsure whether he should dare to disturb a Targaryen princess. But with his heart pounding and knowing that all of Winterfell was searching, he pushed the door open.

There, in the soft light of dawn that filtered through the small window, they found him.

Cregan Stark lay sprawled across the bed, still deep in sleep, his dark hair tousled, a faint smile playing on his lips. His arm was wrapped tightly around Y/N Targaryen, holding her close against him as if she were the most precious thing in the world. They were entangled in the furs, his body curved protectively around hers, their legs entwined, her head resting on his chest.

For a moment, the servant could only gape, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Then, finding his voice, he croaked out, “Lord Stark!”

Cregan stirred, groaning softly, his eyes blinking open in the dim light. He looked down to see Y/N still nestled against him, her silver hair a soft halo on his chest. For a brief, confused moment, he forgot where he was, why there were voices at the door.

Then he heard the shocked gasp of the servant, and it all came rushing back.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a bannerman’s voice boomed from behind the servant, and within seconds, the doorway filled with faces, wide-eyed and bewildered.

Cregan rubbed his eyes, sitting up slowly, his hand still cradling Y/N. He glanced over at the doorway and saw the crowd of his bannermen and servants, their expressions ranging from horrified to amused to utterly scandalized.

“Well, it seems I’ve been found,” he muttered, a grin spreading across his face as he looked down at her, still half-asleep beside him. “So much for a quiet morning.”

Y/N stirred, blinking up at him, and then she saw the small crowd gathered in the doorway. Her cheeks flushed, but her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Good morrow, gentlemen,” she purred, propping herself up on her elbow. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

The bannermen stood frozen for a moment, then the old warrior who’d been leading the search cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed red. “Lord Stark, we thought… well, we feared the worst.”

Cregan’s smile widened, his hand brushing a strand of silver hair from Y/N’s face. “No need for fear, Wylis,” he replied, his tone far too amused. “As you can see, I’m very much alive. Just… occupied.”

The servant who had found them couldn’t suppress a grin, though he quickly ducked his head to hide it. The bannermen, on the other hand, exchanged awkward glances, shifting their weight, unsure of what to say.

Y/N looked up at Cregan, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems you’ve caused quite the stir, my lord,” she murmured, teasingly. “Should I be worried that your men are so eager to find you?”

Cregan chuckled, pulling her closer, ignoring the gaping faces in the doorway. “Let them talk,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “I have everything I want right here.”

And as the bannermen mumbled and fidgeted, trying to find a way to excuse themselves from the room without causing further embarrassment, Cregan leaned down to kiss her forehead, his smile never fading. “Let them see,” he whispered. “Let them know.”

Y/N laughed softly, rolling her eyes. “As you wish, wolf.”

And with that, he pulled her back into the warm cocoon of furs, ignoring the murmurs from the doorway, perfectly content to remain exactly where he was.

[trulyumai]

Looking Past the Fire

Paring: Messmer x Reader

Synopsis: Between the shadow lands, laid Messmer. And between that? His darling wife.

Warnings: Talk of Death

A/N: Ive officially began the DLC and I am WASHED. Also this big nosed fella has been taking over my mind please send help. (I love it)

Enjoy!

For whom could ever love him as much as his wife once did? 

She would be there, to carry his heavy soul, kiss the bruised skin and wipe away the rotting blood. 

His wife was ever so patient; wiping at his dirtied frame carefully, cautiously. Like he was someone who deserved it, needed it. He got used to such loving touches, it was dangerous. His family scoffed behind his back- mumbled about his newfound weakness. But between his own blood was a wall of fire, and between that was her. 

In truth, he craved coming back home, to her, and her adoring frame and sappy expressions. 

He would always call out to her. 

“My love?” His voice was so soft, much more than one would ever guess a man like him would- could carry. 

A man of death and flame. 

“Over here, darling!” And he would see the back of her head, peeking up from the windowsill that laid just in front of their kitchen. 

She would always be in the flower filled garden, tending to each plant with care until her fingers were overtaken with blackened dirt.

She’d lift herself high then, peek over at him with blinking lashes. A serene expression always to be seen when gazing upon the red haired man. 

Messmer without thought would walk forth, to her, and her sun kissed cheeks. 

As if in a daze the man wouldn’t dare avert his eyes; for the goddess in front of him was enough to hold the attention of such a man of power. 

His head ducked under the wooden back door. His back would crack loudly almost every time, and sometimes a groan of protest would leave the pale man’s lips. 

And he would reachout, gently coaxing the woman to him once more, he wanted- needed to feel her soft skin against his rough and war torn body. 

She’d listen of course, and would press her frame to his without further delay. 

Messmer would allow his arms to wrap around her, with his nose digging into her neck to smell the sweet scent of sweat sticking to her damp skin. 

“Husband,” she giggled, hearing his sighs of contentment. 

“I’ve missed you, has the trip fared well?” 

The wind picked up, the giant yellowing trees swayed with the breeze and Messmer could no longer subdue his mind to the stress it was in mere moments ago. 

Right before he placed himself in his wife’s presence, the worries of the palace laid upon his shoulders. 

His command, his power, his reign- 

“Husband?” 

How would she react to the bodies littering the field, the broken families, the hierarchy?

Her fingertips grazed his cheek.

“Hm? Oh, yes, the trip was easy, my wife,” 

The knight picked a fallen leaf that had laid upon her hair carelessly. 

“I’ve established safe perimeters. None shall lay harm to the south for quite some time.” 

She smiled. 

“Of course you did, my strong Knight. For who could be more of a protector than you?”

Bile reached up to the man's throat, it burned his insides with spite and regret. 

His wife was ill informed, she hadn't heard of the burning castle walls- with its soldiers laying crumpled and burnt in his wake. 

In fact, he hadn’t been a knight for the order in many moons, his siege had taken over much of the shadowlands, in which he was close to winning.

For none could stand the fiery ambition held between his sword and gaze 

He was a protector yes, but only for her. 

Messmer let out a deep laugh, it was short and muffled by his lips. 

The knight leaned down and began to trail kisses down his wifes temple, to her jaw, then finally, her lips. 

With a tilt to the head their mouths met, he placed a pale hand on the back of her head, pushing her to meet his lips with more strength. 

Nipping lightly the girl's hands fisted upon his armor, lightly trying to push herself away from the man- most likely for air. 

He complied, and smiled as she let out a gasp for air with pink cheeks and lidded eyes. 

Taking his thumb he brushed it upon her chin, clearing up the saliva that had dribbled down. 

She leaned into his palm, and Messmer once more felt the bite of regret nip at the edges of his mind. 

“Are you staying the night?” Her voice, barely above the howling wind, brought him back. 

Messmer hummed, his hand found the back of her waist. 

“I have dinner going, i'll make your place at the table.”

He only nodded his head as she padded off, not taking his eyes off the darkened clouds approaching their vicinity. 

From the corner of his eye, Messmer eyed the rising smoke. 

The south let out a plethora of darkened fumes, the village there laid in smoldering, blackened ash. 

Of course the south laid safe and ill of enemies; for he had cleared its population down to nothing. 

The land may never return to its original state with its burnt hills and mountains.

“It's ready, my love!” 

Messmer turned back, meeting the gaze of his lover by the doorframe. 

Little drops of rain plopped onto his loosened hair, no longer did light shine through the gray skies, but muffled streams of sun. 

He turned his back to the village, the smoke and bodies. 

For a more important matter was at hand now; the happiness of his wife.

[klausysworld]

Hear me out.....

I have this idea for you... hear me out.

Reader is camping in mystic falls....klaus just broke his wolf curse. His first rut hits him and he runs into the woods. He gets a whiff of a very good smelling scent. He follows it. Turns out he has a mate and she is not a super creature but a human. Hear me out now.... she's his true mate...and he considers her his omega.

So when he approaches her she's like a tad bit freaked out but she feels that same pull to him he does with her. She sits down on the ground and klaus let's her pet him...

Let's just say this reader is into...werewolves cause she reads a lot of fanfiction so in her mind her wildest dreams are about to come true.�� And you can put two and two together.

Wolf!klaus fucking his human!reader as his mate. And after that moment they became inseparable. Your welcome. 😌

Dream or Reality?

Klaus ran far and fast, the pads of his paws thudding against the ground, wind blowing through his fur and that delightful rush of adrenaline had his undead heart pounding.

He dismissed Elijah’s annoyed callings for him and continued to enjoy the freedom he had longed for.

Everything was so intense now, even more that it already was. Every chirp of a cricket, every buzz of a bee, every crinkle of a leaf and every flap of a birds wings. He could hear for miles on end. As he looked around at his surroundings, the greens were brighter, the sky bluer. The the mud and blades of grass against his paws could each be individually felt and when he inhaled deeply, a wave of scents filled his lungs.

However one in particular stood out.

He made a sudden stop, his body skidding to a halt and his ears pointed straight up as he sniffed a few more times. His mouth watered and he pressed his snout down, following the delicious scent, chasing it as he heard the hum of a girl.

He slowed gradually and followed her as she weaves through the trees, a basket in hand which was filled with a range of wild berries. He sat down and watched as she picked from a large bush of blackberries, leaning a little closer to smell just how lovely she was. It had his claws digging into the ground and his tail beating the floor.

His eyes shone gold, bleeding into red as she bent right the way over to pick up her basket once she was finished picking from the high parts. Her short, flowy dress allowing him to see just about everything as her matching white thong left very little to the imagination.

Oh how he wanted to run up behind her and shove his mouth into her cunt. If she smelled this delicious, he could only dream of her taste.

But instead he decided to wait, follow her some more until it began to get dark and her stroll came to a stop. He looked around at the clearing she had chosen to rest at. Klaus kept low to the ground, the grass and flowers not hiding him as well as he might’ve hoped but enough.

He took a few tentative steps as she sat down against the grass, just watching the sun set. Her skin glowed under the golden hue and her hair lay beautifully against her skin. The white of her dress complimented her skin tone wonderfully, he could onto imagine how soft it would be against his tongue.

The thought alone had him walking straight to her, his muzzle brushing her shoulder making her freeze in place. Her head slowly turned to face him, wide eyes staring back at him and her breathing came to a stop.

He slowly sat before her, her lips parted slightly as he rolled his shoulders back and he sat tall before her. Her head tilted back to take in his height, a nervous breath leaving her as a soft growl rumbled through him.

She looked so weak in-front of him, so small and innocent. Oh how he knew he could just eat her up, in many ways.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, shock written all across her as maintained eye contact with him for as long as possible. He found it amusing how she tried to stand her ground by holding his stare, he allowed her to win this, allow her to feel as though she may have the upper hand.

Klaus brought himself down to lay on his forearms and back legs, his chest barely touching the grass below.

Her hand very slowly lifted, she held it out with fear flashing through her and a twinge of curiosity as he sniffed her hand. He groaned at the addictive scent of her blood underneath the surface and licked the soft skin of her palm. She giggled quietly at the tickle of his tongue as he dragged it up her arm and her other hand pet his head gently.

“Wow” she whispered under her breath and a smile tugged at her lips as he pulled his face away and looks down at her through hooded eyes. His head tilted when he caught the scent of something rather sweet. His tail whipped side to side when he realised the source of the delicious smell and lowered his head. Her eyes widened when his nose pressed to her lower belly and she gasped softly.

Her hands ran through his fur on his neck and down his back, well as far as her arms could reach from her seated position. When she leaned forward to touch his tail he took the opportunity to get his head under her skirt, the top of his snout pressed to her panties making her jolt and squeal.

“Shit” she whispered when she fell forward in surprise onto her hands and knees over the top of him. She kept still, unsure what her best move could be here, she couldn’t make any sudden movements, it might spook him and she didn’t exactly want to be with a violent wolf when it’s nose was rubbing against her panties.

An involuntary moan left her when his long, warm tongue pressed against her and she quickly rolled to her side and onto her back.

“Oh gods” she whispered when the wolf stood over her, licking his lips and sniffing her intently. She looked up wide eyed and even more so when he barked quietly at her before pressing his nose to the valley if her breasts.

Her mouth opened and closed as she stared into his eyes, a strange glint in them that told her he was definitely more than he looked.

Dear god she read too many werewolf fanfics. She was in a field with a fucking huge animal trying to feel her up and she liked it way more than she probably should.

“Okay, okay” she uttered to herself while slowly pushing herself up to be sitting again but he didn’t move, instead her face was hidden in his chest and his rustic scent was filling her head. She groaned softly at the addicting smell and found herself nuzzling her nose against his fur.

Klaus watched in both amusement and lust, his front leg lifted to wrap around her, his large paw holding the back of her head in encouragement as she huffed him in. Warmth spread through him, pooling at the pit of his stomach as her hands tugged his fur. God he needed to have her right now, make her his before anyone else could get even the slightest view of her.

His nose sniffed at the top of her head, her hair freshly washed and soft. Her cheek pressed to his chest and a small moan left her as he stepped forward and pressed a paw to her now damp underwear. His tail wagged and he turned his head to lick the shell of her ear and make her squirm.

She fell back against the grass as he pressed his nose to her throat to gently push her downwards.

“Fuck fuck fuck” she chanted as she closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his tongue along her neck. His teeth caged her throat, the action should’ve made her reek with fear but a low growl erupted from his chest at the flow of arousal she released as he bit down gently. Her hands latched onto his fur tightly, keeping his teeth in her as he pierced past the skin to leave his mark. “Oh god” she breathed as he licked over the wounds more moving his snout further down her body.

“This can’t be happening” she whispered as his canines nibbled along the swell of her breasts and pushed the top of her dress down to have more access. Klaus tugged at the fabric but she didn’t move to take it off making him huff and bark at her.

She looked back at him confused and shook her head slowly making him grumble before grabbing the skirt of the sundress and pulling it up making her yelp as he exposed her thong. Her hand moved to cover herself and she groaned when she realised how wet she was, not noticing the way his tail wagged rapidly when she pushed them down off her legs. “What am I doing” she mumbled to herself before glancing to the wolf.

“Sit” she whispered unsure but he did so and her eyes widened. “Okay” she laughed slightly and stood up, entertained by the fact he followed her. “Go on, go home” she shooed him, but he kept his nose nice and close to the source of her scent and followed her until she stopped at a large teepee tent. She sighed and went inside, closing it up before Klaus could step in making him growl softly.

Not that it was an issue, he just powered his way through and drank in the sight before him. Seeing her pull off her dress and pull out a skimpy pair of pyjamas. Perfect for his eyes but he also hated that she would come to an open area, anyone could come by, and wear such lack of clothing.

She shrieked when she turned to see him stood before her and grabbed her sleeping bag to cover herself. It wasn’t appreciated apparently as he showed her by grabbing the end of it and pulling it roughly like a dog would a tug toy. Her hold on it was nothing compared to his and she ended up fully naked again for his eager eyes.

“What the actual fuck” she whispered looking back at him with a slightly fearful, slightly aroused look in her eyes while his shone with lust and hunger.

Her legs pressed together, her hands awkwardly hiding her sex from his view. She took a reluctant step back as he stalked toward her much like a predator does his prey before closing her eyes nervously and praying to god that this animal wouldn’t eat her.

Oh but he wanted to, just a little differently to the way she was thinking.

So when his tongue licked at her slightly shaky hands, she moved them slowly in anticipation. Her eyes flew open when he nuzzled his nose between her thighs, nudging them apart and locking his eyes on hers and his tongue curled between them. “Oh fuck” she breathed as it slid along her folds, then between them until the tip of his tongue stroked her clit.

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” She told herself “it’s just a dream” she whispered with a long breath, her hands moving to pet the top of his head. If it were a dream then she could do this, just live out her dirty fantasies and wake up in the morning all hot and sweaty.

Klaus chuckled in his head at her words and continued his actions. Her hands in his fur felt delightful, and her taste on his tongue was more than heavenly. Her body was so beautiful from where he was, looking straight up at her. Her face was looking up, avoiding his stare making his tail wag lowly as he buried his face further into her cunt, tongue deep inside her and the blunts of his teeth nibbling the hood of her clit to have her thighs trembling, legs struggling to keep her stood up. Her nails dug into his scruff and her knees went weak.

He let his eyes fall closed as he focused solely on her. She was overwhelming in every aspect but he couldn’t stop craving her. Such an addictive taste, smell, feel. Her slippery pink flesh was so incredibly soft, smooth like silk and he could only imagine how it will feel around his shaft as he slides in and out of her.

His tongue reached up into her, feeling for and finding that spongey little spot within her. One stroke of his tongue was all it took for her legs to give out, knees hitting the base of the tent as she moaned loudly. Her arms moved out to ease herself down as she laid on her back, thighs open for him to indulge between.

“Fucking hell” she uttered under her breath as her hands grabbed him tightly and kept his face right against her. Her fucks bucked and a sharp cry left her when his cold nose rubbed at her hot clit, his tongue continuously curling inside her until she was spilling her pleasure into his mouth. Moaning loudly with no control over herself as she came over his muzzle, she pushed herself up on her elbows to watch him tongue dart out to lap up every drop.

His dark, dangerous eyes gazed right into hers, hunger was all she could see as he licked his snout clean with a low rumble echoing through him.

Klaus couldn’t think about anything else. He needed to have her right now. He took a seat before her, he looked down between his legs to see he his long, thick cock stood in desperate need of attention. He glanced back to her, seeing her lips parted and eyes dark as she whimpered at the sight of it. He sat a little taller as she crawled forward, nervously looking up to him every few movements before she was right in-front of him. God she looked pathetically tiny compared to him like this, and he loved it.

Her small soft hands reached forward to get a gentle hold on his cock. A grunt instantly left his throat as she kept her eyes on his, waiting incase he reacted threateningly. Her eyes flickered between his face and his dick, her breathing getting heavier as both her hands slid up and down his length, his thickness filling both hands more and more as she stroked him.

“Jesus fucking Christ” she whispered when she looked at it a little too long, watching a spurt of pre-cum leak down him making her spread it all over his cock. A soft moan left her lips when his hips jerked forward and she glanced to him before slowly leaning down.

Klaus’ tail whipped side to side as her breath ghosted his tip, growl like groans leaving him before he choked on his breath as her plump lips pressed to his cock. A gasp left her and he looked down to see if something was wrong but he felt her suckling at the slit telling him everything was just perfect.

His hips jumped forward, his claws digging into the ground as he stretched her mouth open. She moaned in pain at the sting of her face but his taste was so rich and addicting that she just ignored it.

Klaus rose so he was stood up instead of sat, his hips rocking into her little mouth as she sent a flow of vibrations down him. She too was on all fours as she seemingly tried to swallow him down. His head leaned down to lick over the top of her ass, the softness of his tongue making her whimper around his succulent cock. His tongue dipped down between her cheeks to taste her once more, and of course to feel the moans she released around him again.

He listened as his little mate choked around him as his swollen tip knocked as far back as it could. Her poor throat contracted around it until she gagged and he stepped back to spare her. She coughed a little and sucked at his tip a little more before pulling back to catch her breath.

Klaus stood tall and turned around, still stood over her but now in a position ready to mouth her. Though she was so small infront of him he would be nearly lead down to fuck her.

He licked her back softly as her breathing sped up and her head looked over her shoulder to see his strong form over her. She let out a lengthy breath, a small nod to her head she she tried to mentally prepare herself for the step she was taking.

Klaus’s back legs bent to bring himself lower, his large cock going between her legs and sliding against her dripping cunt. He admired how soaked she was, he wondered how long she had fantasised of this position. To be fucked by a werewolf.

Though her loud moan told him it must’ve been a while as his tip pushed inside her. Her pussy clung to him tightly and her gasps for breath were obvious as her little body stretched for him. Klaus wouldn’t have been surprised if she came as soon as he thrust himself inside her from the way her body reacted.

Klaus wasn’t sure if this was exactly ethical but neither one of them seemed to exactly care very much about morals at that moment. She tilted her head back to look up at him, his tail wagged at the sight of her glossy eyes. Her mouth opened and a whimpered “Please” left her soft lips. He listened to her pleas, bucking his hips forward and listening to the scream that she released as her head fell back forward to look down. His front paws pushed against the tent floor to thrust himself back and forth slowly.

Her moans were melodic, her velvet walls tight. Klaus only wished he could whisper his filthy thoughts to her.

He shifted his from legs, his paws grabbing onto her hips and his claws digging into her skin making her hiss. Her pain only lasted a second as his hips began to abruptly thrust faster.

“Oh fuck” she yelled as he roughly humped into her. He stood strong on his back legs, lifting her lower region up as he pounded her from behind, quite literally like a wild animal. Her palms lay flat against the ground as her body jolted forward each time his swelled tip smacked her cervix.

His panted grunts filled the air as well as her rapid breaths and moans. The tent felt much smaller as the air got thicker. Hard thrusts knocked the air out of her every second, sharp breaths leaving her as she felt her cunt spasm around his dick. Klaus fucked her faster, harder at the feel of her slippery walls squeezing him desperately.

Klaus felt something extra sensitive growing at the base of his cock and hitting against her tight little hole. She let out a pleasant cry as she felt herself be stretched out further.

Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped open at the feel of his wolf’s knot shove in and out of her.

Klaus’s mind clouded over, he barely registered how her body shook and her screams got loud enough for the whole forest to hear. All he focused on was getting his knot so deep inside her that she was bound to him forever. His wolf clawed at her waist and hips as his hind legs steadied to fuck her as roughly as he could.

Her cunt clamped around him tightly, his knot locking inside her making her cry in pleasure when their orgasms mixed. His stuffing her full of his seed and hers exploding down her thighs. Her body fell exhausted immediately, the knotting taking its toll as it should for first time mates.

Klaus pulled out and whined as her arms gave out under her and she hit the ground with a thud. His tongue was on her face, trying to wake her up but she was barely conscious.

He circled her for a full minute before curling around her, wrapping her frame in his warmth.

His snout squeezed between her thighs which desperately tried to squeeze together. He lapped his tongue against her folds, cleaning her cunt and thighs so she wouldn’t feel sticky when she woke.

Klaus stayed awake while she slept. She slept for nearly 16 hours but he didn’t move. He abandoned any plans of hunting and terrorising civilians like he had originally wanted to when he released his wolf and instead smuggled his mate. He found himself with his muzzle in her pussy nearly every few hours no matter how hard he tried to resist, he knew it was making her sleepier but god he just couldn’t help himself. At least he managed to stop himself from fucking her again, he can only imagine how she would scream herself awake.

But he was able to hold some of his desires inside.

He kept her warm and safe for over half a day. Even when she woke, she was still drowsy and wasn‘y up to moving so he kept her comfy and pleased.

They both seemed to forget that the woods were open to anyone walking past. Elijah made the futile mistake of thinking his brother was killing the girl onto to find him with his furry face between her legs. Klaus nearly ripped his eyes out of his head.

Elijah left and returned a full day later with both men’s and women’s clothes, tossing them into the tent.

Klaus had turned back a few hours before and had to confirm the girls dreams, he was a werewolf.

“Hybrid actually” he told her and her eyes widened making him chuckle and kiss her lips softly. She wasn’t expecting such gentleness from the animal which had ruined her poor pussy but there he was, rubbing her skin to keep her warm and encouraging her to keep her eyes closed.

Klaus growled when Elijah threw the clothes in but somewhat appreciated it anyway.

He dressed y/n and then himself, scooping her into his arms and kissing her cheek.

“We’re going on a trip sweetheart, we’ll be finding many more werewolves and I’ll teach you everything you can know about the supernatural” he told her with a soft smile and slow strokes her hair as she nuzzled his chest.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Thirteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical violence. A walk through Velaris turns for the worse and the secrets of The Book are finally revealed...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It would seem I was wrong. It does not take much for Bethsevah Mordeigh to turn. 

I should be ashamed, but the more often Thanatos keeps coming back, the more I come to like him. Make no mistake, he’s as dangerous and volatile as a starving animal, but compared to his siblings he’s a saint. 

I saw him kill a male yesterday. One who stumbled upon our hidden ceremony and threatened to come back with Koschei’s army and crush us and the Mother beneath his boot. 

But with a snap of Thanatos’s fingers the nameless fae was gone. Gone in a gust of red wind that smelled and tasted like metal. And Thanatos looked stronger for it. His pale skin stopped being so translucent. His hair looked a touch darker, so dark it swallowed all light. A piece cut away from the fabric of the world. 

Death is his food. Him and his siblings feed on it and crave it like nothing else. 

Except for me. 

Thanatos says he craves me. And I think I believe him. I think I’m beginning to crave him too. 

Gwyn froze when the mountain’s door slid back. Azriel stood outside Cagniv Library with a bouquet of salt-white water lilies clutched in one hand and pale blue tulips in the other. 

“Azriel,” you smiled brightly, the last word you’d meant to speak to Gwyn dying on your lips. “What’re you doing here?”

The midday sun beat down on the face of the mountain, shortening the shadows around your feet. 

“I was coming from the House of Wind and was hoping you’d take a long walk home with me. These are for you.” He held out the tulips. “And for you.” He held out the lilies for Gwyn, which she accepted after a brief moment of hesitance. 

Azriel looked… lighter. His shadows were stronger than ever, clinging to his body like a second scent, but his eyes held a fondness and love for you that Gwyn had never seen before. Not when he was looking at Mor, not when he was looking at Elain… not when he was looking at her. It was so obvious to Gwyn’s eyes, she was amazed you hadn’t caught on yet. You just looked at the flowers with a touch of color flooding your cheeks. Bashful and uncertain of how to accept such a gift. 

“Thank you.” You touched the velvety petals between your fingers as though they might crumble if you weren’t gentle. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Azriel looked at Gwyn, that small smile of his faltering and then growing once more when Gwyn nodded her head. It was a silent acknowledgement. A quiet understanding that didn’t completely escape your notice. 

I’m not happy with you. Gwyn’s eyes spoke. But I understand. Her teal eyes flashed protectively. Don’t fuck this up.

“I assume I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Gwyn smirked at you and nudged her shoulder with your own, feeling the soft give of her skin and the strength in her arms. 

“Where else would I be?”

“At home. Sleeping.”

“Pffft. Sleep is for the weak.” 

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Az. Now shoo.” Gwyn waved you off, watching as you took the arm that Azriel offered and made your way down the smooth steps of the mountain back to the city. 

You bowed your heads together, lips barely moving and cutting out two dark silhouettes in the air. Azriel must have said something funny because your gentle laugh carried itself on the wind, weaving into the air like silver thread. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile at you. 

If she knew what was about to happen, she would have never let you leave the library. 

“They’re in love.” 

Azriel looked sideways at you, catching the sweet scent of your hair as you leaned against him. The Palace of Hoof and Leaf buzzed with quiet energy, the air tinged with the scent of sugar from the confectionary booths. 

“Who?”

“Beth and Thanatos.” 

The book rocked against your hip, matching the beat of you and Azriel’s steps as you walked through the cobblestone marketplace. Lanterns hung unlit from the arches above, bobbing on wire like the bubbles that a pair of hawk-winged children were blowing from the steps of a peach-stone apartment. The girl, blue-eyed and red-haired, nudged the boy, pointing at the Shadowsinger with something like awe. Azriel offered them a faint smile and a few tendrils of his shadows licked at their feet as they scampered away with laughter. It was just a game to them after all. 

“I didn’t think he was capable of love,” Azriel noted. He thought back to the memories you’d unearthed with your powers and of the violent ways Thanatos had inched his way into Beth’s life. Wherever he lingered, death followed. But so far as you knew, he was also incredibly protective of Beth and the other priestesses. They’d benefited from his presence even if they were unnerved by it. He’d kept them hidden from Koschei.

“Beth didn’t think so either.” You flinched when one of the marketplace hawkers held his hand out to you. He didn’t shout like the others and seemed grieved when you stepped back into the folds of Azriel’s wings. He opened his sticky fist palm up to the sky revealing a handful of neat caramel candies wrapped in wax paper. 

“For the miss.” 

Y/n looked at Azriel, who only nodded with a smile.

“Thank you.” You gingerly took them from him, taking a moment to admire the light brown of the confectioner’s eyes, like burnt sugar, and the wisps of candy floss clinging to his shirt like loose threads. 

He didn’t resume his shouting until you were a good distance away, deep voice bellowing out over the square that his wares were made fresh that morning. You unwrapped one of the candies and stuck it in your mouth, sighing as it turned around on your tongue, slowly melting. Azriel took one of the candies you offered, but tucked it into his pocket when you turned your head to inspect the baskets of spices laid out on the sidewall.

“But he keeps staying with her. Keeps warning her of Koschei’s movements so she and her fellow priestesses can stay hidden. He… he cares for her. Or at least Beth seems to think so. The information — the story — is more pleasant than I could have hoped for, and I’m eternally grateful she doesn’t go in depth about their activities—” 

Azriel chuckled. “So it’s not like one of Nesta’s books.”

“Thank the Mother no. But it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out how to defeat Koschei. She doesn’t even talk about Koschei or the priestesses much. Only Thanatos. It’s just a love story.”

“Love stories are never just that though. They’re probably the most powerful things in the universe. Look at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. I don’t think we’d be where we are now if not for their love for one another. The things they were willing to do to protect what they cared about.” 

“Do you ever wish you had that?” You dared to ask. “That kind of love? A mate?” Azriel turned to look at you, eyes filled with more cryptic meaning than you could ever imagine unraveling. There was hope, longing, grief, and a slew of other emotions. Their weight seemed to press in on you, but you didn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“All the time,” he whispered. Then he smiled, staring down at where your arm was linked to his. “Do you?” 

You turned away almost bitterly. “I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.”

“I would disagree.” 

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you settled on silence. Luckily for you, silence with Azriel never felt uncomfortable. 

“If your shadows keep taking them, I’m going to forget how many I’ve selected.”

“I see no problem with this,” Azriel shrugged and continued to follow you around the bookshop. It had stuck out to you immediately on your long walk back to the River House. A squat, two-story townhouse with charmingly chipped white paint laid over sturdy brick and sage green shutters. Candles winked in the afternoon light pressed up against window sills where two fat ginger cats lay purring in the sun. The dark, woodsy interior dripped with books, leather notebooks, and automatic writing pens that hovered over thick pages like butterflies. “We have space in the house.” 

“It’s less about space and more about how much I’ve spent.” Your fingers brushed the next book on the shelf and its deep purple binding. 

Oh that one’s interesting — a romance between a Spring Court nymph and a Dundarian knife maker filled with adventure, lust, longing, and found family. 

You’d no sooner plucked it from the shelf before shadows crowded your hands, whisking it off to whatever ether Azriel kept them hidden in. He wrote the name of the book on a sheaf of paper, his handwriting neat and simple. 

You turned on him, arms folded over your chest. “You can’t keep doing that.” 

“You are not to spend a copper of your own money here. Rhysand and Feyre’s orders. Just put it on the House’s credit. Rhysand’s already added you.” 

“They put me on their credit?” You balked even thinking about the money you’d been given access to.

Azriel nodded. “Consider it repayment.”

“Repayment for what? I haven’t done anything.”

Azriel looked at you quietly, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re the reason I still have a sister-in-law and a niece. You’re the reason we now have a name to investigate and are one step closer to defeating Koschei. You’re the reason the Godswoods and the Gallows haven’t been stolen from yet and a number of Librarians still have their lives. Do I need to continue?”

You thought through what he said. It was true that Helion’s intervention in the Godswoods and the Gallows had been effective. No deaths had been reported since then, but it didn’t make you feel any safer. A snake was still a snake, even when camouflaged.

“Only two of those things matter to the Night Court. Helion owes me for the latter.” 

“Then you can have him contact the banks and transfer the sums.” Azriel’s eyes twinkled with mischie. You went to snatch the paper out of his hands, but all he had to do was raise his arm to the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped up, one hand firm on his shoulder for leverage, but it was no use. He was too damned tall. 

You stood on the tips of your toes to get closer to eye level with Azriel. His eyes flickered down to your lips, the shapes they made as you quietly said, “Thank you.” 

You lingered in the stacks for a few moments longer, nervously asked the shop owner to put the list of books on the High Lord and High Lady’s tab — which she did with a warm smile — and then made your way back outside. The bell hanging above the doorway jingled happily, the wood burned sign saying Come back soon! Love, Jessebell. 

You trailed ahead of him down the street. Every sign, every shop window display, every street sign — you drank them in like you were ravenous. 

Azriel felt Rhys’s presence drift in the outskirts of his mind, and without hesitation, he let him in. 

Where are you? What’s taking so long?

Nearly to the Sidra. I brought her to Jessebell’s. 

That explains your lateness. Rhys paused. She must have loved that. 

Azriel smiled inwardly. She did. She really did.  

A female with weathered, dark skin and flowers sprouting from her ears stopped you on the street and although your first instinct was to recoil, you relaxed when she only lifted up a deep black tulip in her textured hands. The wilting flower straightened up when you kissed one of the petals as instructed and the gentle laugh that followed had Azriel’s heart soaring. 

Well make sure you get here in time for dinner. I want as many of our family members under my roof as possible.

Is this an ask, or a command?

Don’t make me use my High Lord voice on you.

Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile. I am absolutely trembling. Do you use that tone of voice on Nyx? 

He felt as much as heard Rhys’s laughter. Enjoy your time with Y/n, but come back soon. Mor is looking to get her hands on your mate. Mother help us all.

Rhys cut the connection and Azriel was free to admire you once more. 

You cradled the bouquet he’d given you in your arms, light reflecting off the petals and casting a faint blue glow on your face as you chatted with the florist. Your smile, which had started out forced and nervous, was slipping into something more relaxed. When the female laughed merrily and touched your wrist, you didn’t flinch. 

Dark tendrils of night curled around his ears and Azriel felt a shiver trail down his spine. 

Behind you. His shadows whispered. The boy needs help. There’s something wrong with him.

The boy startled back when Azriel turned towards him, tripping over a nick in the cobblestones and landing with a wince on his palms. Glassy pale eyes stared up, wide and terrified. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt and his white-blond hair was a mess of curls flecked with grey, like he’d been rolling around in dust. Pale pink and blue veins rose to the surface of his green-tinged skin, sickly and unnerving. He looked like a corpse on puppet strings.

Azriel looked around, but no one was searching for the little boy. No yelps belonging to scared parents. No calls from a sibling. 

“Shadowsinger, sir?” Even his voice sounded sickly, like his vocal chords were disintegrating in his throat. 

Azriel immediately dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind his back. “What’s happened, little one? What’s wrong?” His voice was smooth and gentle. 

He was too busy thinking that his boy was younger than Nyx, too busy ordering his shadows out to search for the boy’s parents that he didn’t think twice about the lingering stench of blood clinging to the boy’s shoes or the faint pain beginning to grow behind his hazel eyes. 

The boy looked around furtively while wringing his grubby hands, and then leaned close to whisper in Azriel’s ear. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black tulip before.” 

“It’s a little secret of mine. You need to get the seed and soil just right.” The female brushed her waist length hair over her shoulder. The knotted strands had the thick, coarse texture of seafarer’s rope, as aged and wise as the rest of her. When you held the flower back out for her to take she shook her head. 

“For you, my dear. I have dozens more and I think it would attract more business if you wore it around today. A beautiful creature like you must get lots of attention.” 

You knew she was probably just saying these things to get your business, but you couldn’t help the spark of joy the compliments gave you. She helped tuck the flower into the braids of your hair and you felt the petals kiss the tips of your left ear. 

“Say.” The female leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “If you aren’t already taken, I have a niece who’d love to have a pretty girl like you on her arm.” 

Your blush deepened and you found yourself stammering, “That’s very kind, but I don't-I don’t-'' You glanced up the street. Azriel was kneeling on the ground, head bent down to a small child. You only caught the wisps of white, candy floss hair over Azriel’s broad shoulders. 

The female traced the path of your gaze and sighed. “Ahhhhh. I see.” There was a triumphant look in her eyes, even as she said, “Shame. But I’ll still give you my niece’s name if you don’t mind.” 

Your eyes snapped away from Azriel’s and you smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not—”

“Henna.” 

You stepped back. Panic froze the blood in your veins and you felt pinpricks traveling up your body, stabbing your heart and your mind. You could see her now. Her silver hair fanned out around her. Her broken body. Her bloodied eye socket, dark and empty. 

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” You had to have heard her incorrectly. Your head was pounding but you pushed back on your mental wards, shoring up your defenses until the feeling passed.

The female tilted her head to the side. Her eyes were as milky and glassy as pearls. “Does the name mean anything to you, dear?” 

You took another step back and the female stepped forward. Her eyes seemed to clear then and her brows furrowed in concentration and pain. She lunged forward, tearing away at your clothes and knocking the flowers of your hands as she begged. “Help me. The boy. He’s inside—HELP ME!” 

You surged back, crumpling to the ground under her heavy weight as she continued to pull and claw. 

She’d been restocking the back room when the dirty little boy and the tailor showed up in the alleyway. He still carried that bolt of fabric under the crook of his arm. He took out a knife, orange eyes flashing and slit his throat from ear to ear while the little boy watched. Smiling.

“LET GO!” You kicked out, ramming your knee up and into the soft flesh of her stomach like you’d seen Emerie do to Cassian, but you lacked her strength and technique. The female wheezed but didn’t let go, even as others came to try and pry her off of you. Their voices were frantic, trying to calm you down, but they were the voices and hands of strangers. 

“AZ!” You screamed, feeling the female sink her nails into your arm.

There was an ugly tearing sound and the cool touch of wind at your chest. Your robes were ripped apart under her rough hands and her eyes narrowed in on your belt and the chain that connected to the book. She bucked off a cherub-faced female with a blow to her nose and blood splashed over your cheek. 

“Help me. Please. Oh… oh gods.” She grabbed at the book, but the chain glowed iron hot in her hands. The smell of burning scorched your nose as the magic did what it was meant to do. Nothing could break that chain. Not unless you willed it. Not while you were still alive. 

“Oh gods. Oh gods help me. I’m so sorry.” There were tears streaming down her face, tracing the canyons and valleys of her skin. She threw off the fae clamoring around you both and ran with jerky, uncoordinated leaps back into her flower shop. She snatched the gardening shears off the windowsill where she’d been trimming her hydrangea bushes. She wept and shook her head, mouth struggling to open and scream as she held the shears up high and then drove them into her neck.

The scene took a long time to filter through the haze of panic and disbelief. 

“Az… Az… Az—AZRIEL!” Your shrill scream pierced through the air. You scrambled away from everyone. Stones shaved away the skin of your knees, your palms. The tattered silk of your robes trailed behind you. “Don’t touch me!” You shrieked at the male who tried grabbing your arm, soft voice whispering. 

He wasn’t the one you wanted. 

“AZRIEL!” 

The female dropped to her knees, hands clutching her throat as blood poured out in bubbly, gurgling spurts. The candy pink strips of her apron turned a wet, sticky black as she crawled back towards the door.

“Oh gods… Please,” she wheezed, wet and agonized, before collapsing face down on the floor. Motionless. 

You staggered to your feet twisting away from everyone crowding around you. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t!” 

“Miss you must sit. Please—”

“Let me help—” 

“Are you hurt? What’s—” 

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!” 

Screams. The sound of doors slamming shut. Locks turning. Commanding barks calling for a healer. Calling for the High Lord and the High Lady. Calling for the Shadowsinger to help.

Azriel was still kneeling in front of that boy and no matter how many times you called his name and pushed through the crowd of people now rushing up and down the streets in a frenzy, he didn’t get up. He didn’t look at you. You may as well have not existed. 

You finally reached him, narrowly missing being run over by a satyr who seemed to have gotten the wrong impression about which direction to sprint in. Every clip clop of his hooves shot through you. 

“Az.” 

Why hadn’t… Why hadn’t he helped you? 

“Az.”

Why hadn’t he come when you called?

The Shadowsinger rose. One hand grabbed the hilt of Truth Teller and the malicious blade sang as it was unleashed. The shadows that normally hovered about him like mist were gone. They were all around you now, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the Sidra. They pleaded for you to run, but you couldn’t understand them.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

“Az.” You begged and grabbed hold of his hand. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

Truth Teller shot out and pain radiated up your arm as the blade cut neatly through your clothes and sliced open your skin. You tripped backward, landing with a thud on the street that rattled your bones. Your sleeve turned dark with blood. 

You whimpered, holding your ruined arm up to your chest. There was no feeling in Azriel’s eyes. No flicker of recognition. None of that warmth and kindness you were so accustomed to. Just a menacing, silent form towering over you and blocking out the sun. 

A pale boy stood by Azriel’s side with ice chip eyes and rectangular pupils. He grinned brightly and the stretch of his waxy cheeks was too tight. Too forced. He shouldn’t have been alive. He-he—

Andrian. 

You’d seen him in Henna’s memory. You’d heard the snap of his neck beneath Koschei’s hands. Even now the boy was bent awkwardly, his head left in a perpetual tilt that should have looked charming and inquisitive but instead made you want to retch.

Andrian smiled at you then plastered a practiced look of horror on his face before running away with tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting for his mother. A burly male grabbed his shoulders, alarm on his face as he hoisted Andrian into his arms and disappeared into the crowd. Because who wouldn’t stoop down to help a fragile little boy? Who would dare suspect that the daemati that had roamed the Day Court’s halls and slithered his way into Velaris was a child?

Azriel gripped you by the front of your ruined clothes, hosting you up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly and grabbed onto Azriel’s arm, trying to alleviate the choking pressure of his hand so close to your neck. 

“No. Azriel please. It’s me,” you whimpered. “It’s me.”

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There and gone. So brief you wondered if you’d imagined it.

His left hand parted the tatters of your robes, and you flinched when his fingers brushed against your hip before settling on the chain that kept the book tied to you. 

Panic seized your soul. 

You’d been chipping away at the book’s secrets for months and you couldn’t let Azriel — couldn’t let Koschei — get his hands on it. Not without you knowing what it was that made Beth’s story so special.

You flung a hand out, feeling the leather of the book beneath your fingertips like it was your own skin. Your magic called out to the book, desperate and powerful and familiar, and the barriers it possessed to hide its secrets melted away at your beckoning. You poured every inch of your power into it even as Azriel’s lips turned down in an ugly frown that didn’t belong on his face. 

Your eyes turned to gold, bright as the sun as you basked in the knowledge flooding your mind with the force of a tsunami. You didn’t hold anything back. Not this time.

You were so lost in the book — in the emotions and memories wrapping around your mind, sharp and brighter than the light of a thousand suns — that you didn’t feel it when Azriel gripped that golden chain. The metal flared, a high-pitched ring piercing the air as it snapped in two, giving way to Azriel’s power. Nothing should have broken it. And yet there it was dangling from your waist.  

You did feel it when he broke your wrist. 

When he forced the book from your grasp. 

And then stabbed you in the stomach. 

Cassian and Nesta winnowed to the street and watched in horror as your body was dropped to the ground. Your head cracked the pavement, hands twitching palms up at your sides. 

Nesta shrieked. The sound was harrowing. The mourning, dying screams of an animal.  

She charged forward, twin blades flashing in her hands, and silver light shot out of her chest, crashing into Azriel’s shields and forcing him back twenty feet. He gritted his teeth. The rubber soles of his shoes skidded and burned. 

Cassian collapsed on his knees beside you, peeling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around your head and neck to keep it in place. 

“Shit.” His hands came away bloody. RHYS! FEYRE! He screamed into the corners of his mind, hoping they’d hear. GET HERE NOW! 

“Thanatos.” Your voice was weak.

“It’s Cass. Hey, keep your eyes on me ok.” He pressed his hands against your stomach, wings flared out to protect you from the cold burn of Nesta’s power as she went toe to toe with The Shadowsinger. Magic sizzled in the air, raising the hair on the back of Cassian’s neck like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Blood pooled over his hands, thick and dark. “Eyes open,” he commanded, “On me.”  

Your eyes were open, and glowing strangely, but you weren’t staring at Cassian. No. You were miles outside of your body. 

“The Bone Carver. That’s it.” 

“Eyes on me, Y/n. Eyes on me.” 

“Thanatos,” your hand twitched, “The Bone Carver. That’s how she did it.”

Nesta screamed, flying overhead in a burst of blue light that had her back slamming into one of the marketplace towers. The white marble cracked viciously and Nesta dropped to the ground, dazed and distracted as blood dripped out from her nose. 

“NESTA!” Cassian roared, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Azriel waited at the bottom of the street. 

The Shadowsinger muttered something dark and revolting beneath his breath. Ancient, powerful words that were whispered in his mind. He held onto the book in his hands as it lit up in flames and then blew the ashes into the wind that would carry them all the way to Andrian’s master. 

Koschei.

The call of her mate sharpened her senses and Nesta rolled onto her feet, calling her weapons back into her hands and leveling a glare at Azriel that would have killed a lesser male on the spot. 

She was Nesta fucking Archeron. 

Lady Death. 

Queen of Queens. 

And she would be damned if she let Azriel hurt her or anyone else.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Az,” she growled. 

She’d been holding back before. She’d been holding back a long while. But no more of that. The power she let out burst through Velaris with light brighter than a dying star, crackling with an energy that knocked Azriel off his feet and sent him crashing into the river wall with a sickening crack that shattered the bones in his arm, his leg, and his wings. 

Rhys appeared at his side, violet eyes wide open in shock. He could feel the magic suffocating his brother’s consciousness, burying him so deep there was almost nothing left but anger behind his whiskey-brown eyes. 

Rhysand grabbed the sides of his head, shoving his way into Azriel’s mind even while he fought back. Rhys flinched when one of Azriel’s knives nicked his temple, drawing blood that dripped down onto his velvet dinner jacket and floated on the dense material like dew drops. 

“Stop. This isn’t you, Az.” 

Azriel seethed, teeth bared and bloody. He spit in Rhysand’s face and he winced. Rhysand would never be able to forgive himself for what he did next. But someone had burrowed themselves into Azriel’s mind so thoroughly, so viciously, that in that moment, it was the only thing Rhys could think to do. 

Rhysand’s talons dragged down on Azriel’s mental walls so viciously he screamed as they were torn to pieces. He dug in with brutal efficiency. Reaching, tearing, clawing to catch the curl of power that had infected Azriel’s mind before it could do any more damage. He latched onto its slithery, silver body and wrenched it out of Azriel’s consciousness. 

When I find you. You’re as good as dead. Rhysand promised. 

The daemati slunk away with a giddiness that sent a shiver through The High Lord’s bones. 

Azriel slumped, weak and boneless, against his brother’s shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook, blinking the saltiness out of his eyes. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His bones were broken. His wings twisted. There was a raging headache that a hundred shots of vodka paled in comparison to. 

But it was his hands that horrified him most. Red and slippery. 

His breath shook.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember… what…. 

His eyes shot to Rhys, then up the street where he could make out Feyre, Cass, and Nesta huddled over your still body. The bond sat deep within him pulsing with terror and pain. 

“Rhys.” His voice broke. Rhysand angled his body to hide you from view, but it was too late. Azriel was panicking now, body trembling uncontrollably. “What happened?”

Rhysand said nothing. His eyes shined with horror. 

“What did I do? Rhys, what did I do?!” 

“Cass. Cassian, I’ve got her.” 

His hands were shaking. There was so much blood. The smell burned his nose and made him want to throw up his lunch. Feyre covered his hands with her own, peeling them away sticky and red from Y/n’s stomach. 

Light flooded out from Feyre’s palms, warm and lovely and Cassian and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief as the flow of red slowed and then stopped, flesh knitting itself back together. 

“It’s ok. You’ll be ok.” Nesta’s words were commanding as she held your neck and head still.

Your eyes searched the empty sky, seeing and unseeing. Then your hands shot up, grasping Feyre’s shoulders and digging in deep enough to leave bruises. Your eyes were wide, staring at her with an intensity that spoke of a thousand years. An unfathomable wealth of knowledge that should have crushed you beneath its weight. 

“Y/n it’s ok,” she murmured gently, pushing more power into your body, willing you to heal faster.

“Look. Feyre you need to look,” your voice was thick. Wet. Blood coated the inside of your mouth bitter and metallic. 

“I’m looking. Y/n, you hit your head. It’s going to be ok. You hear me? It’s going to be ok.” 

“You need to look,” you said once more.

You trailed a bloody, weak hand down Feyre’s arm and pulled her fingers up to your temple, tapping once. Twice. 

Without any more direction, she slipped into your mind and gasped.

Feyre stood in a pool of mist, white fingers reaching up her legs and splintering outwards before they changed direction and started to climb up into the darkness like trees. Or rather… like bookshelves. The mist formed stacks that disappeared into the distance, endless hallways and shelves that wound around each other. Chaotic and orderly at the same time. 

She could feel your presence beside her. Or rather she was you. In that moment she felt the raging winds of your power, hot and ravenous. It wrapped around you, tugging you to and fro like that uncontrollable lurch when you stand too close to the cliff’s edge. The call of the void.

She needed to answer that call the same way you did whenever you used your powers, because somewhere in the halls of your mind stood the knowledge you’d worked so hard to obtain. The truth of how it was Bethsevah Mordeigh was able to trap Koschei, and how to end it once and for all. 

Feyre let your magic pull her in the right direction. In the mist she stumbled upon the final memories you’d absorbed from the book before it had blown away in the wind.

Bethsevah wept, “No. No. No. I won’t,” shoving away the reed thin body that held her so close. Thanatos grasped her face in his pale hands, begging her to listen to him even as she shook her head frantically. “I won’t do it.” 

“You must. Bethsevah, you must.” His pitch black eyes winked with starlight… or maybe it was his tears. 

This world and its people had changed him. He could feel it in his bones. Something very deep and cruel within him had been twisted into something sacred. Something that toed the line of kindness. 

Koschei thought it was this element that made fae and humans beneath the three of them. They were supposed to be pure. Powerful. Handing out life and taking it away like the gods they were. But now Thanatos knew better. Now he knew exactly what it was that made Koschei and Stryga worse than even him — they would never be able to care for anyone. Not the way he cared for Bethsevah. Not the way he cared for the world she loved. 

“I won’t do it,” she growled.

“Then they’ll die,” he said, with a tone of finality that could only belong to a death god. “Everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you care about. I know my brother. Koschei craves attention and devotion above all else. He won’t let you worship your Mother. He won’t stop until you all kneel or until you’re ashes in the wind. Beth—” He wrenched her hands back from where she covered her eyes, refusing to even look at him. 

He tucked his crooked finger beneath her chin, coaxing her gaze up. Together they were storm clouds blanketing an eternal night. A lightning strike — brief and chaotic and electrifying. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered, steel laced in her soft voice, “You don’t know what you’re offering.” 

He smiled, sad and simple. “I know exactly what I’m offering up.”

“Once I lock you in The Prison, I won’t be able to let you out. No one will. You’ll be trapped there for eternity.” She shivered, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t wish that fate upon her worst enemy, but her mate? She shook her head. 

“I know.” 

“No, you—”

“I have seen the first fall of snow on a new world. I have seen entire cities leveled to dust with no survivors. I’ve lived thousands of years. I understand.”

“We’ll find a way. Kosch—” 

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, “Back at the cabin? You were made to ruin me, Beth. And I will let you do it a million times over. Without hesitation.” 

You and Feyre felt Beth’s pain as acutely as if you shared the same heart.

“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Beth whispered, “I wish the Mother had never created me to be your mate.” 

“I don’t.” Thanatos leaned his forehead against Beth’s and got lost in her. “There is no other way, Bethsevah.” He kept saying her name, like just speaking the word and feeling the shapes it took in his mouth would prolong the time they had together. Would tie them together more surely than the bond that burned in their chests.

She felt the battleground slip beneath her feet and no amount of power, no amount of willpower, could change it. 

He brushed back her hair and trailed one of his slender fingers down the curve of her cheek ending one teardrop’s race to her chin. “Mating bonds are powerful things, Beth. Your magic — your blood — and yours alone will be able to cut through my defenses and sever me from my power. I want you to take it and lock me away. Once my magic is yours, Stryga won’t be able to see you coming and you’ll be able to take her power as well. So long as you leave Koschei for last it may just be enough power to rid him from this earth once and for all.” 

“You’d have me do this. Destroy you and your family. This is what you want?”

Thanatos hesitated. “I am not a good male. But this… this will have to be enough. This is what I want, Bethsevah. For you and your family to live. To be happy and safe.”

“I won’t be happy, “ she said, eyes now flat and dull as the silver coins they placed over the dead, “I won’t take anyone else.”

“I want you to,” he begged, “I want you to marry and to have children. I want you to grow your family so that one day, if I ever do make it out of that Prison, I’ll still see pieces and memories of you roaming this earth. That’s all I want, Bethsevah, and it’s already more than I deserve.” 

“I’ll find a way,” Beth promised. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear it.” 

“Don’t make any bargains with me.” He smiled sadly, thumb wiping away at her cheeks, “That’s what got us into this mess.”

Finally she laughed, just a little. “I don’t regret it.” 

“Neither do I.”

The memory froze. A moment in time trapped like a beetle in amber.

A hand grabbed Feyre by her shoulders and swung her around. You stood there cloaked in pale, golden light, your eyes shining like copper coins. When you opened your mouth, you spoke in Beth’s voice.

Thanatos told me that magic runs in blood — familiar, same. But mates are different. Powerful. Their magic can protect one another. Identify one another across space and across time. But they can also turn on each other viciously. A lock and a key. Madness and salvation.

What I could destroy in Thanatos, I stood a chance at destroying in his siblings.

Your face fell, hauntingly beautiful in the glow of your powers. 

But I couldn’t do it. Not in the way he asked. I took his power. I locked him in that Prison. I bound Stryga to her cabin in the woods. But I didn’t kill Koschei when I should have. When the power of three gods was coursing through my veins and stripping me down to my bones, when I had enough light within me to see the birth and death of stars and the face of the Mother, I couldn’t do it. 

I thought I would be capable of destroying Koschei and freeing Thanatos, but I couldn’t do either. I had only enough sanity left to take that power and bury it somewhere Koschei couldn’t touch. To trap him on the lake where he can live in madness knowing his magic is so close by and yet locked away. Unreachable. 

I’ve done my part. I’ve had my children. I’ve left my mark on the world, great and terrible as it is. If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 

And if you have any love for me at all, find a way to release Thanatos. That is what I ask of you.

Bethsevah’s calls had never been answered, at least not by her children. You knew this much in your heart. Thanatos — The Bone Carver — had freed himself thousands of years later only to die beneath the Cauldron’s power. 

You whispered a silent prayer to the Mother. You hoped the Bone Carver was at peace now. Now that he must be with his Beth. 

Azriel was screaming your name, broken cries cutting through the quiet of the marketplace. You’d never thought him capable of such a wretched noise. 

The High Lady sat shock still above you with tears streaming down her face. Grey eyes glistening.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I apologize if you thought I'd forgotten about the plot with Koschei and was just writing cute, fluffy scenes between our favorite Librarian and our favorite Batboy. But you also should've remembered that I burned this girl's house down and had her kill a another character in self defense so... this was coming... sorry...

This is by far the chapter I've been most nervous about posting because it's where I start to tie together all the weird loose threads that have been accumulating throughout this story so I am very much open to feedback on how I can do things better and on how I can make things clearer moving forward. Or! If you thought I did a good job and are intrigued, I'd appreciate it if you let me know that too!

But anyway thanks for reading 😅.

[undertheorangetree]

Pomegranate Seeds

Summary- A retelling of the abduction of Persephone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Hades and Persephone AU. Star-crossed lovers vibes. Uncle/niece incest. Making out. Angst. Fluff. Titty sucking. Handjob. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering. Soft smut. Mild praise kink. Mildly OOC Aemond.

Author's Notes- Yeah I was a Percy Jackson/Greek mythology kid, thank you for noticing. I'm still playing incredibly fast and loose with the mythology tho so we're gonna have to make our peace with that. This is a beast btw, it's like 9.6K and you can find the rest on AO3 with the link below :)

divider created by @firefly-graphics

It is moments like these, she thinks, that she loves most.

Alone in the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, the babbling of the creek as it flows over the rocks. Everything green with the exception of the purple, white, and yellow flowerheads but lush and everbearing and alive, the sun little more than a hazy warm glow, not yet hot enough to be overbearing. It is peaceful here, so much more than she is used to. She had come to an agreement with her step sisters, Baela and Rhaena, that they allow her a few hours on her own in this meadow, undisturbed by anyone else. Though her mother much preferred to that she remain alongside her sisters whenever she is out of sight, she, Baela, and Rhaena had come to an agreement that what her mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. And besides, they were never too far away from her. Being water nymphs, they could be by her side in less than a moment if she really needed them, so long as she doe does not stray too far from the river. And she has never been more grateful for it than she is right now.

Stretching her arms high above her head, she stretches out along the grass, enjoying the feeling of every blade of grass, the sweet smell of the blooms wafting on the breeze. Admittedly, this meadow had not been quite so plentiful when they had found it, following along the winding river, but she is the goddess of spring. Flowers bloom at her word and sun shines with her will. It had not been too difficult to turn this meadow into her own personal paradise, away from the chaos often wrought by her mother and brothers and stepfather.

There is a sudden change in the wind that causes her to sit up. Colder than it had been before, something more akin to winter than spring. The ground seems to rumble beneath her, shaking as if the sudden cold has sent it to shiver. Curiously, she turns her head toward the tree line, where the birches and willows keep the meadow shielded from view, only to find a man standing among them. Dressed in all black- breeches, cloak, and the shred of his tunic she can see beneath it- his platinum hair is almost jarring in contrast. He is not a big man, long and lithe, but there is an air to him that feels dangerous, dangerous enough to give her pause. He has not noticed her yet, face turned away, but she can see the long, stern plains of his face from where she sits, looking incredibly serious. That seriousness is only exacerbated by the dark leather eyepatch covering the eye closest to her, a deep red scar carved beneath it.

She does not think she has ever seen anyone here before, not outside of Baela, Rhaena, and herself, and his presence here is almost incongruous. Still, there is an air about him, one that makes it clear that he is a god just as she is, and that alone should make his surprise appearance less shocking.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice seems to catch him off guard. Quickly, he turns toward her, shoulders tense, but they relax when he takes her in. She cannot imagine that she is intimidating, sitting flat in the grass all alone. “Hello.”

But it is that reminder of the grass that brings her pause. What is this man doing here? Where had he come from? It is not as if this meadow is easy to find, hidden amongst the trees as it is. She feels her brows furrow, head cocking in question. “How did you find this place?”

She had not put a glamour over this meadow, but she did not feel she had too. The forest, though light and airy, was a labyrinth of trees that seemed deterrent enough to keep any unwanted guests away. They were incredibly difficult to find your way through and she had been convinced it would be impossible to try- for God or mortal.

Near impossible, it seemed then.

His eye darts back to the treeline, taking half a step back. “If I am intruding, I can leave.”

“No.” She says it far too quickly and she can see the way his eyebrows raise in response to it, but she can’t find it in her to be ashamed. She is intrigued by this man, more so than she likely should be, and finds she wants to know more. To learn how he came to find this place. “Just because this place is unknown does not mean it is mine alone. You may stay. Beauty like this should be enjoyed.”

“Wise words,” he agrees, coming toward her. He hesitates at the end, torn on whether or not to truly join her, but it seems courtesy wins out as he lowers himself to the ground, joining her amongst the flowers. He looks entirely out of place, black against the blooms, but she says nothing, keeping her observation to herself.

They sit in absolute silence but she does not mind. He sits stiffly, as if uncomfortable, while she continues to take in all that is around her. From here, she can see the way the willows sway with the wind, the white puffy clouds floating by in the soft blue sky.

“I did not mean to,” he says. She looks at him, head tilted once again. “To find this place. It was not my intention. Though I admit I have never seen anything quite like it.”

She smiles, though he could not possibly know that he had complimented her. “It is a rare thing.”

“It feels almost as if it were from a painting,” he adds, looking around the meadow to take it in further.

She joins him in it, finding no shame in admiring her own work. It is a pretty place, though that had always been her intention. Olympus was beautiful in and of itself, but it was stark in that way. Ethereal and otherworldly, but cosmopolitan. Bright white marble, painted statues, stained glass. Everything beautiful, to be sure, but not in the untamed way that she seemed to crave. She preferred the beauty that was found in nature, in heavy branches filled with green leaves, tall grasses and wildflowers and crystalline waters.

“Do you know much about art?” she asks to fill the silence.

He seems caught off guard again from her question, but answers it anyway. “Not as much as I would like, but I can appreciate the beauty in something as well as any man. Though do not tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

She laughs. “You needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Which periods do you prefer?”

They talk for hours, the conversation unfurling as naturally as a bird’s wing. Art, history, philosophy. There is no subject they do not indulge in. He becomes less awkward with time as he grows more comfortable around her and she almost pulls a laugh from him not once, but twice. It seems quite the feat, for a man as serious as this one seems to be, though she does not let her pride get the better of her. When she asks him how she managed to find her well kept secret, he had simply said that one always finds the best things when you are not looking for them. A non answer, but that was alright. She was sure she could coax the answer from him eventually.

“Forgive me, I never asked you your name,” she says after what must have been hours, half appalled by her lack of manners.

He does not seem to mind, a good natured half smile making its way onto his face. “My friends call me Aemond. You may as well.”

It is not uncommon, for Gods to prefer more earthly names. She is often the same. There is power within a name and for such an innocent encounter, she does not feel the need to have him call her Persephone or Kore or any of those that strike some rumination of power and fear. So she gives him her common name, the one she feels is more true to who she is, and he smiles in response to it, repeating it back to her as if to test it. She likes the way it sounds when he says it, the way each letter seems to roll off him tongue, and somehow hearing him say the word alone is enough to make her flush.

She turns her head to hide it and only then notices that the sun has dipped below the trees, leaving the sky a hazy orange. Her mother will be expecting her home soon and there is no telling how poorly she will react if Rhaena and Baela return home without her. She doesn’t doubt that Rhaenyra will send her great serpent Syrax after her should she be even a moment late.

“I have to go,” she says, unable to keep the apologetic tone from her voice.

Reluctantly, she stands, brushing the dirt from her skirts. His lips had parted at her announcement, but now he ducks his head in an understanding nod. She smiles at him, not truly wanting to go yet, and makes her way toward the creek to call upon her sisters to come and fetch her. She does not make it two steps before he is calling after her.

“Can I see you again?”

She turns back to look at him. The insecurity on his face does not seem to match his features, looking almost out of place there. Still, she finds it entirely endearing and she realizes that she would absolutely like to see him again.

“Yes,” she agrees softly.

“Tomorrow?”

She does not bother to fight the smile itching its way onto her face. “Yes.”

He matches her smile then before standing. He comes forward and takes her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste kiss there. “Then I shall see you on the morrow, my lady.”

She can do nothing but hope he does not notice how hot her face has become.

“On the morrow.”

Read the rest here

[love-anddeepression]

White Lily-Umemiya Hajime

a/n:This is actually so shit im so sorry, it was supposed to be something else but it became this. please comment and reblog if you like it i love feedback :3

Fluffity Fluff, ume being clueless and whipped, tsubaki and hiragi are besties i love them sm

It was cold, when you'd first met him. He must've been around fifteen, flung to the ground after a brawl. He had seen you in his peripheral, his vision was blurry.

Like a movie scene, you had entered his line of view, the sun shining behind you as you knelt down beside him, holding his head up and saying something he couldn't hear.

He woke up in his bed later. Sensei was sitting on a chair to his right, and to his left, you. The both of you were chatting animatedly and Sensei was soothing your worry, In fact, it was quite normal for Umemiya to come back to the institution beaten up and bloody.

He coughed and your gaze fell on him, your eyes widening, "You're alright!" you exclaimed.

'You have a goal', his mind provided, he couldn't be distracted by frivolous things like partners and love.

But gosh, you were so pretty. You were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

Your wide eyes sparkled when he smiled, "I am, aren't I. Thanks to you."

Sensei huffed, "Damn right, Ume. She shouted for help until one of the girls ran back here to get me. She was about to carry you on her shoulders."

Now his eyes widened, and he looked at you in surprise.

"Please, as if I would be able to carry him. He's really strong." you scoffed.

Ume had been called strong by many people, and it was a fact that he had accepted. He needed to be strong to change Furin.

So why in hell was he feeling so warm, all of a sudden?

He looked down, focusing on the pattern of his blanket. Bruised knuckles brushing against the soft wool.

"I am glad you're okay." you smile, "And thank you for having me, sir." you nod at the smiling scruffy-haired blonde opposite you, "I'll take my leave."

"Wait!" the words fall out of his mouth before he knows what he's going to say next.

You turn around and he freezes. He freezes like a little rabbit.

"Uhm." he looks away, a deep flush on his cheeks. He doesn't see Sensei trying not to laugh, "I don't even know your name! How will I see you again?"

You laugh, and it's like wind chimes. You give him your name and it sounds like it belongs in his lips.

'That is so cheesy', his fifteen year old brain mocks, 'What is wrong with you?'

"I'll see you in town, Umemiya-kun."

The next day, the boy looks for you like a panting deer in search for water.

When he finds you and you smile at him, he realizes two things.

He likes you :D

Shit. He likes you.

-------

He kisses you on his sixteenth birthday a day after you hand him a potted flower and a handwritten letter.

"Take care of it, Ume!" you had said on the messy, dirty rooftop of Furin, "It holds my feelings for you." The flower is a white-lily to match his hair and the letter smells of your perfume that he has grown to love.

He races to you after he reads the letter, a letter that says nothing about your feelings for him, but contains all the hopes you have for him.

'I hope you achieve everything you desire' He runs down the steps, two at a time, his hand burning as he scraps it on the rusty railing.

'I hope you never lose the fight in you. The resolve I admire so much.' his lungs burn, he's always hated running, but he presses on.

'I hope that you know that you are loved by so many.' he can see you from one of the windows, waving goodbye to Hiragi at the gate.

'I will never forget you as long as I live.'

"Wait!" he shouts again, like the younger boy on the bed, desperate to know you.

You turn again, your eyebrows raised at his panting form.

"Wait, " he groans, god he hates running, "Give me a second." he coughs and you giggle.

Hiragi slowly backs away with an eyeroll, he doesn't hide the small smirk on his face.

A moment later, Umemiya takes your hand in his, "I, uh. Your letter."

"Yes? Did you read it?"

He nods frantically, "Thank you. For everything."

You tilt your head, "Do you know what White Lilies stand for?"

He clears his throat, "Um, not really?" he winces.

"THEY STAND FOR LOVE, YOU IDIOT!" Tsubaki shouts, Hiragi standing next to him, covering his face in embarrasment.

He looks to you, his eyes a little wide.

You smile at Tsubaki and he winks at you.

"You love me?"

You look away, "I have, for a while. And-"

Whatever words you're about to say never come to light because Umemiya holds your face in his hands and brings your lips to his. Goal be damned, he was a fool for ever thinking that love was frivolous. Fool, his mind cackles, how could this ever be stupid? How can your hands in his hair be stupid? how can your smile when he pulls away be stupid?

It is love that makes him live, he realizes, Love for the town, for the people, for you. It makes every punch worth it.

----

Umemiya plants the white-lily you gave him. There are still white lilies, two years later, along with your favorite flower, planted side by side in the garden he grew on Furin's rooftop.

He tends to them in the mornings along with Sugishita and he takes a picture and sends it to you.

"I can't wait! Sugishita!" he exclaims as the younger boy nods, his eyes sparkling. He looks up to you as well, you are always so kind to him.

"It's our two-year anniversary!"

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Benedict Bridgerton x pregnant wife!reader

A/N: I have received the following prompt: “Benedict Bridgerton with wife pregnant!reader. If any of Bridgerton's siblings had any problems, she was the first one they came to ask for advice even the oldest. All this attention was making Ben jealous as he was having less time with her. She told him that he would have to share her for the rest of his life before letting him know age was pregnant. You decide how it goes. Thanks!! :))” And I have tried to write it. It must be my first reader!insert romance story and it was so much fun. I hope you like what I have made of it. (~ 4650 words)

Benedict was grinning like a cheshire cat and you found it increasingly hard to refrain from tackling him to the ground to pepper his face with kisses. Expertly you were decorating his chestnut hair with flowers from the Bridgerton country home garden, the large rose bushes on either side of the alley leading up to the house shielding you from the sun. You were sitting in front of him cross-legged, the flowers gathered up in your lap. Benedict was facing you, his long legs stretched out in a way that his shins touched your hips. His hands were propped up in the grass behind his back and the sun was painting shimmering golden flecks on his head when the wind rustled through the leaves of the bushes.

Your husband looked deliciously delighted and nothing made you happier than seeing him that way. After one year of marital bliss, you’d decided to go to the country side with the rest of the Bridgerton family to spend the days in their presence and to enjoy the fresh air outside of London. A week before departing you had realized with heart-wrenching joy that your cycle was interrupted – you hadn’t bled when the time was due and had the very strong suspicion that a small version of yourself and Benedict was growing inside your belly. As nature sometimes tended to have its cruel way with humans, you had not yet mentioned it to your husband, fearing that the regular bleeding would merely commence one or two weeks late. But since your arrival, nothing had changed. The sheets remained unstained and your suspicion  transformed itself into something of a certainty. You tended to wake in the night and almost instinctively moved your hands to your belly, greeting the tiny human sprout with the warmth radiating from your palms. “Hello,” you’d started to whisper, “I hope it’s not too dark in there. Don’t worry, you are not alone.”

Now, as your husband was enjoying your melodic humming and the sweet smell of the flowers that caressed his hair, you felt inside of you a bubbling wish to lean forward and whisper the good news into his ear. The good news you’d barely managed to fully apprehend on your own. It was scary to reveal such a tender, fragile and unpredictable thing as a pregnancy. There was too much that could still go wrong, too much that still stood between you and the day of birth. Yet, looking at Benedict all calm and relaxed made you wish to comment on how you hoped your child’s eyes would be like his or how you could imagine him holding the small bundle to his chest, a little nose peeking out from white cloth.

You leaned over, closer towards him and moved your hand to the side of his face. His half-closed lids blinked open and his smile deepened when his gaze landed on your tender face.

“Am I positively in bloom now?”

You snickered and carefully brushed your fingertips over the petals behind his ear, making Benedict shiver ever so slightly. “Any young lady would envy you for such an exquisite coiffure!”

Narrowing his eyes, Benedict snarled at you, shaking his head and sending a few petals flying off onto the grass. “You’re lucky I had four younger sisters with a similar taste for dressing me up or I would have long taken off over the meadows!”

Biting your bottom lip to keep from grinning too widely, you got on your knees in one swift motion to wrap your arms around your husband’s shoulders, bringing you faces closer together. “You wouldn’t even have taken off if I had brought a pair of scissors with me to experiment on your hair!”

He chuckled gently and moved an arm over the small of your back to pull you even closer. “It can’t possibly be a good thing that you are correct about this!”

His lips found yours and you melted into the kiss as if the sun had suddenly gotten strong enough to evaporate you. Smoothly you moved your chest over his torso, your hands following the outlines of his shoulders. He hummed into your mouth, his voice vibrating through your skin as your fingers found his face, where your thumbs started caressing the slightest hint of a stubble.

“Benedict,” you sighed, your smile mirrored on his lips, “I have something to-“

“(Y/N)!!” A shrill voice shouted from the front steps of the big country house. You were so surprised, you almost choked, your forehead knocking against your husband’s. Benedict grabbed your elbows to keep you from falling over, one eye closed against the pain of head-to-head contact.

“Oww,” he groaned, looking over his shoulder with faint annoyance. Hyacinth’ voice was easily discernible and lately, she’d managed to interrupt quite a few of your… get togethers.

“(Y/N), are you in the garden?!”  

Raising one hand to your forehead, you couldn’t keep from letting out a breathless laugh. “Ten minutes of peace were quite the luxury, I daresay.”

Benedict let out a sigh, but pulled the corners of his lips up in a little smile, when he saw the humour in your eyes. “Sooner or later, I am going to grab her and lock her in the closet!”

Comfortingly, you patted his chest, before moving your hand to his hair to straighten one crooked daisy. “She’d probably find that rather amusing.”

“Are you sure? She is so very … fourteen now!” Benedict said, an overly accentuated speck of fear concerning teenage-girlhood glinting in his eyes. “When the day comes that we have a fourteen year old daughter, you must help me make sure I never become the object of her wrath!”

Holding your breath, you turned to look at him in awe. Did he know? Had he already figured it out all by himself that you were pregnant? But no, his eyes merely showed signs of good-tempered amusement. He had not yet a clue, which made his comment all the more valuable to you. “I love you,” you stated with feeling and crashed your lips to his in such a surprising manner, that he almost fell over, which laced your kiss with his sweetest chuckles. Moving your face away, you hesitated for a second, gazing in his shining blue eyes, unsure whether you should tell him immediately.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his eyes twitching curiously. You bit down on your lip, enchanted by the way he could almost read your mind. The good news about possible upcoming parenthood would have to wait though. You wanted to tell him, when it was only the two of you.

“Perfectly so,” you therefore exclaimed, before bringing your hands to his chest to push him over for good. Quickly you rose to your feet to answer to Hyacinth’ incessant shouting, laughing at Benedict’s attempts to grab for your heels in retaliation.

“I am here!!” You sang, taking your skirts in your hands to take a few running steps in her direction. She did the same, meeting you halfway and wrapping her arms around your middle, asking to be coddled, while she was going on and on about how she needed your help with this one French book she was reading. You walked back to the house with her, a smile on your features and your arms around her smaller body, as you indulged in the fantasy of her being your daughter and of you being the mother she’d asked for counsel. You looked over your shoulder and saw that Benedict was watching you two. You couldn’t help but wonder whether he was imagining the exact same thing as you.

--------------------------------

After two hours of translations and musings about the difficult French language, Benedict came barging into the study, looking at Hyacinth with a quarrelsome expression.

“Sister,” he growled in a rather menacing tone, “are you kidnapping my wife?”

Holding both your hands on the pages of the big book, you tilted your head in his direction with a meaningful grin. “Oh, you!”

But Hyacinth wasn’t the youngest Bridgerton for nothing. Defiantly she stood up from her chair and walked towards him in the middle of the room. “How dare you!! You didn’t even knock!!”

Benedict almost flinched, when she drilled an authoritative finger into his chest. With seven older siblings, there really wasn’t much that seemed to scare her. He opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately interrupted.

“I am in the midst of a very important lesson and I am fairly certain you still remember how to breathe without (Y/N)!! So!! Fare thee well!!”

It was incredibly hard for you not to burst into a small laughing fit with Benedict looking positively puzzled and his youngest sister intonating every single word as if there was an exclamation mark behind it. Yet, you managed to hide your smile behind your hand as you feigned a cough, which, judging by the way your husband looked at you, Benedict easily identified as an act. He narrowed his eyes and looked from you back to his sister who was still planted before him with a vigour unlike her size and age.

“Very well.” He eventually said; but it wasn’t without a lightness at the end of his phrase – one that was giving him away. Not only to you who had only known him for a short time compared to Hyacinth who had grown up with him. She gasped out “NO!” and wanted to take a step back, but Benedict had already grabbed her and thrown her over his shoulder.

“BENEDICT!!” She screeched, still sounding very childlike, despite wishing to appear much more adult at her tender age. “LET ME DOWN!!”

You looked on with a smile, chuckling at the way Benedict was trying to avoid kicking feet from hitting him in the face. “Do you really think you intimidate me, sister?”

Hyacinth’ squeals mixed with hysterical giggles, when Benedict managed to pin down the swinging legs and started tickling the backs of her knees and calves, her fists drumming against his back. “Dohohoohn’t!!” She giggled, all vigour gone from her sweet voice that sounded much more like the one of a child again.

“Will you release (Y/N) and continue your ‘very important lesson’ some other time?” He asked teasingly, a wide grin appearing on his features when Hyacinth’ mirthful sounds started resonating through the study.

“I WILL I WILL!!” She conceded hastily, her hands trying to grab the fabric of his waistcoat. “Don’t tickle!!”

With an approving noise, Benedict stilled his hands and bent over to plant his sister back on the floor. Groaning from the effort, he shook out his arms when he’d finally managed it. “You are getting too tall for this, aren’t you?” The seriousness in his voice combined with the way he cocked his head to the side in wonder had you throw your head back with a laugh.

Hyacinth put her hands on her hips and looked up at her brother with a pout. “I do definitely hope so!!” She sneered, before planting a fist in the crook of his stomach and quickly making her way to the door. A small smile was grazing her features, when she turned around again in the doorframe, directing her question to you. “We will continue our lessons, tomorrow, yes?”

“Of course, Hyacinth! We will make time for it!” You responded with a smile of your own, closing the book about French history and getting up from your chair to join your husband who was over-dramatically enacting an on-the-brink-of-death scene in the middle of the room, coughing and wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Internal bleeding! Internal bleeding!” He repeated hoarsely, making it impossible for Hyacinth not to break out into a laugh. “You’re so annoying!” She giggled, quickly bustling away, when he took a menacing step in her direction.

When the door fell close behind her, he dropped the act immediately and turned towards you with a sigh of relief. “Finally!”

You made a very undignified noise, when his hands grabbed for the fabric of your dress and pulled you towards him, your bodies colliding in an inelegant way, full of hunger and devotion. Giggling, you turned your head to the side, when his lips found your neck, kisses and nibbles sending ticklish jolts into your hairline. “Stop it! What are you doing?”

“It appears, I am overcome,” he mumbled into your skin, taking a deep breath from the sensitive skin under your ear, “by a very strong need to spend some… quality time alone with you!”

“Quality time?” Moving your hands up his back, you allowed him to lead you backwards into the study, your steps mirroring his own until you reached the table with the big French history book. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the warm touch of his lips to your cheeks.

“Mhhh,” he agreed, his nose circling your own and his lips grazing your mouth as he spoke, “the rare, special occasion is one I am very ambitious for!”

Smoothly, Benedict’s hands moved under your behind to lift you ever so slightly and place you on the table, the book shifting backwards, giving room to you. You moved your hands from his back to his cheeks, your hands cupping the face in front of you and holding it steady for the kiss you planted on its lips. Benedict smiled peacefully, his blue eyes sinking into yours. “I love my family dearly, dearly, dearly… but I need to have these moments with you alone, truly alone!”

The heart within your chest contracted for one beat, sending a slightly painful sting through your body. It was only a short moment, only one small hint of fear, but it sufficed to make you realize that you were scared Benedict might not actually be as thrilled as you were about the child blossoming in your belly. What if it was too early? What if Benedict still required, perhaps even hoped for some time without a family? What if he would be overwhelmed by a family that grew and grew and never seemed to allow you two any more time alone? You gulped and suddenly moved your hands back to his shoulders, holding on tightly.

Benedict seemed to notice that something was off, moving his head away from the side of your face to look you in the eyes. His gaze was soft and sweet and you wanted to drown in it, wanted to get lost in it as he moved his hands all over your body. But for now there was no more movement aside from his nose brushing against yours, a movement equal to a question.

“Are you alright?”

You realized you’d been holding your breath and took a deep one, before pushing your face into his as affectionately as you could. “I just want you,” you whispered, meaning it in every way possible, from head to toes, from now on to the end of your days, from his soul to his heart to every memory you’d make together. You wanted him. And every single part of him that grew through you. You could only hope that it would be the same way for him. “I want you so badly,” you continued, your voice almost hoarse from raw emotion which made his eyes flicker with a suddenly burning fire. Devotion radiated from his kiss adjoined to something that went deeper, something that was inexplicable and yet so strangely clear.

“You have me!” He growled into your neck, breathing your scent another time and kissing the vein running up your skin with an urgence. “You will have me! Entirely!”

You smiled against his cheek and moved your lips to his mouth to steal a kiss from its corner. That made him smile your favourite smile and suddenly you were lifted off of the table and carried towards the door. Moving your arms around his neck, you held on to him, running your eyes up and down his face to not miss a single sign of his happiness. You didn’t have to ask where he’d take you, knowing full well that he would tug you into the sheets of his bed, caressing your skin with his own and joining your bodies to become one. You wanted to be as close to him as possible, and afterwards you would tell him, afterwards you would try to find the right words and hope for a reaction that wouldn’t scare you. Right now, he was right, it would be just the two of you.

He opened the door… and ran into Anthony.

“Anthony!” He exclaimed in surprise, not yet considering to drop you which you found at the same time embarrassing and sweet. Trying to turn around in his embrace, you looked at Anthony over your shoulder, greeting him with a quite awkward “Hello!”

“Where have you two been, I was looking all over for you… wait, don’t answer that!” He waved his hand around in front of his chest, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Though I do have to say, I’d like to know if the study should be er… cleaned!”

“Brother!!” Benedict groaned, his head dropping on your shoulder, the warmth from his reddened cheeks burning your skin.

Chuckling, you patted Benedict’s shoulder to signal you’d like to be let down. The muscles in his arms clenched from unwillingness, but he did indulge you and let you slide to a standing position.

You decided not to answer the last comment and simply tilted your head to the side expectantly, your unashamed smile making Anthony’s own grow. “What was it you needed from us?”

“Not I,” Anthony responded, his amusement at his brother’s unmistakable frustration quite obvious. “But our dear mother. She needs your opinions for the upcoming summer ball. Apparently Daphne and Kate would like you to join in on the preparations.”

Benedict groaned loudly. You tried not to send him a sympathetic glance and merely nodded at Anthony’s request, asking in return where you could find the other ladies.

“Don’t worry, brother!” Anthony consoled your husband, when you took his hand in a silent goodbye. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you after dinner. I know how hard it can be to find… some time alone.”

Benedict actually felt compelled to smile at his brother in gratitude, before sending you one more longing gaze. “I can’t wait.”

Then Anthony wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in one direction and the preparations for the ball pulled you in the other. During the time it took to walk to the ladies of the house, you couldn’t stop worrying about what Benedict’s reaction would be once you told him of the pregnancy after dinner.

------------------------------

Being at the table with the entire family always put Benedict into good spirits, no matter how much he’d longed for a moment alone with you throughout the day. He made faces at Daphne, poked Eloise into the side until she almost choked on a piece of bread, laughed at Colin’s jokes and exchanged warm glances with his mother. You were having lovely conversations with Kate and spoke some more to Hyacinth about her French. Everyone at the table tried to outdo Colin and his funny remarks, but no one quite was as good at it as he was and he seemed to be taking great pride in it.

Seeing Benedict interact with his family reassured you in a way you had not entirely realized you’d needed. Yes, you were both in great need of being close to each other in private. Yes, you were both enjoying it immensely, when no one interrupted your time together. But being at the table with everyone, conversing, joking, teasing and simply enjoying each other’s company was something Benedict would never have to ‘suffer’ through. Time spent with his family was time well spent and you could see in his face that he was more than content. e

It took away so much of the fear you’d felt throughout the day, the fear that he might not be happy about the news that you were with child. This was his world and he would be, you were very certain, delighted to have such a world of his own.

Kate and Anthony were the first to leave the table – in the dim candle light you couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like he was waggling his eyebrows at you – and after a while, you, Benedict, Daphne and Simon all decided to do the same, bidding your adieus from the family for the day and retiring to your chambers.

Benedict was in high spirits which was most likely due to the lovely evening and the prospect of finally being alone with you without fear of interruption. You suppressed a squeal, when he decided to chase you up the stairs, scooping you into his arms at the far end of the hallway that followed and banging open the door to your shared room with his shoulder. You giggled uncontrollably, when he kicked the door closed with his foot and practically ran towards the bed to throw you on the covers.

“I am going to jump out of the window if anyone dares interrupt us here and now!” He hissed humorously, taking off his waistcoat as quickly as he could and starting to work on his breeches.

Laughing cheerfully, you moved your hands in his direction, demanding him to get into the bed this instant. “Must you seriously be standing over there while getting undressed?”

“Where are my manners?” He gasped out in fake shock and all but dove into the sheets next to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you underneath him, drawing more silly laughter out from you when he pushed his face into the silk covering your belly. “Taking off clothes is almost as intrusive as my siblings! We will simply ignore them!!”

It was hard to speak through your laughter, but somehow you managed to grab a hold of his head and pulled it up towards you. “Ben, please, I must breathe! I must breathe!”

Grinning widely, he pushed his face against yours. “You should have to quit laughing for that first!”

It took a moment, but you did manage to calm your breathing, your arms wrapped around your husband who had his head propped up on one hand and was looking at you with a lazy smile. “Better?”

That almost made you burst out laughing again, but you managed to control yourself and instead grabbed him by the shoulders and changed positions, ending up on top of him. He huffed out in surprise, but his smile was big enough to light up the room, when he grabbed your thighs on either side of his hips.

“I feel deliciously trapped!”

“I have something to tell you!” You mused, searching for his hands with your own to interlock your fingers. Apparently you were in need of holding on to him while telling him what would come next. The pressure of his palms against your own quieted your mind and helped you focus on the matter at hand.

“Something you have to pin me down for?” He joked, his eyes widening with amusement. For you, his question brought back a small amount of dread and your smile fell ever so slightly.

“I… I hope not!” With hesitation you looked away, running your thumbs over his hands to calm yourself, while you were in search of what exactly to say. It would appear easy enough, declaring that one was pregnant, but, in truth, uttering the words was quite powerful and made the reality of the phrase stand out quite drastically.

“What is it?” Benedict asked, sitting up slightly and observing with a portion of concern the way you were biting the inside of your cheek. “(Y/N), is everything alright?”

You moved your eyes up, locking your gaze with his and taking a deep breath. It was all there, in his eyes: the love, the devotion, the care. He would be delighted. Yes, there was no other way…

“Ben, I know that sometimes it feels like we do not have a lot of time to ourselves.” He snorted in response to your words, underlining them with his reaction.

“The time I get to spend alone with you is a most cherished treasure.” You continued and slightly bucked your hips against his, making him chuckle softly. “Now, it is simply so…” You gulped and looked from left to right, before deciding to bring both of his hands to your belly. “It is so that… I am almost one hundred percent sure that I am…”

“YOU’RE PREGNANT!!!” Benedict shouted over your poor attempts of uttering the words you found so hard to actually say out loud and before you had a chance to asses the situation, you were pushed on your back, with your head by the foot of the bed and your husband fussing over you. His big hands were moving from your cheek to your belly to his head and back to your belly, all while he made noises of the purest and most natural delight you’d ever seen in a man.

“You’re pregnant!! You’re pregnant!!” He kept on repeating, his joy reverberating through every single nerve end on his body and conjoining with your own. All the insecurities of the day fell off your shoulders and the light weight that remained made your eyes water.

“Oh, my love,” you almost sobbed out, “I am so happy to see you react this way!”

“How could I not?” Benedict laughed with joy, cupping your face and kissing you and kissing you some more, small wet drops falling on your cheeks, when his emotions got the better of him. “We will be parents!” He choked out, before kissing you again and moving his hands to your belly again. “You are having a baby!” He uttered with teary eyes, sinking down on the level of your middle to place a thousand kisses on your gown. “A baby!!” He repeated again, before laughing incredulously.

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him up and towards you. You needed to have him close as you buried your face in his shoulder and allowed tears of your own to run down your cheeks. “I love you!” You whispered with all your affection. “I love you and I love you and I love you!!”

More of Benedict’s tears fell on your face, when he moved himself up slightly, the salty traces mingling with your own. “My love,” he hummed softly, “you were worried, weren’t you? You were worried, it would make me fear for our alone time! Oh, (Y/N), I don’t fear that! I don’t fear a single thing when it comes to us!”

He buried his face in your neck to breathe you in, before looking at your belly again – it would become a recurrent thing in the following nine months, as your belly grew, he would look and look and look with all the adoration he was capable of. “I am beyond happy!”

“As am I!” You placed your hand over his own on your belly, as you were starting to realize the truth of this situation together, as you started to talk about names and traits, as you started to exchange assumptions and plans. It was exactly the way you’d hoped it would be.

A new chapter in your life began.

[viesanterieures]

𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏.

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x fem Reader

next chapter

note: This story is set in May 1936, William is about 27 and it takes place years before the actual movie.

summary: William Killick takes a break from his London life and spends a few weeks at the country estate of the wealthy Hallward family. The family take an instant liking to William and try to get him to marry their beautiful daughter Norma. Also on the estate is the reader, who works as a maid. When William receives anonymous poems, he ends up falling in love with the mysterious writer instead of Norma.

word count: 2000+

warnings: … none!

masterlist

"Excuse me sir, we've reached the end of the line." Yawning, William opened his eyes as he heard a voice behind him and stretched sleepily, curious to see who was speaking to him. A woman in a uniform with a dark skirt and matching hat stood beside him. "Are we there yet... What time is it?" he asked her. "It's just after half past seven, sir," the train attendant replied with a friendly smile. As William straightened up in his seat and then saw that the landscape before him had changed from the brown roofs of London to green hills and beautiful mountain scenery with small lakes. "My God... I must have slept for hours." The train attendant smiled at him kindly and wished him a good journey.

William felt the train slow down and grabbed his suitcase from the luggage rack. Once outside, he set it down on the floor and took a deep breath. The air smelled fresh and the wind blew through his hair. Although he had never been to this place before, he had the strange feeling that he belonged here. He closed his eyes for a moment. The orange light of the setting sun shone through his eyelids. The green hills of the Scottish Highlands stretched out before him, surrounded by a light mist. Green meadows, colourful flowers and streams dominated the landscape. The sky was cloudless and the air smelled of fresh moss. William could hardly look away. It was so different from London. The grass rustled softly under his shoes as he made his way to his accommodation for the next few weeks.

Curious, he looked up at the big building. It was built entirely of stone, with small windows adorned with red, ivy-covered shutters that glowed in the evening sun. William dragged his suitcase up the stairs that led to a wide wooden door. The muffled sound filled the silence as William knocked on the door. It opened with a squeak to reveal an older, very elegantly dressed lady with shoulder-length curly hair.

"Good evening, you must be our new guest, Mr Killick, aren't you?" Her voice sounded friendly and welcoming. "That’s right. And you must be Margaret Hallward, the owner of the estate," William replied. The lady nodded. "I am. Come in, you must have travelled a long way, sir." William followed her into the warm house. Mrs Hallward disappeared for a moment behind a wooden counter and handed William a key. "Room seven is yours. The dining room is in the ground floor and the common room is on the second floor. Breakfast is tomorrow from seven to half past eight. YN, would you be so kind as to accompany our guest to his room? And take some of his luggage."

"Of course, Mrs Hallward," a quiet voice sounded behind them, and William turned around curiously. In front of them stood a young woman in a red apron and white blouse. William smiled kindly at her. "No, wait, I can carry that," he interrupted her when she tried to take the suitcase off. Shrugging her shoulders, she finally gave up and told William to follow her. They walked along a corridor decorated with old paintings and photos of the country estate and stopped in front of a room door with the number 7.

"Thank you so much, Ma'am," he said, putting the room key in the lock. The young woman smiled and wished him a good night before disappearing without another word.

****

William had slept very well that night. It was probably because he was quite tired from the long journey. When he finally entered the dining room for breakfast, it was already quite full. He took an empty seat at a table where an elderly man was still sitting, reading a newspaper.

"Tea, sir?" It was the young woman again who had shown him his room yesterday. "Yes, thank you“, he said. "What was your name again?"

"YN," she said quietly, and poured some tea into a small cup.

"Beautiful name."

William could clearly see her cheeks turning slightly pink at the words. "Thank you, sir." But they were interrupted by Mrs Hallward, who approached the table with a big smile. "Good morning, Mr Killick! Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, Mrs Hallward," he replied. "I don't think I've slept as well as I did this morning for months. So I'm really going to enjoy my holiday."

"I'm glad to hear that." She laughed. "Oh, I'd like to introduce you to someone, wait a moment please " She turned to one of the tables and called out in a loud voice. "Norma! Will you come here, please?"

"Yes, Mother." Another woman joined them at the table, she was about a year or two younger than William. She had white-blonde hair, red lips and was wearing an elegant purple dress with ornate embroidery. She was very pretty, William realised.

"Mr Killick, this is my daughter Norma. She lives in Glasgow at the moment, but is here for a few weeks. She grew up at the country estate. If you like, she can show you around the neighbourhood and the town."

"It would be an honour. How about we meet outside the estate at three this afternoon?," Norma chuckled softly as she twirled a strand of her blonde hair between her fingers. William was very happy about the Hallward's hospitality and gratefully accepted the offer.

"But now we won't bother you any longer, Mr Killick. Enjoy your breakfast," Mrs Hallward said with a smile as she took Norma's arm and led her away from the table. As they walked, he heard them whispering to each other, catching bits of sentences like 'isn't he lovely' or 'he looks like a prince from a fairytale'.

Slowly, William turned in the direction where YN had last been, but she was gone.

***

William spent the morning in the garden of the country estate, sitting on one of the benches beneath a cherry tree. The weather was warm, and the birds chirped softly in the treetops. Eventually, he closed his book and stood up to return to the house. As he passed one of the large flower beds, he paused. He saw a person sitting there, gardening.

"Nice to see you again, Ms YN," he said kindly. She didn't seem to notice his arrival and flinched when she heard his voice behind her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," William apologised immediately. "It’s alright, sir," she said, turning her attention back to the bed.

"Call me William, please."

She immediately looked at him in surprise. She had never expected that. A gust of wind came up and brushed through William's dark hair, and his bright blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

"Shall I help you?" he asked her, pointing to the bucket of weeds. She immediately declined his offer. "No, William, you're here on holiday. Not to work." William shrugged. "Anything where I don't have to be in London is a holiday for me. I really love this city, it's my home. But sometimes I really need to go somewhere else." YN nodded briefly. "I've never been to London or any other big city. I imagine it's stressful."

He laughs and shrugs. "I can't deny that it's stressful sometimes." Slowly he knelt down beside her and began to pluck the weeds from the ground in front of him. "You don't have to do that," she said quickly. "It's okay," William replied quietly, continuing to work.

YN laughed. "This has never happened to me before. A guest helping me with my work. If Mrs Hallward finds out, she'll scold me." William smiled a little. "Tell her I did it voluntarily. "You already have enough work." When they were finished, the young woman smiled briefly, then took off her gloves, stood up and reached for the bucket. "I have to go now."

"Wait, don’t you want to stay here a bit longer?" William asked hastily.

"Sorry, I've still got a lot to do. But thank you for helping me, that was very kind of you." She waved goodbye to William and finally turned round. William looked at her for a moment, a bit disappointed. Then he glanced at his pocket watch and flinched. It was ten minutes past three, Norma was probably already waiting for him.

He quickly grabbed his book that was laying in the grass and hurried to the front gate. Norma was waiting there, her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him with raised eyebrows as he finally greeted her completely out of breath. "Sorry I'm late."

She finally smiled and said in a friendly voice, "It's okay." Her hair was pinned up in an elegant braid, her lipstick was the same colour as the new pastel pink dress she was wearing, and she carried a matching handbag.

"I was in the garden talking to YN. I must have lost track of time."

One of her blonde eyebrows immediately raised again and she looked at him as if he had just said something completely stupid. "You're talking to household staffs? They're working for us, it’s far below our class."

He looked at her, confused. "But why shouldn't I talk to her? She's really nice."

Norma stayed silent, grabbed his arm and pulled him along without a word. She led him through the Scottish Highlands, down a small forest path, until the roofs of houses appeared in the distance. This had to be Tobermory. The air smelled of salty sea and a fresh breeze as they walked along Tobermory's coastal road, lined with colourful houses. High mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks shrouded in a gentle mist. "Wow, it's beautiful!" marveled William.

"I know, right?" Norma replied giggling, taking his hand and pulling him towards a small café.

"My aunt works there," she said. "She makes the best cakes." They entered the café and sat down on a corner bench by a small window. "Norma, how lovely to see you again." A lady with bright red hair came up to them and pulled her niece into her arms, laughing. When she noticed William, she looked him over from head to toe, smiled and turned back to her niece. "And who is that handsome young man next to you? Did you meet him in Glasgow?" Norma shook her head, laughing. "No. He's a guest of Mother's. She asked me to show him around."

"Oh, how lovely. You know, Norma, it's time for you to get married. Can I bring you both some of my Dundee cake?" William frowned slightly when she mentioned marriage. Did the Hallwards already see him as their future son in law?

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the little café, William telling Norma about his home in London, his job, his family, and she seemed to be very interested. But William hadn't forgotten her nasty comment about YN. He was torn by Norma.

After they said goodbye that evening, William went to his room tired. In the corridor he saw Mrs Hallward talking excitedly to YN. "You forgot to fluff up the pillows in Room 9! How many times do I have to tell you?" she snapped at her in a harsh tone.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hallward, I..." But she didn't let YN finish, because when she noticed William, she put on a big smile again: "Oh, Mr Killick, how nice to see you. Did you have a nice day with Norma?"

"Yes, I did, thank you for asking," he replied. He looked at YN, but she avoided his gaze, holding a white sheet in her arms.

"You know, Norma is still not married and we're looking for a suitable husband for her. Or do you already have a wife?" Mrs Hallward wanted to know. William shook his head slowly.

"She is such a beautiful young woman. But no man has ever met her standards. You're the first one she has shown interest in", the lady explained to him. "Come, YN, you need to get back to work now, the dishes need to be washed."

"Good night, William," YN said to him as he walked past, nodding to him.

"Good night," he replied.

As soon as he entered his room, he took off his jacket and shirt and yawned softly. He intended to read, but he was so tired that he just wanted to lie down in bed. Suddenly he heard something crunching under his feet and looked down in surprise. There was a small piece of white paper under his shoe. Someone must have slipped it through the gap under his door. He bent down and picked it up carefully. It was no bigger than William's hand, made of good quality and written in black ink.

Holding his breath, William began to read:

𝓣𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ℐ𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒, 𝒶 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒷𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒷𝓁𝓊𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒.

ℋ𝒾𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽, 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒.

Confused, he turned the letter over in his hands. Was it from Norma? But she had been with him all afternoon, hadn't she? Who else was writing him poems?

****************************************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you want a part 2, let me know! 🖤

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXX

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds / @lady-of-tearshed / @what-about-elvenis / @gameafoot /

The sky was a vicious blue, bright and cloudless. The smell of blooming flowers was in the air, strong enough to choke. Elain had to raise a pale hand to cover her eyes, blocking the unforgiving sun. A gentle wind blew, kissing her cheeks. The grass was cool beneath her bare feet, dew drops making the edges of her pink skirts damp. 

Elain glanced down, tilting her head when she noticed that it almost looked like blood. It stained the elegant fabric, ruining it. She frowned as she straightened the wrinkles, her brows pinched. Red rose petals were littered between the emerald blades of grass, a perfect path that she chose to follow. 

Elain walked with steady steps, unnerved by the silence in the open space. There were no singing birds, no buzzing bees, no trickling streams. A shiver danced along her spine as she continued forward, the scarlet petals shifting until they whirled together like a rushing river. 

It looked like hair, she observed. She tracked the length of it, searching. Her mind moved slowly, her thoughts disconnected from what she saw. 

Empty eyes stared upwards, unblinking amber gemstones. 

Elain woke up with a gasp. Her body moved involuntarily, shooting upwards despite the numbness she felt in her limbs. Someone quickly created more distance between them, and Elain twisted her neck so she could face whoever it was. 

“Vassa?” She said, voice a strained rasp. She had forgotten to refer to her using a title. Elain cleared her throat, wishing she could have a sip of water. She let her vision adjust to the night, pretty hair the colour of a copper coin flashed as the other woman nodded. 

The cursed queen breathed a relieved sigh, tension leaving her shoulders as she slumped into a more comfortable position. “Elain?” At the tilt of a chin she received in response, Vassa ran a hand over her face roughly. “You weren’t waking up,” she declared, her accent similar to the one in cities that had bordered the wall. 

Koschei. 

The death god’s name echoed in Elain’s mind. If Vassa was with her, his involvement was the only explanation she could think of. 

Elain took a shaking breath. “That happens sometimes,” she mumbled, letting her fingers dig into the soft earth in an attempt to ground herself. She checked her surroundings to decide what she might do next, hoping that she recognised where she was. 

The moon was high, and stars glittered tauntingly against the endless dark. Elain was left with the impression that they were laughing at her misery. She could tell that she was near water, perhaps past the forest’s edge and a bit farther than the clearing she found herself in. The air was damp, a humid fog clinging to the trees and creating a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. 

Elain was certain that she was no longer in any of the seasonal courts of Prythian, and although she might have been in one of the solar ones, she determined it was quite unlikely. There was something distinctly ancient about the forest, leafless branches reaching up towards the sky like hands made of bone. The wood of each tree was a ghostly white, a stark contrast to the dirt covering the map of roots beneath the surface. 

There was magic thrumming all around her, Elain knew, but it was unlike her own. There was something about it that briefly reminded her of Nesta. She frowned, concern replacing all other emotions. She wondered if she was in the Middle, keeping in mind the stories Feyre had told her. 

“Had a good night’s sleep?”  

The question rocked Elain, snapping her out of her own thoughts. She had not noticed that there was someone else there, but the familiar voice was enough to make anger rush through her veins. 

Elain faced Lethe, scowling as she saw how beautiful the other female still looked despite the ordeal they had endured. Her dress was left in perfect condition, no tears in the expensive fabric. She had unpinned her hair, and it fell in an icy sheet to her waist, not a single knot between the strands. Embers sparked to life in her eyes as she raised an unimpressed brow. 

“You’re here.” Elain said without thinking, stating the obvious. For a moment, she was glad to have someone she knew with her, but she was quickly reminded that the two of them did not exactly get along.  

“I’d rather be dead,” Lethe declared with a sniff. The words hung between them, sharpened by the silence. 

“That can easily be arranged,” Vassa offered, but was promptly ignored. 

Elain kept looking at Lethe, their gazes locked, when a horrifying realisation dawned on her. “No one knows,” she muttered, heartbeat thunderous in her ears. Panic gripped her like a claw and she tried to pull at the mating bond with no success. While she thought it was probably the distance, a million awful scenarios came to mind. 

Lucien. 

Elain grabbed at the curls against her scalp, tugging to stop herself from whimpering. If Beron would go so far as to harm Eris, she had a hard time believing he would have second thoughts about doing the same to her mate. 

“No one knows,” Lethe confirmed, sounding exhausted. 

“Fuck,” Elain mumbled under her breath, the foul language slipping from her tongue easily. “What about Eris?” 

Lethe straightened, a commanding air to her at the mention of her friend. “What about him?” When Elain remained quiet, the other woman shook her head. “There’s nothing to be done for him.” 

Elain felt the events leading up to that moment crash down on her like a wave. With no outlet for her frustration, she heard her own voice raise accusingly. “Some friend you are,” she spat, the anger making her brave. “We should have helped him, he’s hurt–”

“Hurt?” Lethe snarled, interrupting the rest of Elain’s sentence. “You think he’s hurt?” 

Elain winced at the aggressive tone. “I think–”

Lethe laughed, the sound grating like a blade against marble. “You think Eris is hurt?” When Elain remained silent, she waved a hand, the nails on each finger filed to a dangerous point. “I think you’re stupid,” the Autumn noble snarled. 

Vassa made a soft sound, a gentle warning. Lethe continued as though she had not heard, teeth bared threateningly. “Eris is dead, and I’m stuck here with the foolish little human girl he felt responsible for.”  

“I’m not human,” Elain corrected, a finality to the statement. It was the first time she had said the words out loud, acceptance sneaking up on her as steady as the rising sun. Where grief once would have been, confidence in herself only remained. “I’m not human,” she repeated, “and Eris isn’t dead. He can’t be.” 

Elain refused to consider it. There was something constant about the Autumn heir, like the unchanging seasonal court he had been born in, timeless.

All the fight seemed to leak from Lethe, her shoulders curling inward as she bent her legs to her chest. “No one could have survived that.” She rested her chin against her knees, looking very young, voice breaking like glass as she spoke. “You wouldn’t have recognised the dagger, but it’s made entirely of gold and tipped with ash.”

“The ash is enough to kill him?” Elain asked, her question wavering. She felt a burning behind her eyes, and she blinked to keep her tears at bay. 

Lethe sighed, but there was no judgement in the sound. “Our teachers in the Forest House told us that the High Lord slaughtered his father with that weapon and forced himself onto the throne.” She paused, using her sleeve to wipe at her cheeks. “Ash wood is like a poison without a cure for the fae.” 

Elain closed her eyes, clenching them shut to cut herself off from the rest of the world. There was a sharp ringing in her ears, like the aftermath of a bell’s toll. It took all of her willpower not to break down into wretched sobs. 

A gentle hand rested on Elain’s back, a comfort as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Vassa lied. The human queen rubbed at the spot between Elain’s shoulder blades, staying close even as her nerves settled. 

“Hope is for those who don’t know any better,” Lethe offered, no matter how unwelcome the opinion was.  

“Lucien is going to come for us.” Elain said softly, putting her wish into the universe and hoping against all odds that it would become a reality.

[itsbubbleteataro]

Like a Petal in The Wind

Koga x fem!human!reader

Warnings: blood, miroku

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“Koga! Koga slow down” Puffed Ginka

“Yeah! Koga! Please we need water” Huffed Hakkaku

The gray tornado several meters ahead stopped. In its place stood a wolf demon. His skin tanned from time in the sun, eyes a shade of blue that looked back at the two other wolf demons who panted and gasped for air. Long black hair tied back with a simple brown chord. A brown fur headband helped to keep his bangs off his face while he ran. shoulder plates, a fur loincloth and a sliver and black cuirasse adorned his body, with shin armor finished what the demon wore.

Pointed ears listened to a babbling brook close by as clawed hands scratched the back of his head while the two other wolf demons caught up.

One with a sliver mohawk was dressed in similar clothing to Koga. He panted with his hands on his knees.

"Koga! Water! Please!" Spat out Hakkaku.

"Koga! We can't keep up with you! We don't have sacred jewel shards like you do! Please let's rest" Half begged Ginka.

Begrudgingly, Koga agreed. He knew he had less of a chance of killing Naraku and avenging comrades if his pack was tired.

"Alright. It smells like a river is just east of here. Let's rest there for the night" He turned his back, starting to walk in the direction of the river. Excited, Ginka and Hakkaku went after him, still calling out his name.

The sun was high in the sky, Ginka and Hakkaku had gone further down stream to fish for lunch, as Koga sat under a tree. One of his ears flicked, his head turned in a direction as he stayed put. His nose crinkled, the sweet smell of flowers and bitter smell of herbs clashing together was putrid.

The sent only grew closer till he spotted a young woman. long black hair tied back with a simple white linen chord. Dressed in a simple kosode that went down to her ankles. A carrying cloth mixed with flowers and herbs. He studied her, watching as she knelt down to the earth, and untied her carrying cloth, adding a few more herbs to her bag.

She stood up after gathering what she needed and retired the bag. She stood up as a gust of wind blew by. His nose twitched. underneath the putrid sent, was a sweet one. It was like the flowers she had picked, yet much lighter and fragment, something almost undetectable if he were not a demon, like a tsubaki flower. As soon as he had caught the sent, he lost it, the sent flowing away like a petal in the wind.

Koga watched as the woman started to walk away. Some part of him missed the sent layered under the putrid mix of herbs and flowers, soon having to remind himself that he only had eyes for Kagome. It was long after she had left that Ginka and Hakkaku returned from fishing.

"Koga! Koga look!" His eyes snapped over to Ginka and Hakkaku, each proudly holding a bundle of fish in their hands.

Eyeing the look in their eyes, Koga decided to indulge himself as they had with fish. "I've come to the decision" he scratched the back of his head. "Since you guys wanted to rest, why don't we stay here for a few days. The pack could after all use a break"

The pack seemed happy at the decision, deciding to take the time they had and spend the evening resting and fill their stomachs. Koga stayed where he was, nose to the wind. He had caught the putrid sent once more. Maybe it was because he was bored, or maybe because he wanted to get another sniff of what was hidden under the putrid sent, the wolf demon ran after it, the jewel shards in his legs aiding his speed.

Koga found himself on the outskirts of a village. The local shrine quite large for its size. His curiosity quenched for the night, Koga returned to his pack.

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In the village the woman Koga had been watching from a far had finally made it to the shrine. Approaching the priest she showed him the herbs and flowers she had gathered. Together the two had separated the herbs from the flowers. The herbs organized to be laid out in the sun the next day to be dried, and the flowers to be displayed inside.

The woman stayed with the shrine as she had no where else to go, and busied herself with helping gather herbs or do odd jobs for others. Like was simple, yet fulfilling.

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It was a night like any other when a group of five entered the temple one hot sunny afternoon. The woman watched as the priest welcomed a monk draped in purple robes and his friends. Watching closely from a far she was filled with curiosity, she had never seen such an odd group of people. A half dog demon with long white hair dressed in red robes. A woman with mid length black hair in a strange set of clothing of white and green. The monk with purple robes who's eyes were glued on a woman who looked like to be a demon slayer judging by the large boomerang on her back. Her eyes widened with wonder wonder as she looked at the twin tailed little cat on the demon slayers shoulder. She sighed as she saw a little fox demon child jump up on the one with the red robes.

"Its rude to stare you know. Come on out don't be a coward" The one in red stated, turning his back towards you.

Taking a deep breath you came out from the hiding spot as the priest chuckled. The priest then introduced you to the group as you shyly waved and apologized for staring.

"Hi! I'm Kagome! That's Inuyasha" The girl in the strange clothing motioned over to the one in red. "That's Miroku!" Kagome motioned to the monk, who waved his hand. "Shippo is the one on Inuyasha's shoulder, Songo is the demons layer and the one on her shoulder is Kirara!"

You sat there, taking in all the information before nodding your head.

"The priest here said you could give us a tour of the area?" Songo asked, to which you nodded. Together you all left the temple, heading towards the stream where Koga, Ginta and Hakkaku were staying.

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Koga sniffed the air a few times, before mumbling something underneath his breath, and taking off running towards the village, leaving Hakkaku and Ginta to once again chance after him. Koga's nose was on to the Inuyashas's sent as well as the ever flowery sent of the woman he's only seen hand full of times.

Kagome waved at the approaching tornado as you looked worried, opting to stand next to Songo, someone you knew would protect you if the occasion occurred.

The tornado dispersed. You gasped softly looking at the attractive wolf demon. "Hey Kagome! You gonna ditch that mutt yet?" Smirked the wolf demon as Inuyasha snarled.

"Hey who you calling a mutt?" growled Inuyasha, reaching for his sword.

"if it's a fight you want it's a fight you'll get!"

"Hey lets uh, lets calm down right guys?" Kagome nervously chuckled, raising her hands and looking over at Miroku who simply shrugged. Cringing when she heard the sound of Tessaiga being drawn Kagome had enough, “Sit boy” You watched as Inuyasha fell flat on his face with a pained cry, one that wolf demon looked quite proud about. “Sorry Koga, what brings you around here? It’s not often that we get to cross paths?”

You placed a calloused hand over your mouth, gasping under your breath as Koga took Kagome's hands into his own. "Oh just here to ask you to be my wife." You're attention snapped to Inuyasha, who was now up and walking.

"She's not interested!"

"Ah I'm so sorry (y/n). It may be a while, do you think you coul-Ah!" Apologized Songo before wiping around, covering her behind. You followed her gaze to see Miroku the monk. One of his hands holding onto the staff, his face looking serious with his eyes closed. The hand with the light purple covering twitching slightly.

You cringed physically as Songo wacked him over the head with her boomerang made of bone.

"Why you-!"

"I'm sorry Songo! The hand as a mind of its own I swear!"

"Pervert!"

You sighed. Frightened, confused and slightly annoyed you knew you were in for a long day.

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The sun was finally starting to set as you showed them the area around the river. Falling to the back of the pack was Koga, his eyes drifting between Kagome and You. He was feeling mixed. Kagome was the woman he was set on having his wife, yet on the other hand it was your sent that made him so curious about you.

The sun set had only served to paint you in a beautiful light, the warm tones leaning into night would be enough to make him question. Watching as the group waved goodbye and moved on into the village, Koga, Ginta and Hakkaku made there way back to the camp they had been staying in for the past few days. Once again, Koga sat with his back against the grand tree, with his nose up in the air. He closed his eyes, unsure if he were savoring the sent of you or Kagome.

With each good gust of wind, he swore he could smell you. He was confused, a human who he did not even know the name of, had such an effect on him. Trying to distract himself, he focused his thoughts on the crude Naraku and his little puppets made from his flesh Kana and Kagura. With his eyes closed, he swore he could smell Naraku's sent in the wind flowing up from the village.

Inhaling once again, he focused more on the sent. Jumping up, he had gotten the sent of human blood mixed in with Kagome's your and Naraku's sent. Not bothering to inform Ginta or Hakkaku he took off running full speed in the direction of the village.

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You were sleeping peacefully in the room the priest was so kind as to give to you. Keyword "were". Some sort of tornado seemed to appear out of nowhere, rousing you from your slumber with a a start. Scrambling outside to see what was going on, your eyes winded in horror. You watched this woman dressed in a long red and white stripped Kosoke with a fan in her hand. With each swipe if her fan, another tornado seemed to fall.

“Inuyasha! Come out come out wherever you are” The woman taunted. Unleashing a different sort of attack. With a grunt several half moon shaped blades cut through the very building she was once sleeping in. Gasping in fright, you stared to run away, only hearing as Inuyasha responded to the taunts himself.

You dare not look back as you hear more blades being flung in your direction, no thanks in part to a tornado currently making its way through your village. You went down with a scream, your leg feeling damp and heavy al of a sudden. Adrenaline pumping through your vanes, you pushed yourself up, running further and further way from the carnage of your village, making your way slowly to the stream.

——————————————————————————-

The stench of human blood filled Koga’s nose, standing up. The unforgettable stench of Naraku mixed in with the blood. Growling, he took off running, leaving his pack behind. Quickly making it into the village he spotted the demon behind the attack, Kagura. He could do nothing but watch as the two battled, before watching as Kagura backed off. Plucking a feather from her hair and tossing it in the air, both Kana, holding the mirror and Kagura stepped on. Once more he watched as Kagura taunted Inuyasha, before floating off into the night, leaving Inuyasha shouting nonsense back. His eyes drifted over to Kagome, his shoulders dropping when he saw she was safe. Still in the air was the stench of blood, mixed in with the faint smell of flower blossoms. Alarm crossed is mind as he looked up the hill, seeing a trail of blood. Cursing under his breath and asking himself what Kagome would have him do, he followed the blood.

Reaching the stream Koga stopped, his emotions swirling in his head as he walked closer. There on the bank of the river you laid. The stench of blood was strong coming off you, Koga inspected you for injury, hesitating when he saw the cut on your leg. Making a fist he undid the bandana around his head, using it to stop the bleeding. Koga could hear the the short breaths you took, slowly coming too as he finished tying it around your leg.

With a groan you looked up at him, recoiling in horror for a moment before seeming to relax just the slightest. He looked at you, confusion crossing his features.

“Well, aren’t you going to scream in terror? Beg for your life?” Koga seamed to loom over you as he spoke.

You shook your head. “Nay, I saw how you were with Kagome and her friends, if you wished to hurt me I should think you would have killed me already”

Koga scoffed, sitting back and giving you space to sit up. Wincing as you do, his eyes scanned you for a more injuries, only looking away when he was sure he saw no others. After a few moments of silence, he stood up, getting his arms underneath you and picking you up, being mindful of your injury.

“Hey! Wait! What are you doing?!”

“Taking you to Kagome. Her medicine form her world would help you faster than any other person I can think of” Koga responded, his tone not giving away any of his emotions as he walked with you towards the ruins of your village. You clung on tight, both out of fear and pain, biting your lip as he carried you.

Reaching the village Koga waisted no time in tracking down Kagome. Explaining the situation as your eyes squeezed shut not wanting to look at any bodies that scattered the ground. You heard Kagome agree with Koga, the loud thunk of a bag being dropped and the rattle of things begging savaged through. You were carried into one of the few still standing houses, being set down carefully. You watched as Kagome carefully peeled away the now blood soaked wolf fur bandana, handing it back to Koga. Koga took it, holding onto it, looking away from Kagome and you. Inuyasha sat with his back against the wall, eyes shut, seeming to be resting after his fight with Kagura.

—————————————-

A few days later it was decided, you would travel with Inuyasha and his friends while you recovered, hoping to find a new village for you to move into after you had recovered. Koga and Inuyasha had talked about it, figuring it would be safer for you to go with them.

And so your adventure started, traveling with the half demon Inuyasha, Kagome, the fox child Shippo, demon slayer Songo and monk Mruko. Unknown to everyone but inuyasha, Koga and his pack seemd to trail behind, be it for Kagome or you, only time could tell.

[dailyunstableeve]

Fluff and Angst

Shadowheart x reader (no specific gender)

My maladaptive daydream made me write this. No proofread.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .

You woke up with Shadowheart next to you, you couldn't tell how long she was looking at you sleeping. You didn't question anything and just pull her closer to you, snuggle up with her, embracing her warmth. This isn't the first time you wake up with Shadowheart looking at you, you remembered the first time, she told you, “you look so adorable when you sleep and I want to take in the peace we fight so hard to get and now we're here next to each other with nothing to worried about.”

Shadowheart gave you a kiss on the forehead and both of you drifted back to the dreams with you in her arms. 

When you wake up again, you're no longer in the embrace of Shadowheart. You were in confusion for a few minutes until you smelled the scent of freshly baked bread, the bittersweet of coffee’s scent coming from the kitchen. You quickly wash up yourself and skip your way towards the kitchen, excited like always to eat Shadowheart’s cooking. 

“Look who finally woken up,” you made your way next to Shadowheart, she gave you a quick morning kiss and passed you a plate of mixed fruits, you made your way to the back door and got welcomed by all of the animals both you and Shadowheart adopted. 

“Good morning to you all,” you chuckled as you watched all of them circling around you, you picked a space and placed the fruit plate on the floor. The pets couldn't wait anymore, they were already digging in. 

You returned to Shadowheart, hugging her from her back, planting soft kisses on her neck, wondering when the breakfast would be done. You turn into a koala bear, you cling onto Shadowheart everywhere she goes until both of you are seated down by the dining table. 

After breakfast, Shadowheart and you will have only different duties, she will be grooming the pets while you'll be cleaning up the house. 

You looked at the art portraits of you and Shadowheart painted for each other by the fireplace while you're cleaning. You remembered that day, both of you used the shade of the tree to block out the sun, holding hands, watching the pets running free on the field. You brought out the paints and two empty canvases, challenging her to paint, then let the pet pick who painted better. 

You painted the colourful flower field with Shadowheart standing in the middle, how the wind gently blowing by, lifting the silk of the dress along with it, Shadowheart had her hair down, white as snow, pure, looking like a princess who finally discovered freedom. 

As for Shadowheart, she painted the moment when you, her and all the other party members reunited again, the joy on your face, the hair that she braided for you that night, the perfect details. 

The competition was a close call when Shadowheart asked all the pets to pick who’s the winner. Shadowheart won the competition because of the squirrel she adopted a few months ago. The squirrel has been your little enemy since then, all because she kept on sticking onto Shadowheart whenever you wanted to hang out with her. Months passed, you and the squirrel made peace, all thanks to the speak to animal potion, both of you talk out the terms. 

Time flies fast when you’re focused, the chores have been done so you and Shadowheart decided to sit out at the bench, enjoying the afternoon breeze. You rested on Shadowheart’s shoulder as she rested on top of your head, enjoying the cold tea you have brewed while cleaning up the house. 

Since Shadowheart had made breakfast for the day, you take the turn to cook dinner. Shadowheart would sit on the counter, sipping her favourite wine, drinking the sight of you cooking. Whenever you pass her just to grab something, you will take a chance to steal a few kisses from her. Meantime, she will tell you about all the adorable things the pets did during the day, and you can hear the pets responding to Shadowheart’s comments from their shed just by the kitchen window, you will just laugh along because Shadowheart will try to argue back with the pets while she basically on the losing side but that doesn’t stop them to have a cute interaction. 

After dinner, both of you will take a walk by the beach, taking off the shoes, allowing the sea to brush through both of your feet, the coldness that brings refreshment. Holding hands, walking next to each other, Shadowheart would look at you with those lovely eyes, listening to every word you say, perhaps some old story you haven’t told her yet, she listens to it all. 

You and Shadowheart ended your day filled with activities, it’s time to hit the bed. The squirrel will be sleeping in above both yours and Shadowheart’s head, you feel the warmth from Shadowheart’s hand, running gently on your arm, causing a little tickling sensation. You would try to ask her to stop, despite you enjoying it, having Shadowheart’s touch on you, makes you feel alive, belonged. 

You snuggled up to Shadowheart, you could hear her calm heartbeat, like a lullaby. Shadowheart gave you a kiss on the forehead and fell asleep together. 

Morning arrived, you opened your eyes, finding yourself alone on your bed. You got out from your bed, washing up yourself then sit in front of your study table, turning on your computer, staring at your screen as a voice played, 

“Good, I was just starting to miss the sound of your voice.”

[klausysworld]

Peaceful Power

Valentines day.

Klaus didn't care for it nor understand it.

If you truly loved your person then why did you need a special day to prove it? Every day should be valentines day.

But Y/n loved love so much that something about valentines day was so magical for her.

She was a very calm soul.

Despite being a witch in New Orleans, her patience and compassion was everlasting. They were traits that Klaus deeply admired and was eternally grateful for. Not many people would be so tolerant of him.

She offered other methods to settle his rage.

The first few times he found it silly and embarrassing when they would sit on his art room floor, gentle music in the background as they closed their eyes and meditated until they felt the weight of the day lift off from their shoulders.

She had made him playlists of songs that she knew he would like and were peaceful enough to settle his nerves when he should need to.

A few times he had let her guide him through a yoga routine or two however those sessions almost always ended up with him testing just how many positions he could actually get her into before she was too exhausted for him to carry on.

She was his serenity.

So when she had expressed her passion for valentines day, he knew he couldn't disappoint her. Not that he believed there was a way to disappoint her at this point.

Now Klaus was quite romantic anyway, his main love language was gift giving and acts of service followed closely behind so he wasn't too sure how to really impress her.

However if there was something Klaus was known for it was his dramatic flare.

It was because of this that Y/n found herself blindfolded and wearing noise cancelling headphones while sat in fist class while Klaus stroked her hair and fed her the over priced airplane food. He would of course lift her headphones to whisper to her throughout the flight to ensure she was sated, thankfully Y/n was just fine with the arrangement and rather excited for where they were wind up.

He kept her covered right until he got her to their hotel.

Only when he had her stood on the balcony with the view of the sea before did he allow her senses to return.

A glowing smile lit up her face at the sight and she quickly spun around to face Klaus. He beamed back at her, chuckling when she leaped into his arms and wrapped herself around him like a koala. His grin grew as she repeatedly kissed his face and he spun her around playfully until she dropped her legs back down and leaned over the balcony pointing at the beach excitedly.

"It's so beautiful!" She gasped but he wasn't looking at the landscape, he was just looking at her. "Where are we?" she whispered, her soft voice expressing her astonishment.

"Italy" he answered with a smile as she turned to face him in amazement, "Amalfi Coast to be exact" he added and she squealed.

"For how long?" she asked excitedly and he shrugged

"For as long as you would like" he told her simply and she practically bounced where she stood.

Klaus eventually coaxed her into the hotel room, surprising her further as she was overwhelmed by the valentines theme spread throughout the apartment.

Heart shaped balloons rest in the corners of each room, pink and red candles made the hotel smell heavenly and a sweet little meditation area was set up in the lounge. Their bedroom was covered in heart shaped pillows and roses. Y/n was expressing her appreciation all night before finally resting, her mind filled with anticipation of what would come the following day.

Morning arrived and they spent valentines day on the water, giggling and smiling as they spotted dolphins and reached their hands into the sea to see the fish shimmer. Klaus braided her hair and gradually slotted more and more little flowers into the strands as they day went by.

They ate at a sweet little place just down the road from where they were staying before heading to a cocktail bar and finally laying against the coast, watching as the sun hid below the ocean line and the moon slowly found its way to the top.

"I've always loved the moon" Y/n whispered softly, looking at Klaus from where her head lay on his chest. "It's so peaceful but so powerful, you know?"

"Just like you" he uttered and her heart melted

Klaus's gaze remained on her as her cheeks blushed rose and her eyes softened to the point where he worried that he had made her cry. A singular tear slipped past her eyes before she kissed his lips and tucked her head under his chin comfortably.

"I love you" she mumbled, her voice weak as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled the top of her hair.

"I love you so much more, my little valentine"

[tiramizuloz]

Meeting!! :3

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The wind is swirling the smell of the warm summer day around. The sun is poking out through the trees, reflecting light from the girl’s skin and clothes. Her fingers play with the hem of her dress and she nervously clutches her bag with her other hand.

She always felt anxious when meeting new people, and now she’s feeling extra anxious because she made her pen pal a red poppy from paper. I probably shouldn't have brought anything for him. What if he thinks the flower is stupid or ugly?

Cough, cough, cough

Her eyes perk up and look at him. She can’t believe she was chatting with this hottie through letters all those two months. “Hi. Y/n right?” he asks, his hazel eyes looking at her, twinkling from the sun.

She takes his image in. Tall, muscular, black, messy hair, black t-shirt and baggy jeans hanging from his hips. “Hi Tetsurou.. How are you?” she mutters, trying to sound as friendly and energetic as possible.

“I’m good. How are you? You seem a bit nervous. Did my hotness sway you away?” he smirks, proud that she’s squirming under his gaze “Haha. You’re so funny. “ she rolls her eyes “I’m good too. I actually made something for you.”

Kuroo tilts his head “For me?”. She nods and grabs something from her bag and shoves it in his chest. “I don’t know what your favorite flower is, so I made something that has one of your favorite colours.”

Ah so she remembers. “Thank you. It’s really cute… Man, now I feel bad I didn’t bring anything for you. Let’s go to the café you were talking about, and I will treat you to a drink and something sweet if you want”

She giggles and shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that, but since you want to do it so badly, okay”, he smiles and winks “Good. Lead the way, Miss”

.　 ˚ 　. 　 ✧ 　 ˚ 　. 　 ✧ 　 ˚ 　 .　 ✧ 　. 　 ˚ 　.

The café is relatively empty, soft voices can be heard from the speakers, making the place appear cozy. They’re sitting across from each other. The boy is sipping on his boba and is looking outside the window while she’s chewing on her straw and playing with her cake.

She carefully opens her phone and texts Yachi and Kiyoko.

Yn jumps when she hears Kuroo choking on his drink. “Are you okay??” she yells.

He coughs and puts his hand over his mouth. “Yes I’m okay! Please keep looking at your phone” she tilts her head but still nods “Okay…”

He glares at the window. Bokuto is laughing and pulling Kenma and Akaashi closer to him by their shoulders. Kenma swats his arm away and Akaashi visibly sighs.

Bokuto turns his back to him and moves his arms and body like he’s kissing someone, then he looks back and smirks.

Kenma’s trying not to laugh and Akaashi is slapping his forehead at his best friend’s behavior. Kuroo looks at his friends and the girl sitting in front of him.

“Hey Yn. Wanna go to the park now?” she looks up from her phone and nods.

taglist: @giocriedpower @vrxouei @mawenskiblue

© tiramizuloz all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platform.

[brandogenius]

happy 20th birthday to myself! here is a little gift from me ! a little thank you for enjoying my writing and the different fics / headcanonsy ive made! thank you all :D

Birthday Surprise.

‼️RPF‼️

Julien x reader

description: Julien plans something special for your birthday

word count: 1,163

Julien woke up a bit early than expected for a normal day off work. the sun was shining through the window. gold hues hitting her arms and face like liquid gold kissing her skin. the faint sound of the birds chirping outside made her relax slightly. tattooed arms wrapped around your frame. one hand in your hair, twirling small strands of your hair around her fingers and the other wrapped around your waist.

moments like these were what julien loved the best. being able to lay here in a comfortable silence at the early morning with you, she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

today was more than a normal day off work however. it was your birthday. one year older than you were before. it was a special day in juliens eyes. she had a plan to make sure it would be the best day ever.

as much as the older wanted to stay in bed, holding onto you and twirling your hair for a little bit longer, she knew she needed to get up. step one of her plan was to make a special breakfast for you. googling recipes and pinterest inspiration the night before, saved onto her boards. julien quietly and slowly detangled herself from the mess of legs and the duvet sheet. thanking the gods you were a deep sleeper. julien placed the duvet cover up over your shoulders, placing a quick kiss to your forehead as she made her way to the bedroom door, quietly opening it just a crack and sliding out into the hallway.

soft pattering of sock covered feet creek under the wood stairs as julien makes her way down into the kitchen. shoving her hair into a ponytail, julien starts to work on preparing breakfast. nothing too extravagant but nothing too simple. freshly made pancakes with chocolate covered strawberries she made the night before.

soft music filled the air from the record player in the living room. turned down just enough to not wake you but enough for the tattooed woman to hear faintly in the kitchen.

the summer chill breezes past julien. the windows were halfways opened. the faint smell of morning dew grass filled her nose alongside the smell of the fresh flowers perched on top of the window sill. having both recently moved into a small house you both call home. decorating it to fit the aesthetic both of you loved. natural light was something julien loved in the morning.

something about a free summers morning had juliens chest filled with happiness and giddiness. knowing days like this dragged out longer. sitting out in the back garden until nine pm on a saturday night, drinking cold water and listening to the birds fly from the small birdhouse she built last summer for you. julien sitting on a chair, guitar on lap, lyric sheets and notes sprawled across the table. across from her you paint on watercolour paper with art supplies littering the small table. brushing hair behind your face, you huff. the small gusts of winds knocking some stray strands of hair over your face. julien chuckling to herself, handing you her sun glasses to place in your head.

julien shook the memory out of her head for a quick moment. focusing her attention back on the cooking batter in front of her. she wanted to make this special for you. breakfast in bed was something you normally did for julien. days when the musician would be free from a hard days work in the studio or coming back from a world tour, you wanted to treat your girlfriend to something special. julien would always be shocked. appreciating the effort you made for her, thanking you with a small kiss to the lips as you settled back into your shared bed with her. julien sipping on her coffee whilst you caught up on the latest chapter of your book.

last years birthday was a bit different. choosing to spend your birthday with julien on tour, it wasn’t as delicate and more intimidate as it is this year. hosting a small surprise birthday for you at the backstage venue the boys were playing. julien having asked lucy to bring you shopping for the day in a state you’ve never been to while phoebe and julien blow up balloons and carefully hang up banners across the dressing room walls.

it was perfect. you thought it was perfect. julien however, had higher expectations. wanting to make it perfect, wishing she could’ve done something more but you were quick to calm the spiral she was getting herself into by exclaiming it was the best thing anyone has ever done for you.

julien finished making the pancakes. quickly placing them on a plate, drilling syrup over the desserts. delicately placing the chocolate fruit on the side of the plate and placing the rest into a little bowl on the side of the tray. filling a glass of orange juice, she places a small vase of your favourite flowers onto the tray as well.

presentation may not be her strongest trait but as long as it looked pretty, she knew you’d love it as well. a small wave of nerve fill her tummy as she grabbed the tray, heading upstairs back to your shared room. what if you didn’t like it? what if it didn’t taste good? julien couldn’t help but overthink every so often. always stressed about wanting to make things perfect. you deserved the best things. not half assed things that weren’t edible.

the small spiral came to a halt. quietly walking back into the bedroom, she found you awake. propped up onto the pillow, book in hand. you turned over with a shocked expression on your face, julien standing at the doorway, small blush on her face.

“happy birthday, princess” julien grinned, making her way to the bed. you quickly put your bookmark on the page you just recently started, tossing the book aside onto juliens side of the bed. “you made this for me?” you looked over at your girlfriend with a smile. julien places the tray of food onto your lap, moving the covers as she curled into the bed beside you.

“thought you deserved something special on your birthday” juliens cold hands reached over, grabbing your chin gently as she pressed her lips against yours in a gentle kiss. you broke away from the kiss, quickly tearing off a piece of the pancake and eating it.

“thank you my love.”

all the worries and doubts julien had now disappeared in a puff of smoke. seeing you happy and content made it all worth it. the tattooed musician settled down in the bed, head laying on your shoulder as she scrolled through her phone. the sound of small laughter filled the bedroom. juliens phone sitting up on the phone as the two of you catch up on your favourite podcasts new episode.

this was definitely one of your favourite mornings so far

[babygirllinds]

if you haven't already, you should do some spicy icemav hcs.

love your stuff!

I’d be honored to drop some HCs 🫡 I think I’ve only ever done HCs for Slimav so I’m happy to provide… and spicy? all the better 👀 also thank you so much for sending this!!!!

warning: smut ahead 👀 I definitely went overboard, but I hope you guys enjoy 🫠

The first time Ice and Maverick have sex is after the Layton mission.

Ice fell first that day in the bar. It was meant to be an intimidation tactic, but he got close enough to look into Maverick’s eyes and to smell his cologne and it was all over for him. Maverick was dangerous, but probably more so on the ground than in the sky. Maverick had feelings but didn’t acknowledge them because Ice was a dick, okay? It wasn’t until the mission and they claimed each other as wingmen that Maverick really let himself think about the possibility. Spoiler: Maverick fell harder

I think the adrenaline of the mission finally pulled them together. Especially after finding themselves alone together. Maverick kisses him first and immediately apologizes before Ice is pulling him back in and deepening it

They both jerk each other off in a frenzy with Ice’s other hand over Maverick’s mouth to muffle his moans. He’s bites Maverick’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood when he cums and Maverick nearly blacks out when Ice ghosts a finger over his hole

Ice and Maverick are absolutely gone for each other, as everyone can agree. There’s not a place that they haven’t had sex. Including a public place. They just really can’t keep their hands to themselves.

The car? Definitely fogged up some windows in their youth

Locker room? Ice definitely pushed Maverick to his knees just to watch as the water poured over him with his mouth full

Ice’s office? Let’s just say that his assistant knows when to tell people firmly that her boss is busy and not to bother him (Maverick brings her flowers in apology each time he visits)

Penny has 100% chased them out of the hard deck bathroom at some point and she definitely doesn’t let Mav live it down

Maverick is a brat through and through. The first time Ice let himself think of him in a sexual way, he imagined getting him to shut up with a firm hand in his hair and his mouth full of Ice’s cock

Mav knows he’s a brat too and he knows it gets Ice going to take charge. The man aimed to be admiral since the beginning of his career so taking charge of Mav is like practice in a way

Mav will do something that has everyone exasperated and Ice will gladly take him home and spank his ass raw

Ice also worries about him doing something potentially dangerous and winding up dead and most of his anger is how scared he is to lose Mav so no matter how harsh the punishment is, Ice is always pulling him into his arms and kissing his tears away and telling him how much he loves him

Leading into this one, they 100% have a dom/sun type of relationship in my eyes. Maverick craves attention and that’s why he acts out. Ice craves to be in charge and to take care of someone.

They don’t let the dynamic rule their lives, but Ice is always there to be a guiding and firm hand in Maverick’s life. He always is looking out for him and making sure he stays on the right path

Ice will sometimes lay out a scene especially when he knows Maverick needs it. Let’s say Maverick’s adhd and anxiety (which that man 100% has both) has him crawling in his skin and Ice can’t take the way Maverick will let himself fester so Ice takes it into his own hands to have Maverick relax and let go and just let Ice do what he needs to do

Maverick is content to do whatever Ice asks when he’s under. Be it multiple orgasms or orgasm delay until he’s shaking and crying and Ice finally takes pity on him and fucks him

Maverick is a total pillow princess sometimes.

He likes to lay back while Ice just takes what he wants

Sometimes Ice will tie him up and just play with him for hours and Maverick is content to just lay there and let him

He’ll beg for it on days he feels horny, but too sleepy to put in the effort

Now on the other hand… Maverick also likes to actively take part in sex.

He loves the feeling of riding Ice while Ice just lays back. He won’t touch him, just lets Maverick take his fill, sometimes with hands on his hips and guiding his movements

Especially when Ice goes through chemo and is healing and too tired to keep up with him. Ice just wants him to be satisfied and is willing to let Maverick take active charge as he fucks himself on Ice’s cock

As much as Maverick loves missionary sex where he can stare into Ice’s eyes, he loves most every position. He wants to be with Ice anyway he can.

Let’s just say reverse cowgirl is his favorite. Especially when Ice is able to get a firm grip in his hair

Ice’s favorite position is the mating press… he feels the closest to Mav when he presses his legs almost to his shoulders and their chests and stomachs are touching and his face is close enough to kiss him

I’m sorry, but I need to speak my truth. Mav is a bottom except…

Except on the occasion Ice asks him to fuck him. He can’t say no to Ice and it’s not like he doesn’t like it. He loves being inside Ice. He just likes it better when Ice is inside him. Ice does too, but sometimes he just wants to feel Mav in a different way

Ice will usually take control of the situation, riding Mav until they’re both coming undone. He’ll fuck himself on Mav’s soft cock after Mav already came, chasing his own pleasure and then he’ll cum all over Mav’s stomach and chest (he rubs his cum over Mav’s treasure trail and then over his already sensitive nipples, marking him)

Also like earlier, when going through chemo, sometimes he isn’t able to get hard and he’ll encourage Mav to just fuck him. This is when they usually take it slow and Ice’s legs are over Maverick’s thighs as Mav thrusts slowly into Ice, still playing with Ice’s soft cock and kissing Ice all over his face and chest to show him how much he loves him

Let’s take about marking… because both of these bastards are jealous and possessive and we love to see it.

Ice is a biter. Let’s rewind to the locker room in Top Gun 1986. That chomp is all the proof you need

Mav comes out of their bedroom looking like he was gnawed on. There’s bites and fresh bruises over his chest, thighs, hips, ass, and shoulders. Never his throat (unless they’re on leave and there’s time for the bites to heal before Maverick goes back to work)

Ice also loves rubbing his cum into Maverick’s skin. It’s more a subtle marking because it’s not like anyone will see or know. But it settles Ice’s nerves being able to mark his lover with something so lewd

Maverick loves to dole out hickies. He’s sucking on any part of skin he can reach and often gets carried away with leaving them all over Ice’s neck and jaw. Ice has never been more thankful for his excuse to wear scarves after his throat surgery because Maverick is able to leave them without fear of either of them getting in trouble for unprofessionalism

Maverick also prides himself on the scratches and dried out scabs in shapes of crescents along Ice’s biceps or back after Ice fucked him silly enough that he just dug his nails into his skin. It thrills him when Ice will forgo his shirt while working out and someone immediately takes notice of the marks

Let’s talk about kinks…

Ice loves Mav the way he is, but he also gets such a thrill out of feminizing him. He loves calling Mav his wife or buying him lacy lingerie. Maverick also moans like a whore anytime Ice calls his ass his [tight and hot] cunt or his chest his [pretty lil’] tits

Maverick definitely has daddy issues or an authority figure kink. He grew up without his father and was consistently in his shadow. Sometimes when he’s far under, he’ll call Ice daddy and Ice goes crazy for it. He loves being seen as safe enough that Mav feels comfortable enough to say it. Mav also loves playing up the whole Lt. and Adm. thing in bed. When Ice finally became admiral, the sex is 10x hotter as Maverick clenches down around his cock and says something along the lines of, “show me who’s in charge, Admiral.”

Also let’s face it as well. Ice loves being called daddy, okay? He has daddy issues himself. His dad was a dick and constantly berated him. Ice took those feelings and put them to wanting to take care of the people he loves. He wants to be better than his father and show the people he loves he cares and he’s someone safe to lean on. So he won’t really say it, but every time Maverick utters the word ‘daddy’, Ice is ready to risk the god damn world for him

Let’s talk oral sex…

Maverick is a whore for blowjobs. He wants to blow Ice any chance he can. He likes to deep throat him and he also likes when Ice fucks his face. He loves how raw his throat feels afterwards and welcomes the sting

Ice is precise with his blowjobs. He takes his time until Maverick is shaking and begging to cum. He usually will finger Mav at the same time to bring him that little extra pleasure. He’ll make a show out of it too. He’ll suction his mouth over the tip like he’s trying to suck Maverick’s cum out of him like a straw

Ice also loves to rim Mav. Mav at first was like ??? No thanks. But then Ice took his time and licked him open with precision until Maverick cried from how good it felt. Maverick practically asks for it consistently now and Ice is happy to oblige

I probably have so much more, but my brain isn’t conjuring all of them up at the moment lmao. I hope everyone enjoys these though <3