#palm tree hearts (2)

[weheartstims]

Hawaii: Part II (Miracle Musical) with various suitable stims!

🌈|🔳|🌈 🔳|🌈|🔳 🌈|🔳|🌈

[chirpsythismorning]

[entitled-fangirl]

A King in the North.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: A misunderstanding occurs between the two, resulting in Cregan doubting his ability to keep his wife happy.

Warnings: LIGHT SMUT. Fingering, anger, yelling, talks of sex, talks of cheating, making out, talks of cockwarming, ya know- the works.

A/n: this gif is so beautiful holy shit. Also- based on an ask!!

Part 2

Masterlist

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

"No, but in another life, I mean," She explains as she nuzzles further into his chest. 

The two sat in the Godswood and rested against the heavy bark of a tree. Cregan's cloak was wrapped around her as he tried to ignore the light scratching of the wood on his back. 

"Another life? There's no point in dreaming of one, is there? I have this life, and I am eternally grateful for it," He quietly quips, as if not to disturb the nature around them. "I'm grateful for you. I don't wish for any other life than this."

She shifts in his hold to look up at him. "But that would be spoiling the fun. I know you love me and I know you love your life. But imagine that you lived a different one- what name would you want?"

Cregan gives her a look before sighing and giving in to her whims. He drew her to him as he stared up at the sky through the canopy of branches and the occasional leaves that still remained. "I'm not sure."

"Cregan-"

"-I'm considering your question. Just let me think."

It wasn't a rude scold, more of a soft chide, an assurance that he was going through with the question. She could hear the sound of him rubbing a hand over the scruff on his face. 

"I used to be angry at my father for not naming me after his father."

It was a whispered declaration. Knowing Cregan as she did, odds are, no one else knew that about him. He never willingly threw out personal information like this, especially about his father who had died too early and left Cregan with a hole in his heart and all of the North to lead.

She reached up to lightly brush at his cheek. "Remind me his name."

Cregan hummed. "My grandfather? Benjen."

She admired Cregan from her place against his chest. 

And Cregan knew that well. He could tell from his peripheral vision that she was doing so, but he made no motion to acknowledge it. He only stared ahead at the trees and dead grass that spanned as far as the tree line would let him.

But the feeling of her light breaths against his jaw and her fingers across his cheek were almost too much to ignore. 

They had been married for a few moons now, and in that time, they had indulged themselves in the other quite well and quite often, but he still found that he could never have enough of her. 

So he dared to meet her eye.

She had a look in her eyes that he couldn't quite place. A kind that was not lustful per se, but still made his cheeks a bright red every time he saw it. 

Admiration, maybe?

Her fingers still danced across his cheek as her eyes slowly took in his face, starting with eyes and wandering down, taking extra time at his lips. "I would consider you more of a Torrhen," she admittedly so softly, he barely registered it.

A breath escaped him and his a small spark lit in his eyes. "Torrhen, you say?"

She nods, her eyes now shamelessly admiring his lips. "Yes. You could be a king, couldn't you?"

"Fu…" he trails off in a breath. His large hand grabs hers, pulling her hand down to his lips. He kisses her palm, trying not to get too caught up in the sight of her watching him do so. 

He then pulls her hand down to his chest as a way to ground the two. "Careful, sweet girl. You speak of treason so openly."

She doesn't let this go. "Few know the implications of calling you such a name."

He considers her words. "I suppose. But still." He tilts her head up to look at him. "No more talks of rulers besides our Queen. Understand me?"

"You know I only jest."

"I do. But I'd hate for such words to get to someone without understanding of your wit."

"Of course. I understand." She pushed herself up, brushing her lips against his. "Torrhen Stark."

He let out a low groan, trying to control the way his body reacted to her words. He couldn't help leaning in just enough to try to connect their lips.

She got up quickly, managing to get out of his arms due to his guard being down.

He reached out to try to grab her at the last second, but she was too quick. "Little minx."

She grinned widely, pulling the cloak around herself. "I'll see you at Winterfell."

He told himself he just didn't wish to scold her, but in all honesty, he adored the nickname. It stirred something in him.

…

A few weeks had passed since then, and winter was approaching closer by the day.

That meant Cregan had less and less time with his wife. 

It had began to wear on the poor man, the stress getting the best of him. Dark circles were always under his eyes during this time of year. 

The time away from Cregan had hurt her as well, but it showed in different ways. 

The time spent together every night was now spent apart.

He spent every night stuck at a desk with various letters and scribes around him as he began to prepare for his trek to the Wall.

She spent every night in a very different manner.

…

"My lord," A hushed voice came through the door. "My lord!"

He would usually send away whoever it was, but he hesitated this time. "Enter."

The door opened and his wife's handmaiden walked in. His full attention moved to her as he stood. She would only be here if it was something involving his wife. 

"I… Forgive me, my lord. I've not entered on hopeful circumstance."

His blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"

"It's… a personal matter of my lady. She has no knowledge of my being here."

Cregan's weight shifted from foot to foot. "Speak."

"It's the fourth night now. I thought of it as nothing at first, but the fourth night now means I owe it to you to tell you."

He was growing frustrated. "Speak," he growled.

"I believe she is bringing another man into her bed, my lord."

Cregan said nothing. He was frozen, as if the northern air had finally gotten to the burly man. "W… What?"

The handmaiden had never heard the Warden of the North sound unsure of himself. It made her feel guilty for having to be the one to tell him.

"How do you know?" His broken voice asked. 

"I've heard… noises from the chambers. If it is true, my lord, the man would have to come from the balcony, for when I am not present, a guard is at least there at the door. And I've spoken to him. He says he'd never let a soul by without telling you."

He wrung his hands nervously, a trait that was foreign to him. "Leave me with my thoughts."

She lowered her head. "I am truly sorry, my lord."

"If it happens again, you are ordered to tell me."

"Of course. G'night, Lord Stark."

The door shut and Cregan slumped in his chair, an exhaustion overtaking him like never before. 

…

A few more hours passed before he couldn't find himself able to focus on the papers anymore. 

He dropped his quill down with a huff and abandoned the table completely, moving to his shared chambers. 

His hand paused on the handle of the door as he felt the pitiful look from the guard. 

He didn't want pity. 

Cregan Stark fucking hated pity. 

He threw the door open, partly hoping to see the man who was killing him from the inside out, but he was met with his side of the bed empty and a slumbering wife on her own. 

He stepped to her side of the bed, running a hand over her hair, jealous of the warmth that radiated off of her in waves. 

He shook his head and dressed for the night, fighting with himself whether to hold her closer or keep her further away.

…

The next morning, she woke up to a loud noise, prompting her to sit up in alarm. 

"Cregan?"

The man mentioned looked up from his work. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

Thick boards were now being nailed into the walls of the balcony doorway, the sun barely visible through the ones already done. 

He shrugged. "Fixing something." He looked between the boards and her eyes, trying to catch something. A slip of any kind. "Is this a bother to you?"

"Well, only to my sleep." She wanted to complain and ask him to do it later in the day, but he valued what time he did have to be in the room, and she'd never ask him to change it. 

"Oh, I imagine it will be," he muttered softly and began to loudly pound another nail in.

She didn't care enough to question more of his antics, getting up and throwing a decent enough cloak over herself and leaving the room to start her day. 

Cregan's eyes followed her, and a guilt only then began to gnaw at him. 

She gave him no reaction. Nothing. She had nothing to hide, it would seem. Still, he wouldn't take the chance. 

He wouldn't let another man come in and do the one thing meant for him. Just his. 

Wardens for the North will come and go, but no one would touch her if he had any say.

Insecurity was something the Stark had never encountered before, and it terrified him.

But before he could dwell on it for too long, he forced another nail into the board.

…

Because of his earlier shenanigan, Cregan had neglected the work he needed to truly be doing, making his night even longer than it already was.

Every second filled him with more and more dread as he waited to see if her handmaiden would appear. 

And surely enough, she did.

"My lo-"

The words couldn't be uttered, the door not fully opened before Cregan threw his chalice against the wall and stormed passed the spooked woman. 

He'd kill the very man who dared to look at his wife. 

He'd kill whoever let him pass. 

He tried not to think of how angry, above all else, he was at her. 

Because that anger was only sadness, almost to the point of tears when he considered it. 

What had he done wrong? He knew his time with her was not much during the winter, but resorting to finding pleasure from another man entirely? It made him sick. 

He didn't realize how fast he was walking until he stood outside of the chamber doors. 

The guard looked at him with a grimace. It was clear that this time, Cregan was coming in at just the right time. 

He'd have to apologize to her guard for having to listen to that for so long. 

"Ah-" then a long, breathy groan sounded from beyond the door. "Oh, g- oh, Tor-"

He threw the door open, not caring for the thud or the way he worried it may come of the old hinges. 

But he freezes up as soon as he sees what laid inside of the room. 

His pretty little wife laid across the furs of their bed in one of Cregan's tunics, the fabric puddling around her due to its size. But that's not the part that caught his attention. 

It was her middle and ring fingers that she had pushed deep inside of her, her hand covered in her juices. 

Seems she had froze as well, for her hand was completely still and her eyes were now on his in a horrified expression.

His breath caught in his throat. "W-Wife?" He asked hesitantly.

She slowly pulled her fingers out of her, and Cregan felt his pants tighten. She then sat up. The tunic covered more of her than he wanted, and what wasn't, she covered by pulling her legs up. She took in a sharp breath, "Forgive me."

She was beginning to cry. 

But Cregan was still frozen. His mind was struggling to comprehend it all.

"I-" she sniffled. "I was getting so lost without your touch. I… I should have waited. A good wife would wait. Not do it all herself. That would be selfish," she looked up at him. "Wouldn't it?"

The sight of her frightened confession and shaking body snapped him back to. He pushed himself toward the foot of the bed. "I… I don't think it is," he whispered. 

He tried to ignore her fingers as they fiddled with the strings at the top of the tunic. 

"You looked so angry."

He gritted his teeth and looked back at the door, as if he could see the event that happened only moments before. "I was."

"At me," she clarified.

"No," he chastised. But this didn't clear everything up. He forced himself to not get lost in her pitiful eyes. "Whose name was that on your lips?"

"Hmm?" She seemed lost, as if he had asked a stupid question. 

His head ticked to the side. "Don't do that. Whose name was that?"

"Yours," she said as if it was obvious. 

"Don't lie," he growled. He couldn't help it as much as he tried. His heavy steps moved him to around the bed to her side now. "Look at me."

She forced her head up, tears now streaming down her face. 

"Whose. Name. Do you moan. When I'm away?"

"Yours," she began to sob. "I only think of you!"

His anger only grew. He grabbed her jaw and leaned over her. It was an impending sight to see such a large man tower over a smaller woman in her bed. "I'll give you one more chance before I give up entirely. I'll not have a marriage built of lies."

"Cre-" she hiccuped. "Cregan, you're frightening me."

"I know, but I need the truth."

She now understood the fear in the eyes of his enemies when Cregan entered a room. 

He was a frightening sight when he wished to be.

"If you didn't like the name, you should have said so," she whispered.

It clicked in his mind. 

Fuck. 

He pulled away as if burned, and stalked to the doorway, poking his head out to the guard. "Tell me the name you've heard these last nights."

"I-I believe it was Torrhen, my lord."

"Fuck!" Cregan yelled out to no one in particular. 

He brought his head into his hands, making himself take deep breaths. 

"You're dismissed for the night."

"My lo-"

"Get. Out."

Cregan shut the door, softly the time. 

He turned to see the woman bawling on the furs of their shared bed. "I owe you more apologies than my words can describe."

She shook her head, her clean hand wiping back and forth, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Don't. I was selfish. I'm a horrid wife to you."

"I'm not angry at you," he persisted. 

She paused and looked up at him. "What then?"

"They told me you were unfaithful to me, and I panicked. And all this time you've-" He sighed. "You've only been busy with yourself."

When she said nothing, he continued. "Moaning the name of another man?" He chuckled lightly, "Another man, my arse." He looked down at her, seeing that the tears were beginning to stop. He grabbed her other hand, only still barely wet with her moisture, and he cursed at the sweet thought of what he had truly walked in on. "Do these pleasure you as well as I can?"

She shook her head. 

He nodded. "I can imagine. You should have only asked, my love."

"You're busy-"

"And you can keep me company," he teased as he sat down next to her. He nipped at her ear, "You can always rest on my cock while I work."

She let out a gasp at that, her hiccups now moving into small laughs.

"Would you do that?" He tried again. "Would you warm my cock while your king works?"

His words were beginning to have an effect on her. 

"Hmm?" He asked, trying for an answer. "Would that keep such an eager woman at bay? I need an answer from you, sweet girl."

Her mouth opened a few times, only to close again. Finally, she only nodded.

"Good. Now, if you decide to forgive me- Make yourself decent and join me, hmm? You'll find that your king may request your presence if you take too long."

He could see the light come back to her eyes. 

"I'll be waiting," he said as he kissed her temple and moved out of the room. 

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

A/n: a part 2 is in order 👀

Edit: Here's part 2!!!

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

[writers-potion]

Let's Scare Your Readers!

Combine the techniques below with the techniques for building suspense to give your readers a palm-sweating sensation!

Darkness

If absolute darkness doesn't make sense in your story, aim for semi-darkness: dusk, a single lantern/candle, heavily curtained windows, a thick canopy of trees, etc. Flickering lights that create confusing shadows can also be effective.

Let the darkness pool gradually around your MC. Show the night or fog rolling in, the camp-fire subsiding, or the candles burn down one by one.

Examples:

The candle sputtered. The light wavered.

The lamp cast its smoky light on the brick walls.

The night was silent, but for the dry rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees.

Sound

Of all the senses, the sense of hearing serves best to create excitement and fear.

the clacking of the villain's boots on the floor tiles, the ticking of the wall clock, a dog barking outside, the roaring of a distant motor, a door slamming somewhere in the house, water dripping from the ceiling, the chair squeaking, the whine of the dentist's drill, the scraping of the knife on a whetstone, a faraway siren wailing the heroine's own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

When the surroundings are dark, your MC will grow to be more aware of the surrounding noise, even if it's not relevant to the plot.

Chill

Make it uncomfortably cold for the MC, and your readers will shiver with them.

powercut cutting off the heating, nightfall naturally bringing in lower temperatures.

winter, evening, a cool breeze that chills everything, survivors running our of fuel, the ceiling fan is over-active, stone builindg/caves/sbuterranean chambers tend to be cold.

Describe how the cold pinpricks the MC's skin, stunting their thinking and making them shiver.

The opposite can also be effective: turn up the temperature using a stove, an overheated motor, or the sweltering sun to make the MC sweat.

Isolation

This is a common technique: let the MC face the monster alone with no external help. It's also easier to limit the resources and escape routes available for the MC.

an abandoned factory, remote mountaintop, the depth of an unexplored cave.

It can also be more everyday locations: a construction site, the sewer, a malfunctioning bathroom.

Meet the Monster

When describing the threat, spread out your descriptions so that (1) the scene has constant action (2) you have material to build up later.

Good details to show:

hands, fingers, nails, talons, claws

the sound of the voice, growl, roar

the smile, teeth

the texture of skin, fur, scales.

Get Visceral

Never tell your readers that the MC is scared. Describe the fright using these physical effects:

the skin crawling, breath stalling, scalp pricking, clenching of the chest, stomach curling, heart thudding, sweat tricking down, clogged throat, pulse in the ears, cold sweat, chills up/down the spine, stomach knotting, breathless, etc.

The Gory Bits

Instead of describing everything, limit yourself to particular details, keeping overall description short. Non-stop gore doesn't shock - its bores.

Create a contrast: the child's mutilated corpse still clutches the doll. The brains from the baby's plt skull spill across the fluffy pink blanket.

Use similes, comparing gruesome buts to something from ordinary life. The intestines look like spaghetti in tomato sauce. The blood spilling from the mouth looks like lipstick.

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[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖱𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎.' ༄࿔ L.K.

⤷ Dubcon/Noncon | Knife Play | Spanking

♱ word count: 2.3k

♱ warnings: this has darker content!! dont like? dont interact: dubcon/noncon, fem!reader, ghostface!minho, reader switches up during the ending but during the smut minho has control, knife play (1 small nick and he carves his name into readers back but its shallow), light mentions of blood, spanking, p in v with no prep or condom (be safe about this irl pls), open ending?

♱ notes: this was so self indulgent because im slowly becoming obsessed with slashers again 🥴

not properly proofread! i will go through it later in the day after i sleep <3

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The cabin you were staying at was eerily silent as you sat in the dimly lit living room. It was a rental that you had planned to stay at for a week to spend your vacation off of work and it was absolutely beautiful during the day. Though, the forest surrounding it combined with the knowledge of just how far the nearest area with people made for a rather scary experience during the night time.

Part of you was on edge as you made your way past the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the kitchen and chills ran up your spine as you stared out those same windows only to be met with complete darkness. Not even the moon was enough to cast light on the tall trees.

‘Maybe a glass of water will help.’ You had been tossing and turning in bed for hours before you gave up and settled in the living room, only to discover that there was no signal on the TV. You were lucky to have even 1 bar as you opened your phone to check the time; 2:46 AM.

It wasn’t a horrible time to be awake, but the promise of sleep would have helped with the paranoid itching in the back of your head. Anybody could break in and nobody wouldn’t know until it was too late. And even if you knew, you were a long way from any means of help-

A sudden creak in the floorboards catches your attention. Your neck snapped towards the dark hallway, then again to the huge windows as your heart raced. The Airbnb host stated that it’s an old house so it’s known to make many noises, so ‘It was probably nothing’. You repeated this to yourself over and over again as you chugged the rest of your water and turned to clean the glass, hoping the distraction would help with the anxiety.

But just as your hand wraps around the tap handle, another creak is heard and a hand wraps around your mouth. Another slides around your front and pushes a long kitchen knife against your neck. The intruder uses his whole body to roughly push you into the counter and your heart drops as you let out a scream in surprise.

The feeling of the cold counter is almost soothing as his deep, nearly robotic, voice meets your ears. “Haven’t seen you around here before… If I take my hand off your mouth, you won’t make me angry and scream for help, right?” He slides the knife along your neck, nicking the skin there slightly as a warning.

Your lack of a response makes him chuckle and he traces the tip of the knife along your cheek, “It’s not like anybody will hear you anyway, but I wouldn’t want this pretty face to get hurt. So what do you say?” You nod as best as you can in this position and let out a quiet sob when his palm releases your face.

“P-Please…Don’t kill me.” Your plea comes out in a quiet whisper, hoping the hushed voice won’t upset your attacker. If it does, he doesn’t let it be seen in the slightest.

“Shhhhh” He tuts at you and rolls his hips forward, rubbing his hard-on against your ass and forcing your hips farther into the countertop. The pinching of your skin between your bone and the marble top makes you hiss in pain, but he ignores you and rubs your hip with his now free hand.

“Let’s play a game~” He doesn’t give you time to respond before he flips you around, wrapping a hand around your neck as he roughly pins you to the counter again.

You’re finally met with his face- or what would be his face, but is instead a long, white ghost mask that would be comical if you didn’t notice the feeling of a drop of blood running down your neck from where he nicked you.

“I’m a little stressed out, so I’m gonna fuck this sweet cunt of yours. If you play nice, I’ll let you live. But if you act like a bitch, I'll kill you!”

The joyful tone in his voice causes your skin to crawl and you let out a quiet sob of fear at the deadly ultimatum. Your choices are quite slim, and you can’t deny the ache that’s starting between your legs, so you don’t take long to nod in agreement.

“Mmmm… Smart girl. Let’s get this off of you then, yeah?” He tugs at your pajama shorts and finally moves the knife off your skin, giving you just enough leeway to move around and pull your shorts down. Once they’re far enough down your legs to drop to your ankles on their own, the unknown man behind you spins you around and immediately pulls your shirt up and over your head.

He sighs almost dreamily against the mask and you watch his head tilt down as he takes in your naked torso. You can feel his stare on you for a while longer until his head tilts further and he’s met with the sight of your pretty panties- the ones that are keeping him from his “prize.”

He curses under his breath and snakes his empty hand to the back of your neck. He grasps you tightly and uses his grip there to lead you to the huge windows, pushing you against them roughly.

“What a pretty piece of ass you got here, baby.” The hand on your neck moves down in favor of grabbing a handful of your ass cheek, landing a teasing slap there as he finishes his sentences. “Might have to go home with you- make you my little pet.” You moan both at the implication of him following you home as well as the delicious sting on your ass.

The masked man chuckles darkly and lands a harsher slap on your other ass cheek. “Call me crazy but I think you like that idea. Hmmmm? Wanna be my little kitty- my little toy for me to fuck whenever I feel like it?” You were starting to get too comfortable, and he seems to realize it. So he brings you back right to where he wants you by sliding his free hand around to your tummy. 

The occupied hand runs the sharp side of the knife around your back, leaving shallow lines that you can’t quite make out. But none of that matters. Not when he’s sliding his hand into your panties, rubbing his gloved fingertip through your soaked folds.

You’re almost thankful that he can’t tell through the gloves, but the stinging pain of the knife almost carving into your skin is diverting your attention from the rough circles on your clit. Thankfully, though, he finishes his “design” faster than you thought he would.

The feeling of a thick finger entering you grabs your attention, making you moan loudly and buck your hips against his hand. A muffled laugh is heard through the mask and his voice is husky as he speaks again, “Gonna be good for me and let me fuck this pretty pussy now, yeah?”

You don't respond right away and he pulls his finger out of you, pinching your clit meanly. “I asked you a question.” His partially wet glove comes down harshly on your ass and leaves a red mark in its wake.

You let out a squeak at the pain and apologize profusely before responding to him. “Y-Yes!”

“Good girl. You almost lost the game there, baby.” He laughs to himself and you watch in the reflection of the glass as he brings the knife down between your thighs. Part of you is horrified at what he might try, and the other part is rather aroused at the possibilities that run through your head.

But he shuts them all down when he slides the dull side against your thigh and leads it to your underwear. He runs his hand along your spine and leans you forward, pushing your ass out for him as the knife dips into your underwear- dull side up.

With this he slices downwards in one swoop, slicing your panties and causing you to gasp in surprise. You can almost hear the smile on his face as he shushes you and slices one of the sides next.

Your arms shake as they rest against the cold glass of the window and you sit there helplessly as he rids you of the ruined fabric. Once you’re left completely bare, he whistles in satisfaction and leans back.

His hand squeezes your ass cheek appreciatively as the hand with the knife rests at your hip, itching to touch you as well but knowing better than to let his guard down so easily. No matter how well-behaved you've been for him so far.

“Such a pretty thing. I really should keep you to myself.” He hums and bites down on your ear. You hear the knife get tossed beside you onto the wood floor before one of his hands slides into your hair, tangling with the strands there and tugging your neck backward. 

All of a sudden the sound of metal hitting wood meets your ears and you see the knife lying on the floor, a couple of feet from where you two stand. Then his hands are removed from you for mere seconds as he hooks his thumbs into his pants and pushes down, hurriedly shoving his boxers down alongside his jeans.

The sound of his jeans hitting the floor makes your thighs clench and he takes notice immediately. He coos from behind you and you can almost hear the smile on his face through the mask as he slides himself through your folds a few times, teasing you and testing how far gone he’s got you.

Your desperate grinding gives him the only answer he needs and he finally pushes in, groaning at the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

“Shit… You feel so good.” The cool plastic of the ghost mask meets your shoulder as he lays his forehead down against it.

You can’t hold back the whine that builds in the back of your throat and your nails scratch into the glass as much as they physically can as he starts to move already.

“P-Please…” You’re not so sure what you’re asking for. Maybe it was mercy. Or maybe, just maybe, all those months of research about some local town's serial killer were finally paying off.

But who needs to know that? The man behind you is completely oblivious as he pulls his hips back just to drive them back into you. You barely remember it yourself from the way his tip, thick and pulsing, rams into your G-spot.

So much so that you can feel your orgasm sneaking up so much sooner than it usually would. It eventually wracks through your body like a train as the hand in your hair tightens, holding you close to him as he slows his hips to a slow grind.

“Fffuck.. Tight little cunt, baby. But I’m not done just yet.” He picks up his pace once more and uses his free hand to caress your hips, squeezing the flesh there appreciatively before landing a slap against the same area.

He soothes it with another rub, though short-lived before his hand finds its home on your ass cheek. There he lands a series of slaps paired with his muffled moans as you clench around him incessantly.

The hand in your hair finally releases its grip only to find another on the back of your throat again. He uses this one to hold you in place, keeping your cheek pressed flush against the window as he fucks into you with no care.

He continues to use you like his personal fleshlight as he grunts behind you, legs shaking from his oncoming release. The same release that is left deep in your walls, swimming around before dripping out onto your abused folds.

You both moan in unison as you cum around him again, whining at the sharp thrusts that were meant to fuck his seed further into you.

He finally pulls out once your cunt is done milking him and he pulls out a phone from his jeans, snapping a quick photo with flash on before laughing to himself behind his mask.

While he’s occupied with his delusions, you decide it’s time to make your move. 

You push his chest lightly and watch as he collapses onto the couch, head tilted up at you in amusement while his arms settle on the back cushions.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep and breathy, it goes straight between your thighs and you almost moan at simply hearing him like that as well as the confident stance he’s taken. But you have a mission on your mind.

One that includes rushing to pick up the knife from the floor and not giving him a chance to respond before you’re straddling his thick thighs and pressing the knife to his throat.

His arms stay in place on the cushions and he huffs out a laugh in pure amusement, waiting patiently for you to make your next move.

What he didn’t expect was the grinding of your now leaking cunt on his now hardening cock. He moans lowly at the feeling and goes to rest a hand on your hip, only to be met with your hand slapping it away and the other digging the knife into the skin of his neck. Karma.

“I won your game fair and square. So let’s play my game.” Your hand reaches up under the mask and tears it off his face. 

He’s not sure why a potential survivor seeing his face doesn’t worry him. But when his tip catches onto your clit and you hold the knife steady against his neck, he thinks he’s just fallen in love.

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

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[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #2

Strange Candy

kinktober day two | aphrodisiac | 18+, cw: intoxicated sex (all consensual), female reader. both of them hella sassy, book-ish!thran because no angst in my house. this is very silly, just like the author. don't eat funny mushrooms you find in the forest! | wc 3,7k | want more kinktober? click here |

“Strange indeed.” Said the King thoughtfully. The group of hunters who'd led him to the newfound development traded a long look. Crouching down, the King's majesty eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he studied the newfound addition to his great Elven forest. “And the beasts have returned seemingly unharmed, you say?”

“Yes, my Lord. The bears had retreated into a den and so did the foxes, emerging approximately three days afterwards. All seemed in good health and very hungry.” The Silvan hunter replied.

“Then these must be harmless.” Deduced the King, taking out a thin blade to poke at a dense cluster of brightly coloured fungus.

At least, he guessed it was a fungus. Upending one cluster, he found no roots. The flesh of the mushroom was white and fragrant, pleasantly earthy and rich, with subtle floral undertones that made his mouth water slightly. The smell intensified tenfold upon cutting the mushroom down the middle. The King brought it closer to his nose, carefully scenting for any bitterness or rot.

“My Lord...” A concerned Feren piped up from his spot behind the King.

You offered the Captain a glance full of genuine compassion, without a doubt considering his job to be the most complicated and tedious in the whole of Thranduil's kingdom. Minding Greenwood's fiery monarch was not for the faint-hearted.

“Surely you are not thinking of putting it in your mouth?” You added a dash of sarcasm into your question, equally concerned.

You were sassed right back, eyeroll audible. “It is a mushroom, where else would I put it?” Thranduil straightened up, holding the newfound addition to the flora of the forest impaled on his knife. As soon as his eyes zeroed on you, you gulped. Thranduil gave you a nasty little grin. “What is the worst that could happen? I have the best healers of my realm at my disposal.”

Feren's fingers twitched, a tell-tale sign of his withering self-restraint. You sighed and contemplated the best time to begin backing away.

Thranduil simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. “Worry not, the Kingdom has forgotten of your and Feren's...” Elegant pause, Feren's sigh. “Accident.”

“'twas no accident,” you said defensively. “You gave us your Ada's moonshine to see if it was still good. On purpose.”

Thranduil shrugged as the mushroom was evenly divided into two parts with the help of his knife. A perfect picture of innocence, he held up the treat in his palm, grey eyes sparkling.

“I am NOT doing it, my Lord!” Exploded Feren, and gave into his urge to take a step back. He, more than anyone, knew how insistent Thranduil could get. A seven-thousand year old elf giving huge puppy eyes! And it worked! The Captain shielded his own face with his palm. “Throw me in the dungeons for a fortnight, I care not!”

Contrary to your expectations, Thranduil simply rolled his eyes, and swiftly stuck one part of the colourful fungus in his mouth. Everyone gasped, including you, but the old Elvenking remained completely unbothered.

“Hm,” he blinked after a second. “That is not bad.”

Waves of impending doom washed over you with each contemplative movement of Thranduil's jaws. Looking first to the left, and then to the right, you found no immediate means exit of the situation. It was you, the resident human, and the tree behind you, which your King had no problem with crowding you against. Not that he moved or anything. He was just... Large. And very handsome. And spectacular at rounding his shiny, bottomless eyes with great purpose.

“We must know if this fungus is harmful to Edain,” he said, honey-sweet. You hated that he was right. “According to hunters, there is an abundance of it, and, knowing how curious you Edain are...”

“Ugh!” You shook your head. “Just give me the mushroom. If I die, I will haunt your halls for all eternity.” Obediently and with no small worry, you snatched the piece and stuck it in your mouth, chewing quickly, not even taking note of the taste.

Thranduil's last experiment that involved you and Feren still fresh on your mind, you turned back towards the Halls before you'd even finished chewing. You'd rather be in the privacy of your rooms least intoxication has you do something embarrassing... Again. Thankfully, the King conceded, and after giving the hunters a command to gather more of this mystery fungus, the party set out back home.

It was Feren's turn to offer you fleeting looks of compassion. You quietly smiled back, not feeling anything out of sorts. The ride back was pleasantly uneventful. Not a creature was stirring: even the ever-present spiders were absent in their bothersome scuttling.

Too smug for his own good, Thranduil entered his halls with a spring in his step. “The haunting of halls of Greenwood has been postponed indefinitely, I see,” he said in passing as he shrugged off his outer travel robes. A maid immediately offered him a silver robe of heavy satin which he politely declined. “Nay. The discovery has warmed me plenty.”

You noticed that yes, the weather has turned rather warm indeed and bowed before departing back to your daily business. Mid-way through your chores, a thin, translucent sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you silently cursed the Vala responsible for such unusually pleasant weather. The Halls had already began to prepare for a long winter with covering unnecessary exits and patching up drafty areas.

What wouldn't you give for a gulp of fresh, cold air! Chores forgotten, you hurried to the nearest balcony. There was one not frequently visited by Elves as it was hidden behind a clever alcove; stepping aside and squeezing through the narrow opening, you sighed happily and deeply as your clammy skin finally felt crisp late night air.

Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled, finally shaking off some of that uncomfortable heat. A tranquil scene of swaying treetops and budding stars over a darkening sky emphasized the calamity of your solitude.

“Hm.”

“My Lord,” you greeted without turning, familiar with the timbre of voice and soft swishing of expensive fabric coming from behind you.

Thranduil's profile appeared within your field of view as he posted up next to you and demurely placed a hand over the stone railing of the balcony. “I was unaware someone had found the secret entrance to my private balcony.”

“Oh,” you froze. “I apologize... I was simply...”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I take no offense. Indeed, it was quite clever. Even keen Elven eyes miss the opening behind the alcove.” Sans outer robe and clad in a simple but rich ensemble of sateen shirt and velvet breeches, it became evident you'd caught the King in a private moment of relaxation. His brow, usually tinted with concern with kingdom, was pleasantly warm.

You swallowed, looking away. He was a beauty even among his own kin, and like this - relaxed and comfortable - bordered on irresistible. A flash of heat spread through your body at the realisation. It took no small effort to squash these thoughts and steer them towards some semblance of propriety.

“The Valar have blessed us with good weather this autumn, my Lord. I was doing my chores and nearly felt faint from the heat.” You said, noticing Thranduil's eyebrows rise. “And the construction of your halls is incredible! Not a single drafty corner.”

“Heated, you say?” He interrupted suddenly, turning to face you fully. Etiquette (whenever you remembered it) dictated you should, too, and you two faced each other. Thranduil radiated curiosity, eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks and the warmth crawling down the neckline of your clothes. “Strange.”

“What is, my Lord?”

“I have said the same thing to Galion but he gave me a very pointed look and gestured towards Lady Anariel, who had been complaining to her maid about not lighting a fire in a timely manner.”

You frowned, too. The Lady Anariel was as Northern as Elves come and was fairly tolerant of wintery weather. When others wore furs, she got by with an outer dress of wool and, perhaps, a pair of gloves.

“Do you feel... Strange, my Lord?” You had a slight suspicion. Just a teeny-tiny one, that boiled down to those Eru-forsaken mushrooms.

In response you received an impish sort of shrug. “Not necessarily so. Do you?”

Your face blanched. Aside from suddenly finding him irresistible and feeling a little hot under the collar, nothing was amiss. But the longer you lingered on those two thoughts, the stronger they became. It was as if you were an adolescent again: barely any impulse control and all feeling.

‘twas a delicate situation. You could speak to a healer, of course, or let the strange circumstance run it's course. If it even could do that. Thoughts growing jumbled by the second, you said the only clear thing on your mind.

“Those cursed mushrooms.”

Thranduil was unperturbed. “I do not believe they are cursed. Potent, yes, but not cursed.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “... You too?”

He sighed. “I came out here in hopes of clearing my head from this fog of lust.” As you prepared to mutter- what, exactly? Apologies? - Thranduil's finger reached out for tour face to trace the curve of your jaw. “And in the process I found something much more exciting.”

Your bottom lip trembled. Such a simple gesture felt heavenly. Wherever his skin came in contact with yours, the heaviness receded briefly. Your breath caught in your chest as your heart picked up a hare's pace.

“Am I being propositioned?” You wished to say to yourself but in the fog, managed to sputter out loud.

“We could help each other out...” The King, unfurled to his full height and radiating heat equal to that you felt on the inside, grinned a crooked grin. It sat youthfully on his timeless features, just the right amount of flirtatious and reassuring.

You pretended to think about it. No, you really did, out of concern for your dignity. Throwing yourself onto the King was simply uncouth. Such was your next course of action, but the necessary amount of time had passed and the need, having been brought to the forefront or your mind, took hold of your sense. Slowly, you leaned into the touch and brought your hands to Thranduil's forearm, tilting his fingers to your mouth. Hot breath caused them to twitch.

“Does this answer your question?” You tilted your head, lips brushing against the multitude of rings he wore on his persona. It was most exhilarating to see his pupils widen and his mouth tremble.

Adam's apple bobbing, Thranduil swallowed. “No.” And smirked, the stunning bastard. “I need a clear, straightforward statement.”

You sighed, feigning annoyance. “I enthusiastically consent to having uncouth, untoward and potentially nasty things being done to my body by my Lord and King...”

You did not even get to finish. In a flash, Thranduil's hands had encircled your face and he bent himself over you, pushing your body into the balcony as he devoured your mouth with his. There was no grace and no finesse; something heavy and hard poking your stomach showed you just how much self-control your King had.

Seconds ago, you'd been having a perfectly normal conversation and now you found yourself airborne, having been unceremoniously picked up by the tall Elf and carried towards his chambers like the most coveted spoil of war while he devoured your mouth. You hummed into the kiss and responded with a groan, tearing the back lacing of your clothes clean off.

Your back connected with the mattress of his bed. Blinking at the rapid change of pace and scenery, you moaned out in frustration regarding your ruined clothes.

“I will commission more for you,” he said carelessly, throwing his own shirt Mordor knows where. His bare chest, chiseled with lithe muscle and pale as fresh milk, captivated your attention.

Previously having contended yourself with the occasional glance at the tiny window of bare skin where the sides of his robes met, you used your newfound opportunity to drink yourself full of Thranduil's fair skin. It felt as soft as it looked when he laid upon you, the weight of his body offering a delicious momentary reprieve from the tension building up in your muscles. Gossamer hair shielded you from the outside world as he leaned in towards your mouth again, this time capturing yours in a sensual dance of tongue and teeth.

A nimble hand took care of your bottoms, sliding inside your underwear as slick and cunning as a snake, to cup your mound. Thranduil groaned into the kiss, finding you soaked and willing, fingering the cleft of your lower lips with practiced gentle moves. The tenderness of it drove you crazy. Your need flared as a wall of standstill fire and you were surprised you did hadn't noticed it earlier. If the pulse in your cunt was anything to go by, you would come undone the very moment your King would finally allow you to feel full.

He was fairly content with sucking your soul out through your mouth and mapping the fat outer lips of your cunt. Never quite breaching and wholly avoiding your throbbing pearl, Thranduil simply basked in the amount of sticky juice your cunt was capable of producing.

The first loud moan of the night broke free if your lips and it was one of frustration.

Thranduil smiled into the kiss, your teeth clashing together. “What is it, mm?” He queried in-between wet pecks.

“I want to come.” You whined.

He chuckled. “And what's in it for me?”

Thankfully, your eyes were closed and he did not see your eyeroll. “You'll get to come, too?” Cringing at how lame it sounded, you were nonetheless powerless beneath him and overwhelmed from your desire.

“I prefer to play with my food.” He grinned a predator's smile, all shiny teeth and lidded eyes, but tugged down on your bottoms nonetheless. “Try harder.”

That became difficult as you were now bare; shivering in your King's arms, you cracked open a hazy eye to see him settle himself closer to your dripping center. It captivated him. Sliding two fingers along your lips, your eyes closed and head fell back as every nerve in your body came alight. Rewarded by a long moan, Thranduil gathered ample amount of moisture on his fingers and brushed over your quivering entrance.

Your back arched as he plunged them deeply within your aching cunt. The sticky noise it made was positively scandalous.

“I will-ah! forgive you for gathering the entire -ahh! King's guard to look at Feren and I!” You managed to form a quasi-coherent sentence through the moans and gasps spilling from your lips and were rather proud of yourself for it.

Thranduil's laugh echoed in the room as it did in his chest, a pleasant rumble vibrating through your core. “Whether Galion forgives you two for barking at him remains to be seen.”

Genuine amusement briefly overshadowed your shame at the situation of the past and at your own current neediness. The combination of emotion startled a laugh out of you, causing your core to clench around Thranduil's fingers and coat them in your wetness. He groaned low in his throat and rubbed your inner walls, reveling in the resulting moan. It did nothing to bring you closer to the peak.

“Sadist!” You accused and attempted to grind down on his hand, fisting the crumpled sheets.

“Slander!” He punctuated the rebuttal with an expert curl of his fingers. You arched. He smirked. “You should learn patience.”

There was no strength in your mind to formulate another witty comeback. Sensation, low and insistent, built up in the pit of your belly, an ache so sweet and tender you were sure it would be any second that you'd burst with it. Every pore on your skin open and receptive to touch, even the slide of silk sheets as your body bent with pleasure was overwhelming. You panted wetly through parted lips as a third finger joined in, the stretch of it making your eyes roll back into your head.

Thranduil would kill you. You were sure of it now. He would end you with a blinding smile and clever fingers never ceasing to move within you, the movement just shy of where you needed him most.

“Mercy!” You moaned. “Mercy, my King!”

You should have known his idea of it would be no less torturous than the ‘kindness’ that led you to your current place writhing atop his bed. Slowly, his tongue traced a path around your outer lips before dipping inside; it was hot and wet, like a summer storm, when it connected with your engorged clit and flicked it from root to tip. Electric feel of sensation pierced your body in a lightning bolt as your leg muscles seized. The King gave a pleased rumble and went for seconds and thirds, effortlessly holding your thighs open with one strong, long arm, palm digging into the soft meat.

Even the pain of it echoed with pleasure.

While the need within your loins kept steadily climbing with no end in sight, your King treated himself to a leisurely late night snack. His tongue delved in and out of your cunt, lapping up the waterfall of arousal. You would have been mortified, really, for the mess had you glued stuck to his face, your hips attempting to follow his mouth in circles.

Coupled with the digits slowly but surely stretching the entrance to your channel, brushing over the sensitive fornix, you knew the night would be long. Dark, but not cold. Hazy.

“Ngh!” You articulated through gritted teeth, feeling him pull away from a particularly sensitive spot in favour of sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh. Thranduil followed a path only he himself knew, marking your flesh with pulling, precise bites that left discoloured spot damp with spit. They pleasantly ached.

Over your stomach and at the underside of your bottom rib. The sides and bottoms of your breasts, all the way up at the root of your nipples. He took each one in into his mouth, suckling on it like a hungry babe, before releasing them with a wet pop just blow a gentle breath onto the pebbled nubs. Through parted lashes, you watched him, aptly fascinated by the lack of colour in his eyes, pupils blown wide and deep with lust.

You tasted your cunt on his tongue as he made way back up. Risking a glance downward, you saw Thranduil's cock hard, flushed and heavy, hanging out of his breeches. He hadn't bothered with removing them and that single detail had you nearly undone. How the King himself could not wait to he inside of you!

An understanding of his previous games had come too, for he was rather proportional everywhere. Just the slide of his weeping tip against your bruised thigh invoked a shudder in you, back arching. You presented yourself to your best ability, eyes shining with pleading as he rested his forehead against yours.

Thranduil held himself above you, weight on his elbows, as his cock nosed at your sopping entrance. Immediately, it tried to suck him in, coaxing his lips to bend into a smirk. Such proximity was putting your sensibility directly into negatives. With a wild look mirrored in his own darkened pupils, you petulantly stuck out your bottom lip and panted with all the sarcasm that you could muster:

“we'll get to the good part... About tomorrow?” You wished to add more, something about him being old, but that remark and many more drowned in the absolute extasy flooding your body as he slid into your cunt in one single smooth stroke. “Aah...” Left your lips instead, and with it, any remaining oxygen departed from your lungs as well.

“Mouthy,” Thranduil remarked, sounding unfairly put together for someone who's mouth was as slippery as wet stone and cheeks brighter than a ripe beetroot.

You forgave him then and there. In awe, you watched him give you another one of his impish grins and nudge at that spot deeply within you. And he did it all over again, plush mouth releasing the sweetest, quietest of moans as he did so. Time got lost in the tug of war tour cunt played with his cock; like this, your release was imminent and fast approaching.

You grabbed Thranduil's arms, rubbed his shoulders as your legs wound up around his narrow waist while he contentedly and systematically unraveled you apart with rapid, smooth snaps of his hips. For a while, there was nothing in the room but the two of you and the lewd noises of damp skin slapping against skin. Clutching harder, you felt yourself tighten around his girth. Each measured stroke abused your engorged clit, heavy sac adding extra sensation on your perineum.

A low, feral groan joined the thrilling cacophony of sex. Thranduil fucked you through your first orgasm with gritted teeth, barely slowing with the new resistance of your cunt attempting to milk him for his worth. Hair hanging over your faces like a curtain, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss as you whimpered with overstimulation. Evenly, his thrusts became shallow, grinding.

Having become a acquainted with your bearings somewhat, you made a confused noise. The King just grinned. His palm connected firmly with the side of your hip as you squealed. He withdrew.

“Present yourself to your King.” He ordered, both smug and slightly breathless, helping you along onto all fours.

You chuffed into the damp bedding and obeyed, arching your back at a sinful curve. Within seconds, you were once again blissfully full.

a/n: I am way too horny of a person to write anything LACE compliant. Or is that my commitment issues talking? Anyway, ELVES FUCK SEVERELY! At least this October. mwah 💋

I once ate like 12 grams of cubensis and was a cat for 3 hours, so Feren barking at Galion with the help of some 3k+ year old mushroom infused moonshine isn't that far-fetched.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

I like our kitchen is that okay with you?

Barbie dolls: five hargreeves x gn! reader

Words: 3.6k words

Summary: you guys are just lovey dovey while getting ready for Grace's birthday party

Warnings: set in those few good minutes of s4 when everything was fun and nice, insinuated you're an early riser, Viktor doesn't get kidnapped everything is perfect, you sleep on your stomach now, five touches your butt, mention of nonsexual nudity, you lean your head of Five's shoulder, insinuated you don't want kids but five could be joking who knows, you work at the library now and are a massive music freak, Fives a thrifting GOD, pretty much just docile and sweet five and you, five is still at the CIA oops sorry, you're kinda a passenger royalty Five will not let you open a single door, mentions that you have a bag but its not specific on what kind could be a purse could be a backpack could be a fucking draw bag tbh, you are fun, okay bye

Request: dude stop snooping on me how did you know it was a request

Five was the worst to wake up next to. He snored with his mouth open, drool slipping down to his pillowcase. Somewhere during the night, he flung his hand towards your face, pushing the blanket over your eyes. His hand was still resting on your forehead, palm to the ceiling. Somehow, one of his legs was hanging off the edge of the bed while the other was thrown over your butt. You thought about not sleeping on your stomach anymore so he’d stop kicking you on the ass at 2:46 am every night, but you worried you’d miss his contact. You had one hand resting over his heart, and as gentle and regular as your position seemed Five made up for it with his 'I'm a fallen spider’ position every night. Five jerked in his sleep, knocking the back of his hand into his chin. You sat up, glancing around the room.

With sleep clouding your vision, you gently move Five into a slightly less strange position. You pulled both his hands to his stomach, letting them rest there. You moved his one leg away from your behind, letting the other stay where it was halfway off the bed. You got out of bed, tucking the blankets back in on Five’s sides so he wouldn’t feel the difference in warmth. You still weren’t entirely sure if Five knew he slept so weirdly, you woke up before him every day.

You watched Five from the doorway. He smiled in his sleep, something fun must be happening in his dream. He snuggled further into his pillow, letting out a sigh. You headed towards the kitchen, playing your music very quietly as you started breakfast.

This was a pretty regular routine. By the time you were setting the plates down on the breakfast table, Five was stumbling through the doorway. You glanced up at him. Five squinted at the light peeking through the curtains from over the kitchen sink. He looked around the room, his shoulders sinking when he found you. Five headed straight for you, reaching his hands out for your face. He greeted you with a kiss. You pulled back from the kiss with a smile.

“You know, I never move. I don’t know why you look around the room like you’ve never been here before.” You said, pulling his hands away from your face to hold them. Five shrugged.

“Maybe I like looking at our kitchen.” You hummed at him, pulling away to settle into your chair. As you both ate breakfast, you studied the kitchen more than usual.

It wasn’t anything crazy. A strange part of your brain, that you didn’t like to talk about much, assigned colors to lots of things. For example, the number seven was orange however eight was green. If you had to pick a color for your kitchen you’d pick that weird middle ground between yellow and orange that sounded like swings squeaking when you tried to fly as a kid and staring up at the trees and watching the sunlight shine through the leaves.

Your kitchen was in a small rectangle shape. The cabinets were brown and a small rounded dining table was shoved into the back right corner. On the one long side of the rectangle were the sink, oven, refrigerator, and many cabinets top and bottom. It had a window over the sink, so you could peer into the backyard as you did the dishes. The other long side of the room was the open, welcoming the sight of your living room. A small line of bottom cabinets jutted out on that side along the line where a wall would be. You never added barstools on the side in the living room but you could’ve.

As of right now, it was that time in the morning when it had the calming feeling of the night but the warming sun of the morning. The light was peeking through the kitchen window, shining through the floral curtains Five found at some estate sale. The light caught in the beaded curtain you made and hung behind the small floral curtains and made colors dance on the kitchen counter and couch arm.

There were pictures of you and Five hung on the refrigerator with tiny magnets that had different foods on them. Once again Five found them at some estate sale. You looked down at your plate, remembering the tablecloth Five brought home from a thrift store because it was your favorite color with the tiniest embroidery of your favorite animal.

You leaned forward over the table, knocking Five’s chin up, and capturing his lips in a kiss. It was kind of gross. He had a bit of syrup on the side of his mouth and he tasted faintly of bacon. You settled back into your chair, continuing your breakfast as if nothing happened. Five squinted at you, wiping at the corner of his mouth and sticking his thumb in his mouth. You grimaced.

“What was that for?” Five asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know, I like looking at our kitchen.” Five stared at you for a moment like he was trying to read your mind. He hummed, paying his attention back to his food.

A few thirty minutes later, Five was rushing out the door while fixing his tie. You followed after him, half-ready yourself, your shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes.

“Briefcase?”

“Hand.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“New toothpaste and everything.”

”Lunch?”

“Other hand.”

“Coffee?”

“They have some at work.”

“You hate that coffee.”

“I can’t hear you over me about to be late.” You glared at Five’s sass. He made a frown at your look. “Sorry.”

“Socks?” Five stuck his foot out at you, showing off his lovely charcoal grey socks. ”Summer colors, beautiful.” You said sarcastically.

“It's the CIA, my love, not a Betsy Johnson fashion show.” Five said, slipping his shoes on as fast as he could. He glanced up at you through his mop of hair.

“Did you do your hair?” Five glared at you. You dropped it, moving on to the next thing.

“Wallet? Keys? ID card?” You asked. Five pulled his other shoe on, standing up straight. He faced you again, smiling as he leaned down to grab his suitcase.

“It’s fine, baby. Just like literally every other morning. I’m not going to forget anything. It’s basically impossible.” Five said. You followed him to the door, holding it open as you waved him down the hallway. Once he turned the corner, you returned inside. You furrowed your eyebrows when you felt like you were missing something. Chalking it up to you still not being dressed for work, you headed back for your bedroom. You stopped in the living room when you heard the front door open. You walked back to the front door, bumping into FIve halfway there.

“Turns out I can forget things.” Five muttered.

“It was your keys wasn’t it?” Five shook his head. He leaned down and gently pulled you into a kiss. He pulled you closer by the front of your pajama shirt. You would’ve returned the ferocity, but you knew better than to wrinkle his suit. You held your hands up in the air next to your head but still leaned forward towards him. Five pulled back, still keeping small contact.

“I have to go.” He said, muffled by your lips. You wouldn’t have understood him if you hadn’t had this problem multiple times before.

“You have to go.” You repeated, and yet still leaning forward. FIve hummed.

“I have to go.” He said again, although there he was still keeping his eyes closed and lips pressed to yours. He pulled back, finally breaking whatever spell you two were under.

“I have to go.” He said for a third time, walking backward towards the door. You followed after him, nodding along. Five stopped in the doorway, staring at you. You motioned for him to go. He sighed.

“I love you.”

“Go.” Five nodded, slipping outside and down towards the driveway. You stood by the door again, watching him walk towards the car. You are startled when you realize you didn’t say it back.

“I love you!” You yelled after him, watching him spin around and blow you a kiss before settling into his car.

Hours and hours later, you were shelving books, as your average librarian does. You had one of your headphones in and playing your music. It was quiet, as many libraries are. You pushed another book into the right spot, before turning back to the cart. You pushed it down the aisle between the shelves. You heard the bell over the door ring. You abandoned your cart and moved through the shelves to get to the front door. When you got close enough you knew they could hear you, though not see you yet, you spoke up.

“Welcome, Let me know if you need anything.” You said before turning the corner. Lovely Five was waiting by the door with a bouquet. He was still in his work suit, though his briefcase must still be in the car. He smiled when he saw you. You walked the rest of the way to the front door, greeting him by wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Whatcha doing here?” You asked, smiling at him. You hoped most of the patrons were in the back searching for a book. Five moved the flowers away you two so you wouldn't crush them. He leaned towards you, pecking your lips.

“I came to pick you up. Thought my car would be better than the bus.” Five said. You hummed. You sighed and pretended like you weren't giddy just being around him.

“Yeah, I guess. My shift ends in 15 so start reading.” You gestured towards the shelves. Five nodded and headed off for the nonfiction section. You finished shelving and were riding home in Five’s car in no time. He brought the flowers for you, so they rested in your lap on the ride back.

By the time you were pulling into the driveway, you had two hours to get ready. Five ran as fast he could to get your side of the car. You stared at him confused as you opened your door. Five slapped your hand away from the door, shooing your head back in the car. He shut your door before pulling it open again and holding his hand out to you. You glared at him before giving him your hand. Five walked with you into the house before you split up after taking your shoes off.

You headed off to the living room to replace the dying flowers in the reading nook. Five headed off to change out of his Work Suit. You both got ready, moving at your own pace. You shared a shower in which Five watched you with a loving smile as you danced ridiculously to your music. Also where Five remembered how much he missed you shampooing his hair.

Then you were pacing around the house as you got into the outfit you planned your head for the party. Five skittered past you when you were working on transferring everything you needed from your work bag to your ‘I'm going to hand this to Five once we get there so it's no longer my problem and I can play in the ball pit’ bag. He slid into the bathroom with his socked feet and when you heard the hair dryer turn on, you focused back on what you were doing.

You talked yourself out of taking a book. (Very hard) Then you were being rushed towards the door by Five as if he wasn't the one stuck in the bathroom for 45 minutes with the blow dryer going. You pulled your shoes on as you stumbled out the door. Five locked the door behind you as you both jogged down the steps.

“Do you think Grace will like her present?” You asked, now worried she might hate what was inside the wrapped box in your arms. Five snorted, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

“Well if she doesn’t, I know Diego will like it.” Five said, taking the box from your hands to set it in the trunk. You hummed. It did make you feel a little bit better. You thought about Diego gasping with joy louder than Grace and stealing the box from her hands. You doubted he would do that but it was fun to imagine his dramatics. You settled into the passenger side. Five handed you the aux cord as he pulled out of the driveway. You took it from him, imeditally plugging it into your phone and playing your music. Five bobbed his head along while you sang along. He’d even throw in a hand movement sometimes.

When you reached the party you were just barely 15 minutes late. Shocking. You took he box inside from the trunk, letting Five hold the doors open for you. Five lead you through the building by your elbow. You smiled when you saw familiar faces. Diego came over to you two first. He took the box out of your hands, staring down at it in confusion.

“What did you guys get her? An entire litter of puppies and a bike?” Diego joked. You waved him off.

“No that’s ridiculous, the bike is in a different box.” You joked making Diego grimace.

“Oh, Ha-ha,” Diego said sarcastically taking the box towards the already growing gift table. Five stood next to you, shoving his hands into his pockets. Your shoulders slumped.

“I thought it was funny.” You muttered. Five rubbed your upper arm, cooing.

“It was hilarious, I almost pissed my pants.” Five said, pecking your cheek. You gave him a small smile before patting his side. He slipped his arm around your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a weird-sided hug. You pulled away, gripping onto his hand and leading him to the next family member you had to say hi to.

You approached the group of Luther, Klaus, Ben, and Claire. They were all facing each other, making a circle. You stood behind Luther.

“Excuse me, Sir. You can't be unattended without a child.” You said, raising your pitch so you sounded squeaky and, quite frankly, annoying. Luther turned his head around with a confused face. Once he spotted you, he smiled brightly and wrapped you in a hug. You dropped Five’s hand to hug him back.

“Oh it's so good to see you,” Luther said, pulling away from you. He moved out of the way, letting the rest of the group see you. Klaus cheered and clapped his hands. Claire immediately pulled you into a hug while Ben let out a groan. You stood back next to Luther.

“I’m here, too.” Five said, moving to squeeze into the circle between Luther and Klaus. Luther patted him on the shoulder. Klaus reached over and shooed Five away with his gloved hands without touching him. Five glared at Klaus. Luther pulled the conversation back to the center.

“So what are you two up to now?” Luther asked, looking between you and Five. You shrugged.

“Domestic things. Decorating our house, going to work, and trying new recipes on the weekends. It’s actually quite nice being a human and not in the center of an apocalypse.” you said. It actually felt really fucking nice that your biggest problem was what color to paint the bathroom. Five hummed.

“Right, so when are you two going to make me an uncle?” Klaus asked. You weren't entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Five scoffed.

“Please, we’re too old for kids.” Five said, glaring at Klaus.

“Not to mention you're already an uncle.” You added. Klaus pouted at you two and hovered his hand over Claire's shoulder to simulate a pat. Five moved away from Luther's side and stood next to you instead.

“You know he's coming up on three years of sobriety?” you gasped at Claire. Five leaned forward as Luther smiled.

“Really? Klaus, that's amazing. I'm so proud of you. You should throw a party or something.” You said. Klaus shrugged. He shook his head.

“It's really no big deal,” Klaus muttered.

“Yes, it is. You should be proud of yourself Klaus, sobriety is hard work.” Five said. Five reached around the back of your arm and hugged your arm to his chest. Luther nodded.

“I'm very proud of you, I know that must've been a struggle,” Luther said. Klaus shrugged again. You hummed.

“Right well me and Claire are going to plan a celebration for your three years whether you like it or not.” You said. Klaus turned to Claire and shook his head no with a grimace. Claire started nodding back at him with an evil smile.

“Yes. Yep, uh-huh. It's happening.” Claire said. You tugged on Five's elbow.

“Right well, we have to go say hi to the others.” Five said, following after you as you walked away. You and Five split up. You went around to his siblings and had long talks with each of them over their current jobs, hobbies, and problems. Five went to find someone to complain to and find a beverage. The party flew by as you two went around to say hello to everyone. As soon as you were wrapping up your conversation with Viktor, it was present time.

Everyone circled the present table and more importantly Grace. Grace stared at the large pile of gifts and turned back to Diego and Lila.

“I don’t know which one to open first,” Grace said.

“Oo ours, Grace. Open the one from us.” You said. Five moved closer to you, holding your hand again. Grace nodded and pulled down the box covered in wrapping paper that Five picked out. Grace tore through the paper like it was butter and handed the scraps to Diego. The box was blank and held together with tape she could tear through. Grace pulled the box open and gasped when she could see inside.

She reached inside, pulled out two of the laser tag toy guns, and pointed them to the sky pulling the triggers over and over again. She laughed maniacally at the sky. Diego and Lila laughed. Grace spun around and pointed the guns at her parents, pretending to fire again.

“We got enough for the twins, Grace, and you guys so fun for the whole family!” Five shouted over the chaos. You smiled at Diego and Lila fighting back against Grace, turning her attention back to the presents. You leaned your head on Five’s shoulder. He hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Presents flew by after that, everyone else gave her lame presents and you’re definitely not biased in saying that at all.

“Okay kids, this is your last chance to play. The parents are going to clean up and then we’re going to leave so play now.” Diego shouted over the short heads of children running around him. You gasped and pulled yourself away from Five. You handed him your bag, which he swung over his shoulder. You leaned down and slipped your shoes off, handing them to Five as well. He kissed you goodbye as you sprinted off towards the ball pit.

You played with Grace in the ball pit as the lame adults were cleaning up. You pulled Grace up into the air. making her squeal before dropping her back into the ball pit.

Grace quite enjoyed playing with you and about thirty minutes later, you were out of breath and even Grace was tired. Five walked over to the ball pit, standing next to the edge. He held his hand out, helping you out of the pit. You pulled Grace over the edge. She ran off to Lila, who spun her around in a circle.

“Did you have fun in the ball pit?” Five asked. You knew he was probably being sarcastic. He leaned down towards the floor with your shoes. You leaned back against the ball pit wall as he gently lifted your leg to pull your shoe on.

“Yes! It was amazing, you should’ve joined us.” Five glanced up at you, shaking his head. He finished with the other shoe and stood up straight.

“Not really my style.” He muttered. You rolled your eyes. You rudely mimicked his voice. Five latched onto your hand and dragged you towards the door.

When you finally made it home, you both undressed into your pajamas in a speedy fashion. You faceplanted into your shared bed, groaning. You rubbed your arms around in the blankets.

“I missed you.” You whispered to the sheets. You felt Five settle on top of you, using you as a full-body pillow. It was a little difficult to breathe with a full-grown person on your back but you’d let it slide.

“I was only gone for three minutes. And you say I’m the clingy one.” Five muttered, pulling his head over your shoulder and kissing your cheek. You hummed.

“Still think you are.” FIve groanded at you. “Not that it’s bad, I love you being clingy. At least you’re not being a dickhead. Well, more than usual.” You said, leaning over to kiss the side of his mouth. Five tried to hide his smile, knocking his nose into the side of your neck.

A few moments went by where you and Five just sat together. You nudged him off your back. He slid off your back, laying next to you instead. He scooted closer, throwing his arm over your back. You pulled your arm over his side, squeezing him even closer. Five sighed, his weight sinking into you in relaxation. You were so glad it was a Friday because tomorrow you could wake up and stay in bed with Five for hours. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him squeeze you closer.

[ventismacchiato]

O8.5 stuck with you — idols inferno !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

YAE MIKO: Welcome cuties to "Idols Inferno," or I², where idols ignite sparks in a tropical paradise! Here’s a comprehensive guide on how our upcoming and hot dating show will unfold!

1. Island Oasis: Our contestants, members from two different idol groups, DELUSION AND WINDBLUME, will embark on a journey to a stunning island getaway. They'll leave behind the glamor of the stage to immerse themselves in the raw beauty of nature.

idols inferno island! doesn’t seem like much…

2. Living Arrangements: While they compete for hearts, our idols reside in a cozy dormitory area. Each contestant will be able to enjoy their own private rooms, but will be sharing a dorm building with all the other contestants. Don’t get too excited, these dorms are designed to be as uncomfortable as morally possible in order to motivate our idols to work harder for the rewards!

an adjustment from the life our idols are used to!

3. Survival and Romance: Here’s the twist! Our idols aren’t just here for love—they’re also here to survive. From beachside cookouts to forging alliances, they'll fend for themselves while navigating the highs and lows of island life. The kitchen will be replenished with ingredients every two days, but contestants will be expected to put together meals on their own everyday. A water well will be located a mile away from the kitchens, contestants will have to trek to fill up their containers everyday. 

4. Games and Challenges: Throughout the journey, our contestants engage in thrilling challenges designed to test their teamwork and chemistry. Picture competitive strength challenges like partner piggyback rides or hilarious two-legged races on the beach! Make sure to tune in because the weather is hot, which means less fabric to wear! ;)  

5. Confession Box and Matchmaking: After every activity, participants visit the confession box to anonymously choose another contestant they are interested in. Matched pairs have the chance to enjoy better food, upgraded accommodations, and even a night in a nearby five-star hotel instead of the usual shitty dorms!

note: example image does not depict show events

6. Contestant Dynamics: With a total of 13 contestants, including 3 mystery guests to be revealed at a later date, tensions and emotions run high as new arrivals shake up existing connections. 

oh whoever could these be?

7. Interviews and Real-Time Updates: The end of every episode features intimate interviews with one of the contestants, offering viewers insights into their thoughts and emotions. Episodes are recorded and edited the following day, ensuring they're posted by midnight for viewers to keep up with the drama and romance in real-time.

Amidst palm trees and pristine beaches, bonds deepen and sparks fly as our idols explore their connections. Will they find lasting love or simply a lifelong friendship?

In the end, hearts will be won and memories made as our idols return home, forever changed by their time on "Idols Inferno." Tune in to not miss a second!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

guys i drew/edited that map myself cus i wanted this to make sense pls tell me you like it i know it’s extra but 🤗

short mini chapter to explain the show i’ll explain anything else if i need to in later chapters xx

also pretty obvious if ur chronically online but can you guess who the mystery guests are? 😍

synopsis after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — after this ad break we will get back into the story xx

taglist closed — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (2/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Paring: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps and angst.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Alternative ending: you stayed

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of your wedding arrived under a sky shrouded with gray clouds, as if the North itself mourned the quiet hope that had once surrounded this union. The air in Winterfell was heavy, filled with the strain of anticipation, not of joy, but of waiting—waiting for news, waiting for Bran to awaken.

In the godswood, where your wedding ceremony would take place, the trees stood like solemn guardians, their branches bare and reaching into the somber sky. You were dressed in the finest gown the North had to offer, a deep forest green that complimented the surroundings, a delicate silver belt around your waist and a shawl lined with white fur draped over your shoulders. Your mother, Cersei, stood beside you, her expression unreadable as she adjusted the drape of your shawl, her gaze flickering with a mixture of emotions you couldn’t place.

“Remember, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice cool and steady, “a union like this is more than love. It’s duty.” She looked into your eyes, her hand lingering on your shoulder. “Bear that in mind.”

You nodded, though her words felt distant, almost irrelevant in the face of the sorrow that hung over Winterfell. Your thoughts were on Bran, the young boy you’d barely had the chance to know, now lying pale and unmoving under the Maester’s care. Yet, despite the sadness, a flicker of warmth remained when you thought of Robb, of the promises he’d whispered to you in the godswood, of a life you might build together.

As you stepped forward, the quiet murmurs of the small gathering around you faded into silence. The ceremony had been scaled back, out of respect for the dire circumstances, and though some guests were there out of duty, the faces of Winterfell’s people were shadowed with grief and worry.

Robb stood beneath the towering heart tree, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, his face somber. His usually warm, easy smile was absent, replaced by a solemn expression that made him appear older, weighed down by a sense of responsibility he hadn’t known before.

As you reached him, his gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of feeling that momentarily banished the sorrow. He offered his hand, and you took it, the warmth of his palm grounding you even amidst the cold and sorrow of the day.

The Septon stepped forward, his voice quiet yet steady as he began the words of the ceremony. You barely heard them, your mind absorbed by the feel of Robb’s hand in yours, the silent promises exchanged in each shared glance, each gentle squeeze of his fingers.

When it came time to speak your vows, Robb’s voice was steady but filled with an undercurrent of grief. “I, Robb Stark, take you, Y/N Baratheon, as my wife, to stand by my side in times of joy and sorrow. I promise to honor you, to cherish you, and to protect you… until the end of my days.”

You swallowed, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. Meeting his gaze, you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “I, Y/N Baratheon, take you, Robb Stark, as my husband. I promise to honor you, to stand by you… and to hold Winterfell as my home… as long as we both shall live.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight that lingered between you. Robb’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted his cloak and draped it over your shoulders, the Stark direwolf sigil settling against the green of your gown. His fingers lingered for a moment, a gentle touch that offered both reassurance and shared sorrow.

Catelyn Stark stepped forward, her eyes red-rimmed but composed, her expression holding a quiet strength as she looked at you both. She managed a faint smile, though grief flickered in her eyes. “You are one now,” she said softly, her voice wavering just slightly. “Bound by honor and duty… and the strength of the North.”

Robb nodded, his gaze shifting from his mother to you, a silent promise etched in his eyes. He took your hand once more, and together, you turned to face the small gathering, where the royal family and the Starks stood side by side, united in somber witness.

As the ceremony ended, Cersei approached, her expression carefully controlled as she looked at you. “You’re bound now,” she said softly, her tone a blend of pride and resignation. “Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mother,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

Robert clapped a heavy hand on Robb’s shoulder, his usual joviality absent. “Take care of her, boy,” he said, his voice gruff. “A Stark and a Baratheon… it’s a good match. We may not have joy today, but… there’s still hope for the future.”

Robb nodded, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “I’ll care for her, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice steady. “With all that I am.”

The feast that followed was a subdued affair, the usual raucous laughter and cheerful toasts absent. Servants moved quietly between tables, and the guests spoke in hushed tones, their minds undoubtedly drifting back to the small, still figure of Bran, lying somewhere in the castle.

You sat beside Robb, his hand resting over yours, his touch a constant reminder of the bond you’d just sealed. Every so often, his gaze would drift toward the doors, a flicker of worry crossing his face. You knew his thoughts were with his brother, as were yours, and despite the vows you’d just taken, it felt wrong to celebrate when Bran’s fate remained so uncertain.

At one point, Robb turned to you, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low so only you could hear. “This isn’t… this isn’t how I wanted our wedding to be.”

You shook your head, managing a faint smile as you met his gaze. “It’s all right, Robb. We’re together, and that’s enough for me.”

His hand tightened around yours, his gaze softening. “We’ll have our happiness, someday,” he promised, a quiet determination in his voice. “When Bran wakes, and the darkness lifts… we’ll find our joy.”

“I believe you,” you replied, and in that moment, you knew you meant it. Despite the sorrow, the grief, the uncertainty, there was a strength in Robb, a resilience that made you feel, perhaps for the first time, that Winterfell could truly be your home.

As the feast wound down, the guests dispersed, the weight of the day settling heavily upon the hall. Robb led you back to the godswood, where the faint rustle of leaves and the quiet murmur of the stream offered a small reprieve from the grief that had followed you through the day.

Standing together beneath the heart tree, his arms wrapped around you, Robb pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a quiet promise shared in the silence of the godswood.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet strength. “You and I.”

And as you looked up into his eyes, you knew that this bond, forged in sorrow and solemnity, would endure. The North was your home now, and Robb Stark, your husband, was your future.

The morning was shrouded in a gray mist as the royal family prepared to depart Winterfell. The air was filled with the sounds of horses being saddled, carts being loaded, and the quiet murmur of farewells exchanged in the courtyard. Snow flurries danced in the air, a reminder of the North’s unyielding chill even as summer lingered.

You stood to the side, watching as your family gathered their belongings, preparing to leave Winterfell behind. There was a strange ache in your chest, a mixture of longing and relief. This was goodbye to the life you’d known in King’s Landing, the world of your childhood, yet a new life awaited here in the North, beside Robb.

Cersei approached you first, her face carefully composed, though her eyes softened as she took in your winter garb. She placed a gloved hand on your shoulder, her gaze searching. “Remember what I told you, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice as cold and steady as the northern air. “If ever you find yourself… unhappy, if you ever decide that this place is not what you hoped, send word to me. I’ll send a raven, and you’ll be back in King’s Landing before they know you’re gone.”

You nodded, sensing her quiet desperation beneath the words, but you held firm, offering her a small smile. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll remember.”

Cersei’s hand lingered for a moment before she withdrew, the mask of the queen settling back into place. She gave you a small, almost reluctant nod, and then turned to oversee her children, leaving you with a faint chill where her touch had been.

Next came Myrcella and Tommen, their young faces full of both excitement and sadness. Myrcella wrapped her arms around you tightly, her soft voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’ll miss you, sister. Winterfell is so far away.”

You hugged her back, smoothing her hair gently. “I’ll miss you too, Myrcella. But you’ll write to me, won’t you?”

She nodded eagerly, her green eyes shining as she pulled away, clutching your hand for a moment longer. Tommen, who had tried to appear brave, stepped forward, his lower lip quivering as he hugged you quickly. “Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep practicing my sword skills, so when you come back, I’ll be strong enough to protect you.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair gently. “I look forward to it, Tommen. Be brave, all right?”

He nodded, his small shoulders squared as he stepped back beside Myrcella.

Joffrey approached you last among your siblings, his usual confidence subdued. He shifted awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and the ground before he managed, “Well… I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“Yes,” you replied, studying him as he avoided your gaze. The cool prince of King’s Landing looked almost uncertain here, his usual arrogance dimmed by the somber air of Winterfell. “Take care of yourself, Joffrey.”

He nodded stiffly, and after a moment, he added, “And… don’t forget what Mother said.” There was something almost grudging in his tone, as though he struggled to convey the sentiment, but you recognized it for what it was—a reluctant offer of support, or at least the closest he could come to it.

“I won’t forget,” you replied softly. He turned quickly, as if he’d revealed more than he intended, rejoining the group with a faint flush to his cheeks.

Tyrion approached next, a warm smile lighting his face as he looked at you. “Well, dear niece, I would say you’re off on a grand adventure, but the North is hardly the place I’d choose for one,” he said with a chuckle. “Still, it seems you have found yourself well suited here.”

You smiled back, appreciating his humor in the midst of the farewells. “The North has its charms, Uncle. Though it might not be quite your idea of a vacation.”

He grinned, raising a brow. “No, certainly not. But I imagine you will do well here. If you need a witty letter or a visit, you know how to reach me.”

“Thank you, Uncle Tyrion,” you replied, and he gave you a brief but warm embrace, patting your shoulder as he stepped back.

Jaime came next, his armor gleaming even in the dull light of the Northern morning. He gave you a smirk, the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “Princess,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “Are you ready for a life of snow and solemn Starks?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll manage, Uncle. Robb has been a kind husband.”

He regarded you thoughtfully, a flicker of something protective crossing his features. “If you ever need anything—anyone here ever makes you unhappy—you know you can call on me.”

The sentiment in his words warmed you, and you squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll remember.”

He gave you a playful salute, though his eyes held genuine care, and then he joined Tyrion by the royal procession.

Finally, the moment came for the royal family to mount their horses. You stood to the side, your hand tucked in Robb’s as you watched your family prepare to leave. Cersei glanced back at you one last time, her eyes lingering on you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded and looked away. Tyrion offered you a small, reassuring smile, and Jaime gave you a wink, his usual swagger intact.

Lord Eddard, Sansa, and Arya moved to join the royal party as well. Sansa, looking composed and almost regal, met your gaze with a polite nod, her own excitement clear as she anticipated the wonders of King’s Landing. Arya, on the other hand, wore a scowl, clearly reluctant to leave her home and her brother. She cast one last, longing look back at Winterfell before clambering onto her horse beside her sister.

Jon Snow stood apart, dressed in black furs, his expression solemn as he prepared for his own departure to Castle Black. You caught his eye and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. He returned it with a faint, respectful smile, his gaze lingering briefly on his family before he turned toward the road that led him to his new life beyond the Wall.

As the procession began to move, Robert bellowed one last farewell, his voice echoing through the courtyard as he raised a hand in farewell. “Farewell, Winterfell! Take care of my daughter!” he called, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a hint of fondness.

You stood beside Robb, his hand a steady weight in yours, grounding you as the distant echoes of horse hooves faded into the morning mist. You watched as your family disappeared down the winding path, the figures of your mother, father, and siblings slowly swallowed by the gray expanse of the North.

The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with both loss and anticipation. The final ties to your old life had been severed, and now, Winterfell stood as both your duty and your destiny. You took a deep breath, the cold Northern air filling your lungs as you turned to look at Robb.

He met your gaze, his face softened by a quiet strength. His hand still held yours, warm and reassuring, his grip firm yet gentle. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, managing a small smile. “Yes… it’s just strange, knowing they’re gone.”

Robb gave a small nod of understanding, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I understand. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have me. And this is your home now, as much as it is mine.”

His words, simple and steady, offered a strange comfort. You could feel the warmth of the Stark family around you—their quiet strength, their loyalty, and their acceptance. You had become a part of that now.

Turning back toward the castle, you took your place beside Robb, your hand still in his, as you watched Winterfell’s gates close behind the departing party. The future stretched out before you, uncertain yet filled with promise, and as Robb’s hand held yours, you knew you had chosen to meet it here, together.

The air hummed with hushed whispers and solemn faces of the men marking the grief that weighed on everyone’s hearts. Eddard Stark was dead. News of his execution had traveled through the ranks like wildfire, leaving an ache that no one seemed to be able to soothe. But for you, carrying Robb’s child, it had been an especially bitter blow. Lord Eddard had accepted you into his family with the quiet grace of a father, and his loss felt like a gaping wound.

You sat in your tent, hands resting gently on the swell of your belly, trying to steady your breathing as sorrow and dread churned within you. Outside, the camp was unusually quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of wind through the tents and the distant murmurs of soldiers preparing for the next move in the war that had now become personal.

The flap of your tent was suddenly pulled open with force, and you looked up, startled, to see Lady Catelyn storming in, her eyes blazing with fury. Her face, usually a mask of composure and strength, was contorted in anger, her voice shaking as she spoke.

“You,” she hissed, her tone low but brimming with rage. “How could I have let you stand beside my son, knowing what I know now?”

You stood, heart pounding, uncertain of what she meant. “Lady Catelyn… I don’t understand.”

“Oh, don’t you?” she snapped, stepping closer. “My husband is dead. My son lies broken in Winterfell. And every shred of evidence points to your family. Your Lannister family.”

The accusation cut through you like a knife, and you took a step back, your hand instinctively moving to protect your unborn child. “Lady Catelyn,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I had nothing to do with this. I grieve for Lord Eddard as you do.”

But Catelyn’s eyes remained cold, unyielding. “You expect me to believe that? You, a daughter of Cersei Lannister? Do you think I’m blind? The girl who grew up under her mother’s shadow, who has every reason to hate the North. And now, conveniently, you’re here, married to my son—carrying his child, no less. How do I know you’re not feeding information back to your family, plotting against us even now?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. The accusation was too sharp, too unfair, and it struck deep. You felt the sting of tears but held them back, meeting her gaze with as much strength as you could muster.

“I am loyal to Robb. To the North,” you said, your voice shaking but steady. “I left my family for him. I would never betray him.”

But Catelyn was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. “Loyal? A Lannister knows nothing of loyalty,” she spat, each word laced with bitterness. “I was a fool to think I could ever trust you.”

Just then, Robb burst into the tent, his face tight with worry. “Mother!” he said, glancing between the two of you. “What’s going on?”

Catelyn turned to him, her expression softening only slightly. “Robb, she is a Lannister. Can’t you see what that means? Do you truly believe she isn’t still loyal to her family?”

Robb hesitated, his gaze flicking to you, and the silence that followed was more damning than anything he could have said. His face was conflicted, shadows under his eyes from the strain of war and loss. “Mother… I know what this looks like. But Y/N has stood by me. She’s my wife.”

You felt relief for a brief moment, but then he continued, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “But… given all that’s happened, perhaps it would be best if she gave us her word… to clear any doubts.”

His words struck you like a slap, and the shock left you breathless. “Clear any doubts?” you repeated, your voice trembling as the realization dawned. He didn’t fully trust you either. After everything you’d shared, after all you’d sacrificed, Robb still harbored doubts.

The silence in the tent was suffocating, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “You think… you think I would betray you? That I would harm your family?” you whispered, pain lacing every word. You took a step back, your hand resting protectively over your stomach. “After all we’ve been through, Robb, you still don’t trust me?”

Robb’s face softened, regret and anguish flickering in his eyes. “Y/N… it’s not that I don’t trust you. But with all that’s happened, can you blame us for being cautious?”

The heartbreak in his gaze only twisted the knife deeper. You felt your chest tighten, a surge of anger and betrayal rising within you. “I have stood by you through every trial, Robb. I left my family, my home, and everything I knew to be with you. And now, when I need you most, you doubt me?”

His jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but you shook your head, the pain and betrayal overwhelming. Without another word, you turned and pushed past him, storming out of the tent, ignoring his calls for you to stop.

Outside, the cold air hit you like a wave, but it did nothing to numb the ache in your chest. You walked quickly, each step heavy with anger, with sorrow, with the weight of every accusation that had been hurled at you.

You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than being in that tent, surrounded by distrust and hurt. As you reached the edge of the camp, you stopped, pressing a hand to your stomach as you felt the first tear slip down your cheek.

The life inside you, the one that you had hoped would bring joy and unity, now felt like a painful reminder of the divide between you and the family you’d tried so hard to become part of.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron as Robb approached the makeshift cage where Jaime Lannister sat, bound and bloodied, his face shadowed but still holding that infuriating smirk that had become his signature. Grey Wind prowled by Robb’s side, a silent, menacing presence, his golden eyes trained intently on Jaime, teeth bared in a low, guttural growl that seemed to echo the barely restrained fury in Robb’s own gaze.

Jaime looked up as they approached, his smirk widening even as his wrists strained against the ropes that held him. “Ah, the Young Wolf,” he drawled, his voice tinged with amusement despite his bruises. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Robb’s expression was cold, his blue eyes piercing as he regarded his captive. “I thought it was time we spoke,” he said quietly, his tone even but laced with an edge.

Jaime leaned back against the bars of his cage, eyeing Robb with a sardonic tilt of his head. “And here I thought you’d just come to show off your impressive pet,” he said, gesturing toward Grey Wind. “Quite the beast, isn’t he?”

Grey Wind let out a low, warning growl, his fur bristling as he bared his teeth. Jaime held his gaze, unflinching, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes before he looked back at Robb.

Robb took a slow step forward, crossing his arms as he stared down at Jaime. “I didn’t come here to discuss my direwolf.”

“No?” Jaime’s brows lifted in mock surprise. “Then what, pray tell, did you come here to discuss?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a hard line. “Your family,” he said simply, his voice steady.

Jaime’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something sharper in his gaze. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice softening as he looked up at Robb. “And by family, I assume you mean my sister… or perhaps my nieces and nephews?” His smirk returned, colder now. “How is she?”

Robb’s eyes flickered, a mixture of anger and something else lurking beneath the surface. “She’s as well as can be expected,” he replied curtly, his voice taut. “Given the circumstances.”

Jaime’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward slightly, studying Robb’s face with a hint of genuine interest. “You’re treating her well, then? Not as… shall we say, a prisoner?”

Robb’s lips tightened, his expression darkening. “She’s my wife, Lannister. And she’s carrying my child. I don’t treat her like a prisoner. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who she is… or rather, whose she is.”

Jaime’s smirk froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed Robb’s words. “Oh?” he said, his tone carefully casual. “And who, exactly, do you think she is?”

Robb’s gaze was unyielding, his voice low and dangerous. “We both know that she’s not Robert’s daughter,” he said coldly. “No more than Joffrey or Tommen or Myrcella are his.”

Jaime held his gaze, the amusement in his expression fading as his eyes turned steely. “That’s a dangerous thing to say, Stark. Especially with so many ears around.” He glanced meaningfully at Grey Wind, who was still growling softly, his hackles raised.

“I’m not afraid of the truth,” Robb replied, his voice firm. “I know exactly what she is. She’s a Lannister—a daughter of your house. And yet here she is, sworn to the North, carrying a Stark child.”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though there was a new edge to it, a cold amusement that glinted in his eyes. “So, you know,” he said slowly, as though savoring the words. “And yet… you keep her close. Tied to you.” He leaned forward, his gaze probing. “Tell me, Young Wolf, what exactly do you think you’ll do if she’s truly my daughter?”

Robb’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to control his anger. “If she’s truly your daughter, then I’ll do what I must to protect my family,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, each word carrying a barely restrained fury.

Jaime’s eyes sparkled with something close to amusement. “Protect your family, you say?” He chuckled darkly. “You mean protect them from her? Or perhaps… protect her from you?” His voice dropped, his tone mocking. “How convenient, isn’t it? You don’t trust her any more than your mother does.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his silence only fueling Jaime’s amusement. “That’s what I thought,” Jaime murmured, his gaze sharp as he studied Robb’s face. “You married her, tied her to you with vows and promises… but you don’t truly believe she’s yours, do you?”

Robb’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. “She’s my wife. That’s all that matters.”

Jaime laughed, the sound low and scornful. “Oh, Robb,” he said, his voice laced with derision. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be here, would you? You’d be with her now, assuring her of your loyalty. But instead, you’re here, questioning me, looking for answers that only she can give you.”

Robb’s face flushed with anger, but he held his ground, his gaze unwavering. “She swore herself to the North, to my family. That’s the only loyalty that matters now.”

“Is it?” Jaime asked softly, his voice a mocking whisper. “Or is that just what you tell yourself, so you don’t have to face the fact that she could never truly be yours?”

Robb’s face hardened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might strike Jaime, his fists clenched, his breathing harsh. But instead, he stepped back, his gaze cold and unyielding as he looked down at the man who had sown so much pain in his family.

“Whatever you think, Lannister,” he said, his voice a low growl, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one in chains, not her. And no matter what she is, she’s bound to the North now. She’s my wife. And the North protects its own.”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with a faint sadness as he leaned back against the bars of his cage. “If only you believed that,” he murmured, his gaze drifting off as though lost in thought. “If only she did too.”

Robb turned away, Grey Wind falling into step beside him, the direwolf’s growls fading as they left the cage. But Jaime’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind, each syllable a reminder of the doubts he’d tried so hard to bury.

You sat alone in your tent, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was a silence you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks—ever since the accusations, ever since Robb’s words had driven a wedge between you that neither of you had been able to bridge.

You’d barely spoken since then, passing each other with brief, polite nods, or exchanging only the most necessary words. It was as if a gulf had opened between you, an invisible barrier that neither of you knew how to cross. And yet, here you were, sitting in that quiet space, waiting.

Finally, you heard the soft rustle of footsteps outside, and Robb stepped into the tent, his face half-shadowed but unmistakably weary. He paused at the entrance, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, the familiar warmth that once lay between you seemed to flicker back to life. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the animosity and the silence in its wake.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight as if he were unsure whether to approach or keep his distance. “I thought it was time we talked,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the edges of the shawl draped over your shoulders. “It has been… a while,” you replied quietly, feeling the weight of the unspoken words settle heavily between you.

Robb stepped closer, his expression guarded, his gaze flicking to your stomach for the briefest of moments before returning to your face. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of regret. “I never wanted… distance between us.”

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “And yet, here we are,” you said softly, the hurt you’d buried these past weeks slipping into your tone.

Robb looked down, his fists clenching briefly before he took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been hurt by… everything that’s happened,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t want you to feel like… like you’re alone.”

“But I am alone, Robb,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them. “Every time you look at me, I see it in your eyes. You don’t trust me—not truly.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” You met his gaze, your voice trembling with the emotions that had been bottled up for far too long. “I left everything behind for you. My family, my home, everything I knew. I made that choice because I believed that we could build something here together. But now…” You swallowed, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Now I feel like a stranger in my own life.”

He looked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists as he listened to your words. “You know the situation we’re in. Everything that’s happened—the war, the betrayal, the losses—it’s… complicated. I have to be careful, I have to protect my family, my men. I can’t just ignore—”

“Ignore what?” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. “Ignore the fact that I’m a Lannister? That I have my mother’s blood in me?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, and you forced yourself to take a steadying breath. “If that’s all you see, Robb, then maybe you never really saw me at all.”

The hurt in your words seemed to strike him, his face tightening as he finally looked back at you. “I do see you,” he said, his voice raw. “And that’s the hardest part, because I don’t want to doubt you. But I have to think of my people, of my family. And with everything that’s happened…”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his doubt settle over you like a shroud. “I thought you loved me,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

“I do love you,” he replied, a note of desperation in his voice. “But…”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a sadness that seemed to echo the empty spaces between you. “But you don’t trust me,” you finished quietly. “And without trust, what is love?”

He flinched, the pain in his expression undeniable, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, filled with the words neither of you could bring yourself to say. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his love for you and the loyalty he held to his family, his duty. And in that moment, you understood.

Robb loved you—there was no doubt of that. But his love was conditional, bound by the walls of mistrust that he couldn’t bring himself to tear down. And it hurt, more deeply than any wound you’d ever borne.

“You think I could betray you,” you said, your voice trembling. “You think I could harm the family I chose—the family I swore to protect. And you think that because of my blood.” You looked away, the bitterness swelling in your chest. “But blood is not the same as loyalty, Robb. And I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

Robb took a step forward, his hand reaching out to you, but you pulled back, the pain too fresh, too raw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you replied, your voice hollow. “But here we are, standing on opposite sides of a war we never asked for, bound by promises that have become chains.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to die on his lips, leaving only the anguish in his gaze. For a moment, he looked as if he might reach for you again, but then he hesitated, his hand falling back to his side.

“I wish… things were different,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you looked at him one last time. “So do I,” you replied, your voice breaking. “But wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Without another word, you turned and left the tent, the cold air stinging your face as you stepped into the darkness. The weight of his mistrust settled heavily over you, suffocating the hope that you’d once held so close.

You walked through the camp, the sounds of soldiers and the crackle of fires fading into the background as you tried to process the reality of your situation. Robb might love you, but that love was fractured, shadowed by doubts he couldn’t seem to overcome. And for the first time, you realized that perhaps… you could never truly belong here, no matter how hard you tried.

As you looked out over the camp, the fires casting flickering shadows over the tents, you felt the beginnings of a resolve take root within you. If Robb couldn’t trust you, then you would have to trust yourself. Because at the end of the day, that might be all you had left.

And as much as it hurt, you knew that you couldn’t keep waiting for him to see you—not if he refused to look beyond the name you’d left behind.

The camp was quiet as you made your way through the rows of tents, the early morning mist clinging to the air. The soldiers were still sleeping or stirring groggily, barely aware of your presence. You walked with purpose, your mind a whirlwind of doubt, hurt, and uncertainty. Robb’s mistrust weighed heavily on you, and despite all you’d given up to be here, you felt more alone than ever.

At the far edge of the camp, beneath the watchful gaze of guards, lay the makeshift cage where Jaime Lannister was held. He looked up as you approached, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and a touch of amusement, even in the dim light of dawn. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, yet he held himself with a casual arrogance that only Jaime Lannister could muster in such a situation.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning back against the bars with a lazy smile. “Look who’s come to visit.”

You folded your arms, keeping your expression guarded. “You’re not exactly in a position to be smug, Uncle.”

“Oh, but I am,” he replied smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “You wouldn’t be here unless something was bothering you. And I’m willing to wager it has to do with a certain Stark boy.”

You stiffened, unwilling to let him see how deeply his words affected you. But Jaime was perceptive, and the small flicker of pain in your eyes did not escape him. He tilted his head, the lazy smirk giving way to something more serious, a flicker of understanding.

“Let me guess,” he said softly, his voice losing its mocking edge. “Robb’s questioning your loyalty. Treating you like you’re as much a prisoner here as I am.”

You looked away, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaime leaned forward, his eyes searching yours with a surprising amount of empathy. “You gave up everything for him, didn’t you? Left your family, your title, everything you knew. And still, he doesn’t trust you.”

You clenched your fists, a surge of resentment rising within you. “He says he loves me, but… love without trust? What kind of love is that?”

Jaime let out a soft, bitter laugh. “It’s the kind that makes you feel like you’re suffocating, like no matter what you do, you’ll never be enough.” He paused, his gaze softening as he studied your face. “You and I… we’re not so different, you know. Both bound by loyalty to families who would see us suffer before they’d let us be happy.”

You frowned, struggling to reconcile the man before you with the image of the arrogant Kingslayer you’d grown up around. “You speak of loyalty, yet you killed your king. You betrayed your own oath.”

Jaime’s smile faded, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of pain, of anger, of regret. “I did what I had to do,” he said quietly, his voice hardening. “Some oaths are worth breaking when the price is too high.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in as you considered your own situation. Jaime was a man who had been defined by the choices he made, choices that had earned him scorn, hatred, and the infamous name of Kingslayer. But beneath the arrogance and the sneer, there was a man who had made those choices for reasons only he could understand.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Because I see what’s happening to you,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “They’ll turn you into a prisoner of their war, of their distrust. And you’re too much your mother’s daughter to let that happen, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, his words striking a nerve. The mention of your mother brought a rush of conflicting emotions—loyalty, resentment, and a longing for the life you’d left behind.

Jaime’s voice softened, almost conspiratorial. “You could go back, you know. Back to King’s Landing. To your family. You wouldn’t be bound to this endless winter, this… constant doubt.”

“I chose this,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice was weaker than you’d hoped. “I chose Robb. I chose to be here.”

“But does he truly want you here?” Jaime’s question was gentle, almost pitying, and it cut through you like a knife. “Or does he see you as a pawn in his game, a piece that’s convenient when it suits him and expendable when it doesn’t?”

Your heart ached as his words struck closer to the truth than you wanted to admit. You thought back to all the moments Robb had hesitated, the doubt in his eyes, the subtle distance that had grown between you. It was as if no matter how much you tried, you could never truly be a part of this world.

Jaime watched you in silence, his gaze sharp and perceptive. “You’re not meant to be here,” he said softly. “You don’t belong among these people who see you as an outsider. You belong with your family, where your blood means something.”

You looked down, your hands trembling as you grappled with the reality of his words. You had tried so hard to be loyal, to be the wife Robb needed, to make a life in the North. But Jaime’s words stirred something within you—a reminder of the life you’d left behind, of the ties that had bound you long before you’d ever heard of Winterfell.

Jaime leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me go,” he said, his tone urgent. “Free me, and I’ll take you back to King’s Landing myself. Back to Cersei, to your brothers and sister. To a place where you’re loved, where you’re trusted.”

You looked up, your heart pounding as his words hung heavy in the air. There was a gleam of determination in Jaime’s gaze, an invitation—a promise. He was offering you a way out, a chance to escape the prison you’d unwittingly found yourself in, a chance to return to the world you’d left behind.

But even as the temptation washed over you, doubts clouded your mind. Could you truly abandon everything you’d chosen? Could you betray the family you’d tried so hard to make your own?

Jaime watched you, his gaze unwavering, his expression unreadable. “What will it be, Y/N?” he murmured, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the silence. “Are you truly one of them… or are you still one of us?”

The question lingered in the air, the choice hanging heavy between you. And as you met Jaime’s piercing gaze, the weight of his words pressed down on you, leaving you teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

The tension in the war tent was crackling as Robb gathered with his bannermen, discussing the latest strategies and plans for their campaign. The low light from the candles cast shadows over maps spread out across the table, each marked with strategic positions and paths. Robb stood at the head of the table, his gaze focused and intense, while you stood behind one of the lords, quietly listening as the men argued and discussed. You felt the familiar weight of being an outsider, especially in moments like these.

Just as Lord Karstark was outlining a possible maneuver, the flap of the tent burst open, and a guard rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed, his face pale. “My king!” he called out, his voice filled with urgency.

Robb straightened, his brow furrowing. “What is it?” he asked, his tone sharp.

The guard hesitated, glancing between Robb and the lords gathered around him before finally finding the courage to speak. “The Kingslayer… he’s gone. He’s escaped.”

A stunned silence fell over the tent, and every eye turned to Robb, who stiffened, his face darkening with shock and fury. His gaze immediately swung toward you, the unspoken accusation in his eyes cutting like a blade. For a brief, terrible moment, you felt the weight of that suspicion settle over you, his silent question echoing in the depths of your heart: Did you have a hand in this?

But before either of you could say a word, the guard continued, his voice shaky. “It was Lady Catelyn, my lord. She… she freed him.”

The room erupted into an uproar, the lords shouting in outrage and disbelief. Lord Karstark, his face twisted in fury, slammed his fist onto the table. “Lady Stark? She freed the man who killed my sons? This is madness!”

“Your mother’s gone too far, Robb!” Lord Umber growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. “She’s betrayed us all, and she’s released the only valuable bargaining piece we had.”

The tent filled with accusations and anger, each man speaking over the other, their voices rising in a chaotic swell of fury and disbelief. Robb stood in silence, his face pale as he absorbed the news. He looked stricken, a storm of emotions brewing in his gaze—shock, anger, and betrayal, all flashing across his face in an instant.

You lowered your gaze, the sting of his earlier suspicion still fresh in your heart. Despite knowing that the truth had been revealed, Robb’s silence, his initial reaction, lingered like an unhealed wound. The fact that his first instinct had been to turn to you, to wonder if you had betrayed him, left a bitter taste in your mouth.

One of the bannermen, his voice loud and furious, called out, “Your mother’s actions could cost us everything, Robb. If we lose because of this, it’ll be blood on her hands.”

Robb’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he struggled to maintain control. “Enough!” he shouted, his voice ringing out above the chaos. Silence fell as the lords turned to him, each of them brimming with anger and frustration.

Robb took a deep, steadying breath, his gaze hard and unyielding as he looked around the room. “I understand your anger. Lady Stark’s actions were… unexpected.” He hesitated, his voice thick with barely suppressed fury. “But she is still my mother. We will not turn on her.”

Lord Karstark, his face a mask of bitter rage, stepped forward. “My king, with all due respect, this isn’t just about you or your mother. This is about justice. Your father’s justice, which she’s undermined by letting that… that Kingslayer walk free.”

Robb’s gaze flicked to you for the briefest of moments, and you could still see the shadow of doubt lingering there, a remnant of his initial suspicion. The silent accusation was gone, but the sting remained, a reminder of the fracture between you that no apology could fully mend.

You kept your gaze lowered, refusing to meet his eyes. The anger of the lords and Robb’s initial reaction had cemented a sense of isolation within you, a quiet resignation that you might never truly be trusted here. Not as a Lannister. Not as his wife.

Lord Umber turned to Robb, his voice softer but no less intense. “What will you do, then? How will you salvage this?”

Robb’s jaw clenched, the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. “I’ll send men after Jaime,” he said, his voice cold and resolute. “I’ll do everything I can to bring him back.”

The lords muttered amongst themselves, some nodding, others still simmering with anger. Robb turned to the guard. “Have all patrols doubled. Every man we can spare will search for Jaime Lannister. He won’t make it far.”

The guard nodded, bowing quickly before leaving the tent. The lords watched Robb carefully, their gazes sharp and unforgiving. They were looking to him to make a decision, to show strength, but you could see the toll it was taking on him.

In the charged silence that followed, Robb turned to face his bannermen fully, his expression steeled. “I know this seems like a betrayal,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a slight tremor beneath the calm. “But we can’t let this tear us apart. We’ll recover from this. We have to recover from this, or we’ve already lost.”

The lords murmured their reluctant assent, though the bitterness in their gazes remained. As they began to file out, some cast sidelong glances at you, their expressions a mix of suspicion and disdain. It was clear that for many of them, a Lannister among the Starks would always be viewed as a potential threat.

Finally, the tent cleared, leaving you alone with Robb. The silence was heavy, his back turned to you as he stared at the maps on the table, his hands gripping the edges tightly. His knuckles were white, and you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Robb…”

He didn’t turn, his voice low and raw. “You knew, didn’t you?”

The accusation stung, and you flinched, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know she would do this. I only spoke to Jaime once—”

“You spoke to him?” He turned, his eyes blazing, the hurt and betrayal clear in his gaze. “After everything, you went to him?”

“I went to speak to him, yes,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “But I didn’t know she would let him go. I swear it, Robb.”

For a moment, he looked away, his expression torn, and you could see the struggle in his eyes as he fought to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that had festered between you. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion. “My father is dead, my brother is crippled, and now my mother has freed the one man who could have given us leverage. And then… there’s you.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away. “I’m not your enemy, Robb. I wanted this to work. I wanted to be part of your family, of this… but I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough.”

He looked at you, his expression softened by the faintest glimmer of regret, but the doubt still lingered, a shadow that neither of you could banish. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t know how to trust you.”

The ache in your chest deepened, and for a moment, the distance between you felt insurmountable. You nodded, turning away from him, feeling the weight of all that had gone unspoken settling heavily on your shoulders.

In the silence, you left the tent, leaving Robb alone with his doubts, the wound between you left unhealed and festering, the echoes of mistrust lingering in the cold Northern air.

The night was cold as Robb stormed into his mother’s tent, his face set in a hardened mask of fury and disbelief. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced on the canvas walls, giving his expression an almost spectral intensity. Catelyn sat at a small table, her face pale but composed, as if she’d been waiting for this confrontation.

She looked up as he entered, her eyes steady, but Robb could see the quiet resolve and sadness in her gaze. She rose, meeting his gaze head-on, even as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"Why?" His voice was low, laced with betrayal and anger. "Why did you do it, Mother?"

Catelyn’s expression didn’t falter. She clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath. "I did it for your sisters, Robb. For Sansa and Arya."

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a barely restrained fury. "You let the Kingslayer go. You released the one man who could give us leverage against the Lannisters, who could help us end this war. You went against me, against your king. All for what? A promise from Jaime Lannister?”

Catelyn’s face softened, but she held her ground. "You weren’t there, Robb. You didn’t see Sansa’s letter. You didn’t hear the desperation in her words. She’s trapped in that viper’s nest, held by the very people who murdered your father." Her voice wavered slightly, though her gaze remained resolute. "And Arya… we don’t even know where she is. If there’s a chance that Jaime’s freedom could bring them home, I had to take it."

Robb shook his head, disbelief etched in every line of his face. "A chance? You traded our best leverage for a chance? And what of the lives lost in this war? The men who followed me, who died believing we’d bring justice to our family, that we’d make the Lannisters answer for what they did?”

Catelyn’s expression faltered, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "Do you think I’ve forgotten that?" she whispered. "Do you think I’ve forgotten the men we’ve lost, the sons and fathers who’ve given their lives for this cause? But they did it for more than just vengeance, Robb. They did it to protect our family, to bring your sisters home. And if freeing Jaime means I have to make sacrifices, then so be it.”

"Those sacrifices weren’t yours to make," Robb shot back, his voice rising. "You put everything at risk. You put us at risk. Your sons, your people, our cause… all of it thrown away for a promise that Jaime Lannister might help us? Did you think of what it would cost us if he betrays us?”

Catelyn’s composure slipped, and her voice rose in response, tinged with frustration and sorrow. "And if I did nothing? What then, Robb? Leave Sansa in the lion’s den, to suffer at their mercy? Let Arya’s fate remain unknown, just a shadow in our minds? I couldn’t sit idly by, not when there was even a glimmer of hope."

"Hope?” Robb’s voice was sharp, his gaze unyielding. "Hope that the man who threw Bran from a tower, who killed Karstark’s sons, would suddenly grow a conscience? Did you even stop to think of the betrayal that would bring upon us all? Or was that outweighed by a promise Jaime made while bound in a cage?”

The words hung between them, thick with accusation, and Catelyn’s expression softened with regret, but she did not back down. "You weren’t there, Robb," she repeated, her voice quiet but firm. "Sansa is my daughter, your sister, and I will do anything—anything—to bring her back to us."

Robb’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to contain his emotions. "And what of me, Mother? Do I mean so little to you that you’d defy me, ignore my command, and risk everything we’ve fought for?”

Catelyn’s eyes softened, her own voice breaking as she spoke. "You are my son, Robb. My firstborn. I would do anything for you, you must know that." She took a step toward him, her voice pleading. "But you’re also a king now, and kings must make hard choices. I didn’t do this to defy you—I did it because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more of my children.”

Robb’s gaze was hard, but a flicker of understanding, of shared pain, crossed his face. “I am a king, yes. And as a king, I have to answer to my bannermen, to the people who follow me. And now they question me because of what you’ve done. They’re angry, furious that you would release the man who killed their kin. I cannot lead if my own family undermines me.”

Catelyn’s face fell, and for a moment, she looked vulnerable, her strength faltering. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Robb. But as a mother, I couldn’t stand by any longer. The Lannisters hold so much power over us… they hold our children, our family, and they’ve taken so much from us already. I just… I wanted to bring some of them back.”

Robb’s expression softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of sympathy breaking through the storm of his anger. But he quickly steeled himself, his face hardening once more as he took a step back, putting distance between them.

"Do you realize what you’ve done?" he asked quietly, his voice cold. "You’ve cost us our advantage. You’ve sown doubt among my men, our allies. You’ve put everything I’ve built at risk, all for a promise that might mean nothing.”

Catelyn’s gaze wavered, but she held his gaze, her face etched with sorrow. "Then I will bear that burden," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I will live with the consequences of my actions, Robb. But I did what I thought was right, as a mother.”

Robb’s eyes filled with pain, and he shook his head, his voice raw. "Right or wrong, you’ve betrayed me, Mother. And I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and final, and Catelyn looked away, her expression crumbling as the weight of his accusation settled over her. She took a shaky breath, struggling to hold back tears, but she did not try to defend herself further. She simply nodded, accepting his words, knowing that nothing she could say would change his mind.

Robb turned, his face as cold as the Northern wind, and without another word, he left the tent, leaving his mother behind, her shoulders slumped as she sank into a chair, the quiet grief settling over her like a shroud.

Outside, Robb took a deep breath, the anger and sorrow swirling within him, leaving him feeling hollow and adrift. He had lost his father, he had lost his trust in his wife, and now… he had lost faith in his own mother.

And as he stood alone in the darkness, he wondered how much more he could lose before there was nothing left of him at all.

The morning sun was a pale, cold light filtering through the muted haze that settled over the camp. It did little to warm the chill that seemed to grip Robb as he strode toward the war tent, the echoes of the previous night’s confrontation with his mother weighing heavily on him. His heart felt raw, torn between duty and family, and now he had to face his men, men who questioned his leadership, men who waited for him to set things right.

Inside the war tent, his bannermen were already gathered around the table, their expressions grim and expectant. Lord Karstark was there, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with anger, while Lord Umber stood with his arms crossed, his face hard and unyielding. They turned as Robb entered, offering him a nod of respect, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Robb took his place at the head of the table, looking out at the men who had pledged their loyalty to him, who had sacrificed for him. He could feel their resentment simmering, the weight of his mother’s betrayal casting a shadow over his authority. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared to address the situation.

“We’ve lost Jaime Lannister,” he began, his voice firm, though he kept his tone measured. “I won’t pretend that this isn’t a setback. We lost a valuable bargaining piece, and I understand your anger. But we cannot allow this to break us.”

Lord Karstark scoffed, his voice filled with bitterness. “A setback? Your mother has let the very man who murdered my sons slip through our fingers. This is more than a mere setback, Robb.”

Robb clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his composure. “I understand, Lord Karstark. I share your anger. But Jaime Lannister is gone. Wasting time on anger won’t bring him back.”

Lord Umber leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps it’s time we consider other options, my king.”

Robb’s gaze flicked to him, his brows furrowing. “What other options?”

Umber exchanged a look with Karstark, then turned back to Robb, his expression calculating. “The Kingslayer may be gone, but we still have… another Lannister close at hand.”

Robb’s heart stilled, a flash of unease tightening his chest. “What do you mean?”

Karstark’s mouth twisted into a grim smile, his voice cold and unfeeling. “Your wife, my king. She carries the name Lannister in her blood as much as the Kingslayer did. If you want to draw Tywin Lannister out, what better way than to use her as bait?”

Robb’s face paled, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of what his bannermen were suggesting. “You’re speaking of my wife,” he said, his voice low, dangerously quiet. “The mother of my child.”

Lord Karstark shrugged, unperturbed. “She’s also a Lannister. Do you think Tywin would stand idly by if he knew his granddaughter is in our hands?”

Lord Umber nodded, his tone practical, almost cold. “Think about it, Robb. This is war. Your personal feelings can’t come before the needs of the North. If using the girl could give us an advantage, then we should consider it.”

Robb’s fists slammed onto the table, his face contorted with anger as he looked from one man to the next, his voice shaking with fury. “She is not a pawn. She is my wife. She is carrying my child. And you would suggest using her like a bargaining chip?”

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but Lord Karstark remained defiant, his gaze unwavering. “With respect, my king, this isn’t a game. We’re fighting for our survival, for justice. If we have a weapon we can use against the Lannisters, we should use it.”

Robb’s voice was ice, a low growl that cut through the room. “No. I will not hear any more talk of this. My wife is under my protection, and she is a part of this family, as much as any of you.” He turned his gaze to each of them, his eyes fierce. “If any of you even consider acting on this suggestion, I will see it as an act of treason.”

Silence fell, the men visibly taken aback by the ferocity in Robb’s voice, but Karstark refused to back down entirely. “You’re a young man, Robb,” he said, his tone bitter. “A young man who has let his heart cloud his judgment. War requires sacrifice. You cannot afford to place one person above the entire North.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with barely restrained rage. “I know the cost of war, Lord Karstark. I’ve buried men I’ve called my brothers, seen lives destroyed, families torn apart. But I will not sacrifice my wife and my child on the altar of your vengeance.”

Lord Umber’s voice softened, though there was still a note of caution. “We’re only suggesting that we consider all options, my lord. No one wants to see harm come to your lady, but if we’re to win this war, we need every advantage we can get.”

Robb took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger as he looked around at his bannermen, his voice tight with restraint. “I understand the risks. But we will find another way. I will not allow my wife to be used as a tool in this war. This discussion is over.”

The lords fell silent, some looking away, others muttering under their breath, but none dared to argue further. Robb could feel the weight of their disappointment, their doubt. But he stood firm, unwilling to compromise on this matter, no matter the cost.

Lord Karstark shook his head, his voice a quiet mutter filled with disdain. “You’re a fool if you think you can win this war with a conscience, Robb. This is a mistake, and it may well be the death of us all.”

Robb’s gaze hardened, his eyes like steel as he met Karstark’s glare. “Then so be it,” he replied, his voice unyielding. “I’d rather face death with honor than live knowing I betrayed the people I swore to protect.”

The lords exchanged glances, some nodding in reluctant acceptance, while others looked away, their expressions a mix of anger and disappointment. Robb could feel the rift growing between him and his men, the chasm widening with each hard choice he made. But he knew, in his heart, that this was the right decision.

As the bannermen began to file out of the tent, Robb stood in silence, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he struggled to steady himself. The weight of his choice pressed heavily on him, and he felt the creeping isolation that came with command, the loneliness of standing by one’s principles in a world that demanded compromise.

When the last of the lords had gone, he let out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping as the anger drained from him, leaving only the ache of weariness in its place. He had chosen to protect you, to keep his promise, but at what cost? His bannermen’s loyalty was waning, and the unity he had once relied on was beginning to fracture.

Yet he knew, as surely as he knew the North’s bitter winters, that he could not—would not—allow harm to come to you. Not even for the sake of his war.

...

The early morning mist clung to the ground as you stood in the quiet edge of the camp, saddling your horse with hands that trembled only slightly. The air was cold, stinging your skin, but it felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. Each buckle, each strap you tightened, was a silent answer to the questions you hadn’t been able to voice aloud. You knew this wasn’t a decision that could be made lightly, but after days—weeks—of silence, mistrust, and feeling like a stranger in your own life, it was a decision you had to make.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps behind you, and you paused, a chill running through you that had nothing to do with the air. Turning slowly, you saw Robb standing there, his face pale, his expression etched with disbelief and something close to panic. Behind him, at a distance, Catelyn had stopped, her gaze fixed on you with a mix of sorrow and regret.

“What are you doing?” Robb’s voice was low, strained, as if he could barely bring himself to ask the question.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you turned to face him. “I’m preparing my horse, Robb. I think it’s time… I think it’s best if I leave.”

The words seemed to hit him like a blow, his face paling further as he took a step closer, his voice shaking with urgency. “You’re leaving? But… you’re heavy with child. You can’t just ride out like this.”

Your hand instinctively moved to rest on the curve of your belly, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the love you had once shared so freely with the man standing before you. “I have no other choice,” you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “You doubt me, Robb. You’ve doubted me for weeks, maybe even longer. I can’t stay where I’m not trusted. Not like this.”

Robb’s expression crumbled, and he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. “I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered, his voice thick with desperation. “I know… I know I’ve made mistakes, that I’ve let my own fears blind me. But please, don’t do this.”

You looked away, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “How can I stay, Robb? How can I raise our child in a place where my loyalty is constantly questioned? Where every glance feels like a reminder that I don’t belong?”

Robb’s hand found yours, his grip gentle but firm as he held you close. “Because I love you,” he said softly, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability you hadn’t heard in weeks. “I love you more than I can say. And I know I’ve been a fool. But… please, don’t punish me for that by leaving.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and the anguish in his eyes struck deep, stirring memories of the love you’d shared—the warmth, the laughter, the quiet moments of solace and comfort that had once filled your life together. But those memories felt distant now, like echoes of a life that had slowly slipped away.

“I’m not punishing you, Robb,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m trying to protect myself. And our child. I can’t… I can’t keep waiting for you to trust me when every day feels like a test I’m doomed to fail.”

Robb shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “No. You’re not doomed to fail. You’re the woman I chose, the woman I love. And… you’re the mother of my child.” His voice broke, and he looked down, swallowing hard before meeting your gaze again, his eyes filled with tears. “Please… don’t take that away from me.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything you’d both lost, everything you still had yet to say. You could feel his desperation, the silent plea in his gaze, begging you to stay, to forgive, to give him one last chance. Behind him, Catelyn watched silently, her face shadowed with regret and sadness, but she said nothing, merely bearing witness to the fracture between you and her son.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours, the familiar strength and comfort you’d once found in his touch. But there was still the lingering ache, the wound of betrayal that hadn’t yet healed, the knowledge that even now, doubt lay between you like a dark chasm.

“I don’t know if love is enough, Robb,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet his gaze, your voice trembling. “Love without trust… what kind of life would that be for us? For our child?”

Robb’s face crumpled, and he took a shaky breath, his voice raw. “Then let me earn your trust back,” he said, his words filled with a quiet, desperate hope. “Give me that chance. Stay. Please.”

The silence stretched between you, the decision hanging heavy in the air. You looked at him, at the man you’d once given your heart to, the man who had given you hope, love, a new life. But now… now there was so much pain, so much mistrust, that you couldn’t tell if those promises still held the same weight.

Your gaze drifted to the road beyond the camp, the path that would lead you back to your family, to the life you’d left behind. And then back to Robb, his eyes filled with silent pleading, his hand still holding yours, a reminder of everything you’d built together, of the future you’d dreamed of.

And as you stood there, torn between two worlds, the decision loomed, uncertain and unresolved, like the misty dawn stretching before you, waiting for you to choose which path you would take.

There will be another part with the ending if Y/N decides to stay. 😉

[eddies-ashtray]

Falling asleep on Eddie’s bed in the middle of the day and the sweet things that ensue after.

(CW: g!n reader, Eddie calls reader ‘pretty’ once). |0.8k|

♡*♡*♡

Eyes still closed, you smile lazily as you tune into the rattling and whir of the yellowed fan. Basically all it does is push around warm air, but its gentle gust brushing your bare shoulders pleases you nonetheless. Sometime in the early afternoon when you’d first dozed off atop Eddie’s covers it stood, unplugged, on his side of the bed.

You know he’s next to you before you’ve fully woken from your brief slumber. The dip in the mattress, the quiet scratching of a pencil on paper. These signs not only alert you of his presence but encourage you to blink your eyes open as you draw in a deep breath.

Your gaze settles at his hip. The curled edges of Eddie’s cut up band tee rest just below his waist, exposing a sliver of pale skin.

“Mmh,” you grumble, squinting up at him as the sunshine casts a glow across the bed. “What time is it?”

Eddie’s eyes, appearing much lighter as they soak up the glowing rays, crinkle in the corners as they meet yours, a smile playing at his lips. “Hey, sleepy.”

“Dopey,” you greet in jest.

He smiles bigger, squeezing his eyes shut as a quick breath escapes his nose.

“Very original.” Eddie’s deadpan tone does not match the delight kissing his features.

You shrug with some difficulty (only one shoulder lifts as the other is pressed into the bed), as if to say ‘What did you expect? It was right there.’

Rolling over onto your back, you stretch out like a cat, your whole body lengthening as your arms reach above your head, and release an involuntary groan of pleasure feeling as your muscles stretch.

Outside, trees rustle in the breeze and children shout and laugh as they play in the summer sun. They’re such nostalgic sounds they make your heart ache for the briefest of moments, like they’d evoked a sweet childhood memory which melted away before it could fully resurface.

Sensing his eyes on you, you peek back up at Eddie as your right hand comes to rest on your stomach, the left one falling palm-up by your side.

“You look pretty when you first wake up,” he expresses, all warmth and love.

“No way.” No one does. He just loves you.

“Yes way,” He mocks lightly as he stares down at you, his hand coming to settle over your forearm as he rubs his thumb into your skin.

You concede because you know you could both go back and forth like that forever. And because you’re too warm and feel too much like jelly to argue.

Instead, you sigh contentedly before pushing yourself up so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie.

Lolling your head onto his shoulder, you whisper, “Time?”

So apparently taken by your slightly puffy face, he’d likely forgotten you’d even asked.

Immediately, he extends his left arm out to you so you can read the watch settled on his wrist.

2:22pm.

Tugging his arm gently to your face, you press a quick kiss to his hand, “Thanks.”

He hums as you place your head back on his shoulder, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. Despite the warmth in the room the sound gives you chills.

“Watcha drawin’?” You sing-song, though you can see his sketchbook from this angle.

“Watcha think?”

You almost jest, say, feet, before you realize, “Are those my hands?”

They must be. You know it not because of how detailed the drawing is. It’s more of a sketch so far. You know it because of the ring on the middle finger.

Eddie had found it while thrifting and gifted it to you one day. It wasn’t a birthday or anniversary or holiday. Just a normal day in March. It was a particularly frigid day, all grey skies and icy window sills. You’d arrived at the trailer after your shift about 20 minutes before Eddie. But when he did arrive, he went straight to you, and he said, I got ya somethin’ with that charming smile of his, all fidgety and excited like he was about to open presents on Christmas day. And then presented you with that beautiful ring he’s so carefully sketching onto your graphite hands.

“Mhm. You’ve got nice ones,” he says, taking hold of one of yours and softly tracing the ridges of your knuckles before thumbing the silver ring. It never comes off.

Your heart aches in the best way. You feel so content being here with him. Napping on his bed and waking up to him drawing you, caring for you, loving you. You squeeze his hand in yours before tilting upwards to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Keep drawing, please?”

You can’t believe you get to sit here next to him in the middle of a balmy summer’s day while he presses pencil to paper with that rickety old fan sitting on your side of the bed.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this please reblog <3 & let me know what you thought!

Blurb masterlist

Main masterlist

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Pirate King! Jinwoo x Siren! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 032 ✦ ┆・

[ TW: Yandere Jinwoo, Violence , all Shadows Mentioned are in Human Form ]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 1 || Part 2♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Across the oceans with the stars as my guide, my Bride, I will find you ] ¡! ❞

Jinwoo was a huge mommy's boy, that's for sure. But like any other son, he also idolizes his father to the point that he begs Il-hwan to take him out to his mini ship trips to which the old man humors the little boy and teaches him how to be a good sailor.

Il-hwan often took Jinwoo in his short trips, mostly just to let the boy be more physically active. After all, young boys oughta be active to grow into healthy and happy men.

Well... That was until Il-hwan lost sight of Jinwoo who wandered off into the island the little boy was accompanying him into to deliver some goods.

While poor Sung Il-hwan's heart was about to burst from his chest— His son meanwhile... Was busy getting heart eyes and butterflies fluttering in silly little tummy.

Jinwoo was your typical idiot child after all, he is reckless and wanders off despite his father's strict orders not to be 10 steps farther away from him.

He just got curious at the pretty little shimmering shells on the sand that seemingly created a path for him to follow.

So what does he do? Duh, he follows it.

As he does so, Jinwoo carefully picks up each shell so he can turn them into a cute little seashell necklace or crown for his baby sister who was just recently born. She's his little princess and he wants to make her as pretty as she possibly can because she is his baby angel.

While picking up the last shell, Jinwoo was startled and fell back when he heard a splash on the waters. He thought for sure that it is his father but instead he was met with a curious gaze peeking behind a moss-covered rock. The orbs were wide and beady, similar to his but more naive. Adorned on the stranger's head were several pearls acting like a glittering stars against the lovely wet strands.

Jinwoo had dropped all the precious seashells he had picked up, but was too distracted on your gaze that the sheepish boy cant help but fumble around on himself.

"E-erm..." Jinwoo speaks up, but soon panicked as he saw your frightened expression. "W-wait, no, no... Don't be scared! I won't hurt you, promise!"

He says, hurriedly lowering himself and then stretching his tiny palms out to you to show that he meant no harm.

Well, how could such bright and round grey eyes show hostility anyway?

So, you also started fumbling around, pushing yourself closer to the curious human and pressing his palms against yours.

Jinwoo seemed to have had his breath hitch when your skins had touched. He kept sputtering out nonesense, before his tiny little digits intertwined with your with his face red to the very tip of his ears.

"Pretty..." Jinwoo mumbles shyly.

It was an odd language to you, but somehow you could tell that this curious little human was very gentle.

And when you beamed, he grins right after.

Innocent and lovely smiles on both your precious faces.

Jinwoo tugs at your hand, leading you to the water so you two could play. He didn't seem to care at the fact that both of you are two different species. While he had legs that could walk and run, you had a lovely tail that you use to traverse the lovely oceans.

You showed Jinwoo the prettiest parts of the waters, while he in turn showed you some tricks he could do. From hopskotch to doing cartwheels and climbing trees just to see you beam as he swung upside down.

Your voice was soundless, and he understood that you did that to protect his ears. There were stories that a siren's voice can burst one's eardrums unless you are bonded to one.

Jinwoo didn't know how long he played with you, but he eventually became tired and just curiously stared into your pretty and dreamy orbs seemingly carved out of the milky way while your foreheads are pressed together.

He then feels a swirl in his heart, a faint, blue glow eminating from underneath the fabric of his shirt. The boy realizes the peculiar feeling, looking down at himself.

But weirdly enough, he wasn't a tad bit alarmed at the mystical sight.

Just as he was about to ask you— Il-hwan's panicked and booming voice echoed from the forest behind the both of you and it instantly scared you away.

Jinwoo helplessly watched you dive into the waters, instantly disappearing into the distant blue.

As soon as Il-hwan sees his little boy, he immediately embraces a dumbfounded Jinwoo who was seemingly too frozen to say anything at all.

"Jinwoo, son, what has dad told—...." Il-hwan pauses, his words disappearing in his throat as he sees Jinwoo's tearful face.

"M-my siren"

"Siren?" Il-hwan scrunches his forehead.

"Dad, my siren!" Jinwoo yells, his face completely panicked as he starts to cry. "My siren, dad my siren! You have to get my siren back!"

"Jinwoo!..." Il-hwan's heart breaks at his son's wailing.

Jinwoo for one was never an insolent or needy child, he had always been good and obedient. Even a bit more closed off than most kids, he's a shy boy who never speaks much. But seeing the state of the poor child this distressed made Il-hwan's heart tremble with sadness.

All he could do was cradle the small boy who kept begging for him to find his dear siren.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo could never really forget that day, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't. Not that he would want to anyway. It would be the same memory night after night.

The sight of that precious siren, how his father spent hours trying to console him a she had his mental breakdown about his precious little 'Friend'.

He would grow into a fine young man, too fine in fact.

The desire to meet you again burned in his heart like a flame dancing in the pits of hell.

Jinwoo wants to find you.

Jinwoo has to find you.

He needs to.

After all, he worked several years earning a reputation in the seas as a cruel tyrant. Not that he is really a villain, no, in fact— He was just passing by a bunch of bastards trying to hijack his ship— The ship he spent hundreds of golds on in order for him to pursuit your missing figure. The nitwits just couldn't sit down and shut up for once.

He spent all of his youth practicing and preparing, researching as much as he can about sirens.

Their habitats, their breeding routes, and their most known locations.

Jinwoo is not an idiot, he actually returned to the very spot he had met you in but found no signs of siren activity. Not even a path of seashells was laid out anywhere even as he circled the shore hundreds of times.

Frustrating? Yes.

But nothing was more frustrating than the fact that all these fucking hooligan pirates were trying to ruin his chances of finding your precious existence in these vast oceans.

He can't waste time playing petty mind games and bargaining.

Jinwoo's gamble is him trying to find a sliver of your trace.

And as he stood bloodsoaked atop of the remains he had mauled so grotesquely, his head tilted upwards with the most faded and lifeless purple orbs gazing at the pouring rain— He felt a sharp stab at his chest.

"Captain!" Beru wails, dropping his sword as he hurriedly assisted his master who had almost collapsed on the floor.

"My liege, you've pushed yourself too much" Bellion says as he took off his cloak and draped it over Jinwoo's figure who was still clutching his chest as if out of breath. "I beg you, captain, please breathe."

"I can't rest not," Jinwoo grits his teeth, moaning in pain as he feels another sharp stab in his heart.

It felt as though his insides are being burned alive, roasting him from within while his heart throbbed like it had a dagger embedded in it's flesh twisting so torturously slow.

Between death and this pain, Jinwoo would have rather chosen the afterlife if it weren't for the fact that he's so fixated on seeking for his precious siren.

His crew would gather around, panicking and attempting to be of help but to no avail

Since eventually, Jinwoo would have passed out from the agony he feels.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"It's not looking good," Igris sighs, running his hand through his long strands after patching up Jinwoo's chest with a bandage. "His injuries are getting more severe by the day."

"Where did it come from?" Beru asks hastily, gritting his teeth. "Did my liege's siren curse him?"

"Far from it," Igris explains. "If the siren had indeed cursed captain, then there is no reason why his the skin directly on top of his heart would rot and create cracks like it's made of glass. The injury not only affects his heart, but also eats him from the inside out. The black ichor spilling out of the wound shows that this is a divine punishment"

"Divine Punishment?!" Beru bellows, his expression turning dark. "Our liege is a gentle soul, why would he of all the bastards of this godforsaken world would suffer such ailment?!"

"Beru, your temper." He sighs, pulling the blanket up to Jinwoo so that their captain could rest more easily. "He has not offended any god, nor is he being punished for his misdeeds."

He takes a deep breath, "It's the aftereffects of being seperated from their mate."

"Mate? But our liege is human?" Beru inquires, flabbergasted.

"Yes, but he has bonded with a siren" Igris scoffs, crossing his arms as if mocking Beru's lack of comprehension. "Our liege told us of the story, of how he met a lovely little siren his age when he was but a wee little lad. A glow suddenly emanated from his chest as if there was a star being planted in his body. That is a typical way for sirens to propose innocently. And our liege has wholly accepted the bonding ritual. Unfortunately, the siren had fled. Prolonged separation from one's mate can result in the symptom's our liege has been showing. His young body is strong hence why he could keep the injuries at bay most of the time. But it seems that our captain will reach his limit soon if we do not find that siren soon."

"...." Beru droops, feeling hopeless.

"Best we let him rest for tonight," Igris simply taps his shoulder, signaling for his colleague to leave the captain's quarters too.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo had woken up in the middle of the night, he was completely exhausted from the battle that took place in the afternoon.

He reached out and downed the mug of water waiting at his bedside before getting up and donning a coat over his shoulders to take a simple walk on the empty deck.

"Where are you, really?" Jinwoo sighs, bringing his finger up where a tiny little fish made of water playfully nuzzled his digit. "My darling bride, how am I to gift you all the treasures I've coveted if I cant even have you here, hm?"

Jinwoo had discovered that the little fish friend he had been secretly summoning from his heart was in fact a proof that he and the siren had bonded. If humans had their rings, sirens would have these little creatures as proof of sacramental union.

It was adorable, really.

Sure, one could say that he is only searching for the siren with the sole purpose of prolonging his life but that wasn't his goal.

No.

Even if the bond didn't exist, Jinwoo would still choose the same path as he does now.

If he dies, his siren would die too.

And as a stubborn, reckless and steadfast king of the pirates who even has power above the holy king himself— Jinwoo wouldn't back down in this.

So long as he sees a star twinkling above the unruly oceans, he will continue to sail in search of his precious bride.

꒰ A/N: Wont be making any fics for the next two weeks because exams yay but this will have a part 2 so dw and be patient xD... I'll let this marinate ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[awearywritersworld]

the man who embraced wickedness and the woman he used to know

sukuna x reader summary: sukuna is reunited with the only person who ever showed him kindness w/c: 1.25k tags/warnings: heian era!sukuna. angst to fluff. fem!reader. me trying my best to channel an 1800s romance novelist a/n: part 2 to the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth. i am once again asking that people check out the artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired these two fics. they also made some artwork inspired by part one, which makes me scream and cry and yell bc it's so wonderful. masterlist

it isn't until nearly two decades after your last encounter that sukuna finally musters the courage to return to the riverside. as he listens to the rush of the water, he hates the way it makes him feel— like the scared, powerless boy he once was.

he won't get too close. instead he stands at the edge of the forest, as if he can hide from his past among the trees.

he decides he must be dreaming when he spots a woman approaching the river, because even though he can see little more than her silhouette, he has no doubt that it's you.

he'd know you anywhere, in this life and the next.

he has no idea how long he stands watching you before he finally gathers the nerve to take a step in your direction.

you look over your shoulder and meet his eye once he's only a few yards away.

the expression that crosses your features is not unlike the one you wore when you first saw him— an earnest sort of wonder.

"it's you," you state as if you've been waiting on him to appear.

"you... remember me?"

"how could i forget?"

you approach him without fear or apprehension, and having you so close after all this time makes his heart race uncomfortably in his chest.

"are you well?" he questions, his eyes trailing down your body before flicking back up to yours. "you look it."

a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, your gaze falling to the ground bashfully. you rock on the heels of your feet before answering.

"i am well enough... and what of you?"

he's not sure that he's being entirely truthful when he replies, "i can say the same, i suppose."

"it pleases me to hear that you have not been suffering all this time. i must admit, i find that my thoughts still wander to you with remarkable frequency."

you laugh lightly at your own confession, fearing he may regard you as strange for it. on the other hand, he's thinking about how the sound of your laughter is the most beautiful thing he's heard since... well, since he last heard it.

"it is not rare for you to occupy the space of my own mind," he returns honestly.

you grab one of his hands, turning his palm up and running your thumb over the faint scar you find there. he hates the way it makes your face fall.

"i am sorry about that night, for what my father did to you. it was my fault for falling asleep—"

"don't," he stops you. "the fault lies only with me. i shouldn't have let him steal you away. i shouldn't have been so utterly weak—"

it's your turn to interrupt him and you press the pads of your fingers to his mouth to keep him from saying anything more.

"that is the farthest thing from the truth. you didn't deserve that. you deserved not one bit of the cruelty the village mercilessly showed you. you were only a boy, sukuna."

when your fingers fall from his lips, he doesn't try to speak. he doesn't trust that his voice won't betray him.

he can't remember the last time he heard his name spoken so familiarly, so warmly. it makes his throat feel tight.

the silence gives you an opportunity to take in the ways in which he's changed over the years.

his kimono and haori are pristine, a far cry from the rags he used to wear.

his frame is more than double the size of your own, and you know he's no longer living on scraps.

he stands tall, his posture straight and self assured, not that of someone who is feeble and frightened.

but you're not referring to any of those things when you point out, "you're different now."

and of course you're right, he just doesn't know how to tell you that the boy you used to spend your days with is gone. that the blood on his hands is no longer his own. that the person standing before you is nothing more than the monster the villagers always claimed him to be.

so he just nods in agreement and your eyes sparkle as you regard him with curiosity.

"i loved you, you know," you tell him sincerely.

your confession is painful to hear, because it reminds him of everything he lost that night.

"i could love you now, too." you reach up and caress his cheek, trying desperately to read the expression he's wearing. "if you'll let me."

for a moment, you think he might agree to your offer, but your hope is short lived.

"this... this was a mistake."

he turns to leave, intending to retreat to the shadows of the forest, but a small hand wraps around his wrist.

"no." your tone is forceful.

if only you knew what happens to most people who dare speak that word in his presence.

he doesn't say anything, so you add, "the only mistake you've made is waiting so long to come back to me."

he's surprised upon seeing the frustrated tears that well up in your eyes.

"we are but strangers to one another." his reminder stings and it shows plainly on your face. "and that is for the best, i assure you. you don't want to know me— to know the things i've done."

"i care not what you've done!" your voice is so loud, it sends a flock of birds fleeing from a nearby tree. "i care not what horrors loneliness may have driven you toward, because when we belonged to one another you were good. you were kind. you were—"

"stop." each of your words is like a knife in his chest, and his voice cracks from the ache of it.

"i will not! if your only intention was to reject me, why come here at all?"

"i don't know—"

"precisely! you want me, just as i want you. my devotion is yours, sukuna! there is no reason for you to reject that which i willingly give—"

"enough!" he barks at you, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders. you don't shy away from him, even in spite of the way his fingers dig into your flesh and his nose flares angrily.

"you believe that because you showed me a sliver of kindness when we were children that i should throw myself at your feet? your devotion means nothing to me! it does little more than inspire my disgust!"

the words taste like poison on his tongue, but he needs you to believe them.

he needs to believe them himself.

he pushes you away, and while it's not harshly enough to send your body flying to the grass, it does make you stumble backwards.

ire burns in your eyes and he thinks he's succeeded in his endeavor, but once he turns to leave, you're grabbing his wrist again and launching yourself against him.

your hands find his face and you pull his lips to yours despairingly. your bodies move together as if you've spent a lifetime in one another's arms.

then, he's pulling away from you. he's calling you a pathetic fool. he's looking at you with animosity.

but just as quickly, his lips find yours again and he grabs at the fabric of your kimono in an attempt to bring your body closer to his own.

you swear his hands tremble as they find a home on the curve of your hips.

once your lips part, he holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity.

resignation seems to dance across his features, but there's something else there too. desire? hope? longing?

you really can't say for certain.

"i am yours, and you are mine."

you're not sure if it's a question or a statement, so you offer him a slight nod of your head. "today and always."

[tvickiesims]

4t2 Seasonal Trees Collection (Giant)

Some of you asked me about this and I finally delivered! 🥳

This is a collection of 4t2 trees converted from Sims 4 in original textures and made seasonal. It is meant as an add-on to my 4t2 Default Replacement Flora because I didn't include trees already available there.

Key features:

66 Maxis seasonal trees

2 cc palms by Max20 (from his Poolside Lounge Pack)

6 dead trees (non seasonal but get snowy in winter)

5 tree lights (separate objects (lamps, found in lights-misc), show up in hood view)

Seasonal recolors for a lot of trees

Hood view enabled

Quarter tile placeable

Smoothed out meshes

Undersides for leaves

As always, I tried to follow real-life seasonness of plants but sometimes had fun with some states and textures, don't take it too seriously. Seasonal states are not pictured on purpose so you could discover them yourself, in their full glory.

Tree lights at night:

I put my whole heart and soul into these conversions and I hope they'll bring you joy as they do to me ☺️

@cora626 made a great video showcasing all of these trees, check it out here!

Compressed, clearly labeled, picture included.

Download at GoogleDrive

_ _ _

UPDATE 26/03/2024

Made Dead Hawthorn smaller and reset it's footprint (expanding it was a bad idea and the game was struggling), added 3 new trees - 2 Joshua Trees and a Huge Cactus. The archive was updated but if you only need the updated + new trees - they are here.

[reiincarnatiion]

shadows of destiny | azriel x reader | part three

summary: azriel jealous and yearning for Y/N

🧚‍♀️

a/n: sorry guys for the long assss wait, ive been on exchange in the uk so i have been busy living life hehe, still here and loving it!! hope you guys like this one, love you all cuties <33 also this isnt proof read so sorry for any mistakes! let me know what you think, i love all of your sweet messages !! eeeeeee

read : [part one] [part two]

-----🩷🧚‍♀️💗------

You woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and a parched mouth, confused as to how you had made it to your bed from last night. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over your room.

Groaning loudly, you cursed as you shifted your weight around, consequently turning your head to come face to face with Lucien's chiseled features, peacefully sleeping next to you. It took you a second to realize he was shirtless as well.

You screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His mechanical eye swirled open, followed by his other. "Tell me we didn't."

"DID what," Lucien murmured, a small smirk gracing his features as he stared up at the ceiling. Amusement danced in his eyes as he stretched languidly against the sheets. His morning rasp tingled inside you and nicked at you annoyingly. This could not have happened. The headache of whatever liquids and maybe even other substances you had consumed yesterday hit you hard, and you fell back to face the ceiling as well, nausea threatening to overwhelm you.

"You little slut, you know what I meant," you groaned, rolling onto your front in a feeble attempt to quell the oncoming headache and urge to vomit.

You felt Lucien shift next to you as well, attempting to detangle himself from the crisp black sheets of your bed. "We must have done it."

"NO Lucien."

"YES."

"NO, I CAN'T-"

"…why not," Lucien breathed out. His demeanor had changed since you last saw him sober; something had happened last night, and you could not remember, but he was acting differently.

"All I am saying is that last night made me realize things about you, Y/N…" he continued, rising from the sheets. You raised your eyes in horror, ready to scream because you did not want to get flashed by fiery dick-

-a pair of orange breeches came into view.

"Oh."

"Upset that we didn't actually sleep together, Y/N?"

An unknown feeling of red-hotness spread throughout your face, turning your cheeks pink. "I hate you, Lucien," you hummed.

"What did you realize, Lucien?"

"That I pretend to not care the way Azriel and Elain make heart eyes at each other, but on the inside, it's like a knife twisting inside me," he deadpanned, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"What???" he groaned, falling down next to you. "Nothing, Luc, I just feel sorry for us, that's all.

~

Azriel sat at the dining table, swirling the black coffee mindlessly. It was 2 pm, and his shadows had begun reporting how the others had finally begun stirring awake after their long night. They had gotten back at 5 am, the sun slowly beginning to peek through the trees and buildings of Velaris, and he had watched from afar as Lucien carried Y/N to her room.

He had not come out afterwards. His shadows had been in an unfamiliar frenzy, yelling to slip through and see what was happening in that bedroom, to investigate how good he gave it to her because Azriel just knew. He knew he could give it to her better.

He clenched his fists at the picture his shadows had painted for him of the events which probably had unfolded in her room. What was it with his sexual urges with Y/N all of a sudden? She was just his friend. She had always just been his friend. Maybe he had had a little crush on her before. Maybe when she would walk into a room and his palms would sweat, he would chastise himself for wearing too many layers. Or how when she used to make his heart beat irregularly, he would tell Rhys about anxiety. It was easier to let them think he had a disorder rather than admit feelings. Because maybe, just maybe he had had slight feelings towards her for centuries. But there was Elain now.

He liked Elain.

"Good Morning Azriel!" a sweet voice chirped, as Elain entered the dining room, a sweet tea held in her perfectly manicured hands. Even after a night out, she looked perfect. Her hair looked freshly blow-dried, and her lips tinted pink, looking fresh and kissable. He smiled gently, and her eyes brightened as she took a seat next to him, murmuring things about last night and how odd it was to see Lucien with Y/N.

"I just don't think he should have danced like that with her, what do you think?" she whispered, her eyes shining.

"I know it was disrespectful to you," Azriel nodded back, looking into her glassy doe eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he felt a sudden burst of movement from his shadows, but the warning wasn't quick enough as two figures walked into the room.

God, she looked horrible.

Elain let out a comical gasp, and the corner of his mouth lifted as Y/N walked into the room, her hair messy and disturbed, like someone had pulled on it, ran their hands through it. Her presence snatched on his gaze, it pulled it towards him, and Azriel found himself unable to look away.

Her eyes lazily dragged over Azriel, raking up his body, and never before had he felt so hot. But he did not break eye contact with her either, he maintained it, willing and daring her to break it first.

Their eyes met in a silent battle of wills, a tension simmering beneath the surface as they sized each other up. It was a fleeting moment, but it spoke volumes, leaving Azriel reeling in its wake.

"Lucien, can we talk?" Elain broke the silence.

Everyone blinked and looked at the innocent girl sitting down. Azriel watched as she looked into Lucien’s eyes, with her innocent look, and he mentally chuckled. She was doing damage control, and it was working because his shadows were reporting the increase in Lucien’s heartbeat.

“Of course,” Lucien whispered and pushed past Y/N, whisking Elain away out of the room.

Charged silence followed. Azriel went back to nursing his coffee which had gone cold now. He felt Y/N scoff and mutter something under her breath which sounded a whole lot like "bitch," as she moved around the place, into the connecting kitchen, trying to will the House to make her a cup of its strongest coffee. They didn’t say a word to each other, but Azriel could feel the tension in the air. He didn’t know where it had formed from, what abyss it had risen from, he just knew there was something that needed to be addressed between them before his head and his heart exploded.

“What was that from last night?” he let out a breath finally, his shadows jittering around the place. He looked up from his swirling black coffee to see Y/N cease her movements in the corner of the kitchen. Her short night dress, barely covering her ass, had ridden up as she had been bent over the kitchen bench. Azriel felt himself stiffen, so he looked away quickly, adjusting himself.

“What do you mean,” she replied, turning around with a neutral expression on her face, guarding her emotions. She carefully padded her way to the table, setting the coffee down and placing herself directly in front of him. Her scent wafted over him, and his jaw ticked, but he didnt show any emotion. His dark eyes bore into hers, his shadows fought to sift over her, wanting to know her thoughts, her feelings, her emotions. Alas, she showed nothing.

“You and Lucien…” he drawled out, pretending to ask nonchalantly.

“We just danced to Azriel, I was really drunk,” she whispered softly, placing her hands together on her lap.

“You emerged from the same room,” he replied calmly.

As she cocked her head to the side, her hair falling onto her face, time seemed to slow down. Her long eyelashes were stunning, and her deep eyes looked at Azriel with something so unsaid, that the raw intensity sent shivers down his spine.

Azriel knew at that moment that he could no longer leave these unanswered feelings of his left hanging. He wasn't a dumb male; if his body was responding to Y/N like this for so long, there was clearly a reason. And it was not a dumb crush.

He had forced himself to believe for so long, that Elain should belong to him. Three brothers for three sisters, that is what he would tell himself.

Yet something had shifted between them two, a subtle undercurrent that left Azriel reeling. It was something deeper, something undeniable. And as he met Y/N's gaze, he knew that he could no longer ignore the pull that drew him to her, the pull of something real, something worth fighting for.

--

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[crystallilytarot]

MDNI 18 +post

Your future partner's thoughts before and after your first night together. Choose an earring.

Pile 1 - leaf

I think they already have feelings for you. They want to be confident and a little bit dominant too, but they will feel nervous, so maybe things won't be so smooth as they expected to be. They probably planned your night before, bought things or maybe even get a reservation to a hotel or a nice restaurant. But they can be a little cutely awkward at first, because they dreamed about having sex with you, and they almost can't believe that it's finally happening.

After that night, they will feel better, because actually the night was quite good, even with their nervousness. They will feel tired, but also want to do it again, want to do it a lot. Again and again. They will find you even more attractive than before, they will fall in love with your body. And they will already know that they want to marry you one day. Or if you don't want marriage, than just to be with you for a long time. But I think they want to marry you and also have children with you. Their desire for you is even bigger than before. The definition of heart eyes because of you.

Pile 2 - moose

I think they wanted to be with you, way before than you were ready. But they actually care about you, so they will be patient. I think they are already in love with you, maybe you are already in a relationship, so it's not happening very early, not on the first date. They probably fantasized about you a few times. But not really about kinky things, they just want to pleasure you, want you to enjoy the sex. And they are sure that they would be a good match for you in bed. Sometimes they will caress you, hold your hands, very cuddly, but it's not always sexual, they just like to be close to you.

After that night, you both will be very happy. It's like you are connected to each other, not just your bodies, your souls too. You will talk a lot, just cuddling and talking about anything. And they will want to be with you like that forever. They will feel like it's heaven. You are their soulmate, they just want to be with you. You will only talk in the morning maybe, because you will be very tired, probably there will be at least 2 rounds. And they will feel like that was the best orgasm ever in their life.

Pile 3 - palm tree

They will try to impress you, probably there will be a lot of dates, gifts. They really want to be with you, not just sexually, they have plans, they want to be in a relationship with you. They are rather confident and maybe they thought you will be with them a little sooner, but they will wait, if you want to. They are the type, who don't give up, not in a creepy way, but they really want to be with you, and they aren't afraid to show you this. Strong sexual chemistry, sometimes they can't help it, you only touched their hands, and their thoughts will be already dirty.

After that night they will realize that they are really falling for you. The night will be like a dream come true, it will be even better than what they imagined. They will find your body very sexy. I think you will be in control at some point of the night too, and they will find this confident side of you very attractive. They are a confident person and they will be a little scared even, because he will catch feelings, but he isn't sure about your feelings. And they don't want it to be just a little fling, they don't want to loose you. But for some reason, they won't talk about this that night, so they will be a little nervous, but also they will know that you are the best thing that ever happened to them.