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kaysungshine · 2 days

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݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .☽ fae trap ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

{ Pairing } - Elf!Felix x Witch.afab!Reader

{ Genre } - Smut, Dark, Fantasy

{ Synopsis } - It is said, that if you ever find yourself inside of a fairy ring. The fae will punish you, by making you dance until you are passing out from exhaustion. But when you find yourself doing a different kind of 'dance' on the ground, in the middle of one, with the most beautiful creature you've ever seen you might add, you wonder; is this truly a punishment?

{ WC } - 7.7k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dubcon, aphrodisiac effects, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected sex (piv; do as I say, not as I write & pee after sex!), rough/hard sex, overstimulation, big dick felix, dacryphilia, talk of breeding & mating, talking of mating rituals, please don't touch fly agaric mushrooms, srsly they're toxic and deadly, possible incorrect french usage.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - For the love of all things skz. DO NOT EVER TOUCH FLY AGARIC/AMANITA MUSCARIA MUSHROOMS. THEY ARE TOXIC. DEADLY. This is also probably the darkest thing I've written on this account so far. But it doesn't feel inherently evil to me personally??? But it is enough to warrant a TW! This started off as a birthday oneshot for Felix. I'm starting to think I'm no good at oneshots. This could be left alone, but it could also be a series... I have so many world building thoughts, but idk if I wanna do that. What do you think?

Dusk was approaching as you made your way home from your walk.

You were blessed to own a cute little home, right on the edge of a beautiful and mysterious forest. Every day you were able to take nature walks, wandering through the treeline, exploring the vegetation. Collecting materials, making sure never to take too much of what the woodland had to offer. And caring for as much as you could, though you knew you were not essential to the survival of wilderness itself.

That didn't stop you from befriending the little critters who made their home there, or from essentially finding your own second home there.

You never brought anything with you to permanently invade nature. Instead you wrapped your daily essentials in a little bindle. It usually contained a hearty snack, a book or two, endless vials and jars, your cell, and a small emergency kit. Homemade salves, balms, and tonics included.

You always had some new shiny objects for your crow friends, making sure to exchange the gifts they left for you at your designated spot. And you always made sure to leave some nuts and seeds for the various rodents who liked to stuff their cheeks. Again, you didn't need to, but they really liked sweet black walnuts and salty peanuts in the shells. Who were you to deny them that treat!

Some days you brought select crystals with you, cleaning and recharging them in the streams of spring water. Other days you'd use that same water, sealing it in jars and leaving it nearby to make moon water overnight. Those were about the only two things you ever left in the forest, always making sure to come back the next day and retrieve them.

You always carry a little basket with you too. The forest was abundant in ingredients for many different things. Your favorite is mushrooms and fungi.

There were many times you'd find a log of an oak tree, fallen over and resting on the ground. A bunch of chicken of the woods growing on it. You'd collect them, taking them home to cook for dinner or other meals.

Other days you'd find lion's mane, and make sure to gather some for your favorite tincture to make and take. It did wonders for your anxiety.

You were a green witch through and through, and you were raised this way. You drew your energy and essence from nature, always taking little bits of it home.

Today was no different. Forgoing mushrooms, you instead had bundles of mugwort and a jar full of mulberries in your wicker basket. Wrapped in a little cloth were a bunch of spicebush berries.

You were nearing the last clearing within the woods, your house was about a ten minute walk away at this point.

The soft moss against your bare feet was grounding, and you were listening to the buzz and crackle of nightlife within the forest. Your white skirt ended at your knees, flaring out. The chiffon is blowing in the cool breeze. It was still tshirt weather, and that's exactly what you wore on top. A fitted one, pale and muted ivy green. You gave up on bras long ago, you were a solitary creature anyways. The friends who did visit never cared about your attire.

You were in your own world, playing a balancing game on a stump and humming to yourself, when flashes of red caught your eye.

In the clearing, scattered in a broken circle, was fly agaric.

Your heart fluttered at this rare find. You walk past this clearing daily, and never noticed any of the red mushrooms with white speckles there before.

Eagerly, you approach. In the back of your mind, warning bells are going off. Thinking back to childhood, of the stories your mom once told you of the fae folk. You'd encountered fairy rings before, but never of this type of mushroom, and never broken ones. Certainly never one so big. You never breached the little white rings in the past, not wanting to mess with entities so possibly mischievous.

But it would be fine right? This might not even be considered a fairy ring. It was sort of... circle-ish? But not really. There were so many gaps in between them, it wasn't a perfect circle like you'd seen in the past. And these mushrooms were so rare and so powerful, in so many ways. You could feel their energy radiating around you.

You glanced around, searching for any signs of immortal creatures lurking near. You saw and heard nothing, but that would be typical. They never willingly reveal themselves, in fact... You've never seen one. You've never seen any kind of fae folk. It's not that you didn't believe in them, you were sure some form of them existed. Afterall, you practice a form of magick. Your own form, and that exists.

You were convinced all mythical creatures either exist or had existed, the idea of them couldn't come from nothing. Not when they were in so many stories across all different cultures.

You paused for a few more moments, really trying to feel any negative energy. There was none, there was never any in your little forest.

So, tentatively, you took a few steps forward. Then you paused again, waiting for something to pop out.

Nothing.

You giggled to yourself happily, and then bent down to pluck the mushrooms from the marshy earth.

They all varied in size, some were large with bulbous caps. Some were shorter, and had flatter caps. Each mushroom, you made sure to pick with a cloth barrier between them and your fingers. These could be deadly if used the wrong way or taken in excess. You had no idea what would happen if you came into direct contact with it, on your bare skin.

You really should start carrying gloves with you.

You made your way around the broken circle, humming in between giggles, and unconsciously dancing. You were nearly prancing each bare step to the next.

If you had paid more attention to your mothers tales, you'd realize the consequences of stepping inside a fairy ring were already taking effect.

You were collecting more than you needed now, your basket was overflowing. But still, you didn't want to stop. You felt strangely overcome with merriment. You never felt more at home in these woods than this moment.

You mindlessly set your basket down, your humming growing in volume. You looked to the sky, as you allowed your body to sway back and forth. Arms stretched out towards the waning moon, coming to life in the dark sky surrounding you.

Your eyes closed, soaking in the moonlight. And you brought your arms back down, letting them float at your sides as you twirled, and twirled. Your skirt flutters up to reveal your thighs even more, hair whipping in your face. You revelled in the feeling of the squishy dirt beneath your feet. You felt grounded, but as if you were flying all at the same time.

You don't know when your solitude was breached, or if you were ever truly alone in the first place, but you finally noticed his presence when his hands intertwined with yours.

He was twirling with you, spinning you in circles.

He was nearly glowing, strawberry colored lips revealing the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. His long, straight white hair framed his face stunningly, tendrils of it outlining his strong jaw line. And his face... so, perfect. He had hundreds of freckles splashed across his cheeks, nose and eyes. Even some scattering up to his hairline, and down to his chin. You'd imagine you could create many constellations with them, like the stars that twinkle in the night sky. He adorned various jewelry, all silver. In his ears, and a cuff across the bridge of his nose. He even wore a gorgeous crown that laid across his forehead as a head piece. It was thin, and wiry, made up of gorgeous silver filigree that shone in the moonlight. You knew that the rings you felt in between your fingers would be silver too.

He wore all white. You couldn't be sure exactly what his outfit was, but his shirt was a flowing lace up top. Revealing delicate collar bones and toned chest. It was mostly a blur in the midst of his movements.

Your gasp was delayed, only coming out when he pulled you closer to him. Your hand remains in his, while his arm is wrapped around your waist. You were nearly flush with him, feeling the rest of his chiseled torso against your plush body. But he kept your face at some distance to maintain eye contact. The smile never slipped from his lips.

He has you captivated, and the two of you don't falter in your melodic movements once. His eyes bore into you, dark and sharp. Yet he exuded a certain softness, and you found yourself lost in the moment. It didn't seem real.

But it was.

You were seeing him. In all his glory, ever mysterious and breathtaking. The most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on.

You were hearing him. He was humming the same tune you were, an old lullaby your mom used to sing to you. His voice was deep, and even, harmonizing with your breathy high pitched voice beautifully.

You were feeling him. He was touching you, his hand interlocked with yours. His grip around your waist is gentle but possessive. He held you like he didn't want to break you, but knew if he was too loose, you'd go running.

Though you weren't so sure you would run.

Your mind was racing. There's no way you could stumble across a perfect stranger, who was immediately dancing with you, so close to the edge of the forest. So close to your house. Maybe this was some sort of hallucination. A side effect of being surrounded by so many toxic mushrooms.

The mushrooms.

That was it, it all clicked. Too late did the rest of your mother's words ring in your ears.

His aura, his energy, his perfect pixie-like features. You noticed the point of his ears now, the glittery sheen to his skin. His smile is full of white pointed teeth, dull now, but you could tell they were once sharper in the past. His slight cat-like eyes, giving them that sharp look even though everything else about him screamed delicate.

Your humming stopped, but his didn't. Your mother's voice is filling your head, and you were repeating the words she once told you so long ago.

'and if you're caught, the fae folk will punish you. You'll be dancing within the ring until you faint from exhaustion.' you whispered quietly.

His smile only grew, a glint lighting up his eyes.

He finally spoke, his chest vibrating against yours, "Wise words, from a magnificent young lady."

He had an accent, you couldn't quite place it. Something between old english and australian. It made you want to melt.

He started laughing, and you were sure that if he didn't have a grip on you, you would've slid to the ground.

You've both stopped twirling, but he's still moving you, moving with you. Swaying back and forth.

"Who are you?" You ask curiously.

"Who?" He chuckles, "Usually it's 'what are you', that people ask me. Though it's been almost a century since I have revealed myself to a mortal."

A century? Your mouth dries, and you feel something akin to fear course through your veins. But you aren't scared of him for some reason. Wary, suspicious, but not scared.

"You're different though, you seem to have at least a diminutive amount of knowledge of my realm."

You want to get angry at that comment. You'd like to consider yourself well informed and educated on all supernatural and magickal subjects. There'd always be more to learn though, and the human brain simply could not grasp it in its entirety. So he wasn't wrong.

You're still saying nothing, dazed from his presence. So he continues.

"You were right when you said fae folk." He assures.

"You're a fairy?" You whisper, wonder dazzling in your voice.

At that he laughs again, and you swear you hear small chimes behind it.

"An elf. I believe that is the universal name humans gave us. Not all fae are fairies, there are others too."

As he speaks, he lets go of your hand, bringing his fingers up to brush strands of hair from your face. His touch is warm, for some reason that shocks you.

"Elf." You repeat, not a question, but a statement.

He hums, in agreement and starts to twirl you around again. His hand resting on your cheek, thumb brushing featherlight touches against it.

You're trying very hard to wrap your head around the entire scenario. You shouldn't be surprised. You've dealt with other worldly things in the past. Spiritual realms are completely different from anything having to do with the fae world though.

Worry floods through you again once you realize what's happening.

"Am I being punished?" You lip quivers as you speak, "I-I was just trying to collec-"

He's bringing his head down, his forehead meeting yours. You feel the cold bite of the silver headpiece touching your skin. It's enough to shut you up.

"Shhh, darling. Don't view it as a punishment."

"I don't want to dance until I pass out." You slowly say, even though your body feels otherwise.

Underneath the initial shock and caution, you still felt that overwhelming happiness. It was borderline euphoric... and strangely arousing.

Everything happening inside your mind and body right now was so confusing. You were feeling lost, and found yourself clinging to the man--the elf, before you.

"You pretty creature, don't worry. Danser dans le ronds de sorcières... that's for children."

French? This being was a riddle.

"I don't understand." You force out.

He leans back a bit, so he can look into your eyes and your thighs clench, "We tell the kids, fae and human, that if a mortal is caught within our rings. They dance to exhaustion. The humans carried this myth with them into adulthood, while our kind later learned the truth of these special rings."

He's still dancing with you, moving your body elegantly to a now imaginary song. Leading you in something reminiscent of a waltz, but you can barely focus on that when his touches are electric against your skin.

"The truth?" You ask.

He's dipping you down now, bending with your body as he once again is peering into your eyes. At first you think it's part of the dance. Until your back meets the land that was underneath your feet. The mixture of smells was potent. The scent of damp moss, and semi-sweet foliage filling your nose.

He hums again, "It was never an entire lie, it always started off with dancing."

The timbre of his voice was pooling wetness in your panties. You felt beads of sweat forming on your brow, and you were bewildered at how your body was reacting right now. It didn't make sense.

His body is hovering over you now, his face coming close to yours. His nose is brushing along yours before he speaks again.

"What better way to set the mood than a passionate dance, and in this case, under the moonlight?"

You whimpered, feeling disoriented and needing his touch.

"I don't even know your name.", was the only thing you managed to mumble.

He chuckled, and you felt his breath puff against your lips, "It's unimportant darling, but since you're so... alluring. You can call me Felix... I'd love to hear it rolling off your tongue when I make you cum."

You were mewling at the thought of fucking this mystical being, when you felt his lips against yours.

He was almost lazy in the way he kissed you. Seemingly in no rush at all. And it's not that you were complaining, but you wanted more. So you wrapped your arms around his neck, forcing his body flush with yours.

He was smiling against your lips now, and you took the opportunity to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, begging for access.

"So eager. Patience little dove. You'll get what you desire and more."

You knew it was absurd to lust after a man--an elf, gods how could you keep forgetting that, that you just met. But your body was burning and it felt like he was your only rescue.

His hands wandered your body, groping and massaging every inch.

He had your leg wrapped around him, his hand trailing down the back of your thigh and his lips attached to your neck. He was marking you with what you imagined to be the most beautiful bruises. You were panting at this point, and it felt ridiculous to be this turned on by so little. By a stranger. But it didn't make you want to stop.

His fingers reached the edge of your panties, and you gasped. You felt his smile again, he was enjoying every bit of this. You felt powerless to his strokes against you. Your hips were bucking up, chasing for friction.

His hand gripped your hip tightly, fingers squeezing into your flesh, pinning you further into the dirt.

You hissed before whining, begging "Please."

"I said be patient." His voice was stern as he spoke against your ear.

It still didn't stop you from squirming beneath him, your mind wasn't registering anything beyond wanting to feel him filling you up.

He brought his face back to yours, eyes gleaming and the most naughty expression written across it.

"Fine. As you wish, little dove. But don't forget, I was trying to ease you into this."

He tore your panties off of you, and his fingers were rubbing against you harshly, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

"A-aaah!" You were moaning loudly, his movements jarring.

"This is what you wanted darling, isn't it?" He's muttering against your lips now, slipping his fingers into you.

Your body feels more alive than ever, waves of pleasure washing over you. His fingers skillfully curl inside you, while his thumb works your sensitive bud. Swipe after swipe, eliciting more and more of your arousal onto his hand.

His kiss is searing, and feels like the only thing currently keeping you anchored to your body. You felt your orgasm building quickly, the band growing tighter and tighter in your stomach. It felt like you'd float away when it snapped.

You can't contain the lewd noises you're making. Between the moans he's swallowing from your lips, and the loud squelching from between your thighs, it was deafening. Or maybe it was just that your ears were ringing.

It felt like only seconds later when he brought you over the edge, his movements slowing but never stopping. You're whining, and your legs are trembling but you don't want him to stop. You're nearing over sensitivity and when you close your eyes, you see nothing but stars.

All you can think of are the freckled constellations on his cheek.

You feel drunk on this moment, and you don't want it to end. It's as if he knows exactly where your mind is when he speaks again.

"You're not done little dove, don't you worry your pretty little head."

When you open your eyes, and tilt your head up, his shirt and pants are discarded. Revealing a dizzying body. He was lithe yet chiseled. His body is almost dainty, but each muscle is carved in the most irresistible way. His abs were glorious, your eyes trail lower, following the v cut. You notice the faint spattering of a happy trail, and your eyes follow it.

And fuck.

You've never been one to view someones cock as pretty but... his was. The tip was so swollen and pink, and leaking generous amounts of precum. Faint blue veins prominent along the shaft, and he stood tall and proud. His girth made you wonder if you could handle the stretch. It had been a while since you'd last been intimate.

He brought his hand, covered in your slick, to his member. Spreading it all over in a mixture with his precum, making it glisten. Your mouth started to water, and your legs spread wider for him. You pulled your skirt completely up, presenting yourself to him.

His jaw was slack, mouth hung open as he watched you, fist pumping himself slowly.

"Such a good girl for me darling, aren't you?" He said with that charming smile.

There was something about the way he looked at you, while doing such a perverse act that had your juices dripping down you.

Then he was on top of you again, cock sliding into you. Your entire body tensed at the intrusion and you wailed, a mix of pain and pleasure. But it was so satisfying, you couldn't get enough. Your arms wrapped around his neck again, and he was thrusting into you at a brutal pace.

Your back was digging into the ground, and you started to feel bits of grass and dirt against your skin. You pulled against him, trying to adjust yourself so you could lose yourself in the dance you two were now performing.

He pulled out of you, and sat back on his knees, that's when you noticed his clothes underneath him. You had no idea he was wearing a cape earlier. It was sprawled out, creating a barrier between him and the ground.

He picked you up, and positioned you to straddle his lap, facing him. Then he slid back into you, your eyes rolled back, and you let out a filthy moan.

This position felt more intimate but still desperate, he was reaching deeper into you. The head of his cock pistoning against your g-spot. It felt so good you could cry.

You were crying, you realized.

"Shhh, little dove, you're taking it so well. It feels so good, doesn't it?"

"Yes!" You sob.

He's wiping the tears from your eyes with his fingers, and smiling at you like you're the most precious thing on this planet.

"That's right, pretty. So pretty when you cry." He groans out, and his pace grows faster, rougher.

His hand dips down between you, and he's toying with your clit now. In any other circumstance, you'd be embarrassed by the way your body uncontrollably trembles. Your muscles are spasming at his touch. You just couldn't bring yourself to care, he was making you feel too good.

"Darling," He purred, as he slowed his thrusts and pinched your clit between two fingers, rolling it, "I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum for me, can you do that?"

You were mewling as you nodded your head frantically, feeling your peak rush towards you.

At that he started fucking into you harshly, almost painfully, and you were coming undone with a loud cry on top of him. Your body tensed, nails digging into his shoulders, struggling not to throw your head back. His hand that was playing with you, gripped your jaw, smearing your own arousal on your face.

He was making sure you kept your word, maintaining your gaze on his while you clenched around him. Your eyes were fluttering as you tried to keep them open. He was biting his lip, eyebrows scrunched together as he fucked you through your orgasm. Watching your face contorted in pleasure.

"So tight." He grunted.

You were scratching at him now, nails dragging down his shoulders. And your mouth was hung open in a silent scream, your voice having given up on you.

It was becoming overwhelming.

You still didn't want it to stop.

"I know you can take it darling, take it." He growled, gripping both your hips now to steady you.

So you did, until you were limp in his arms, and he was releasing into you with a groan.

Your head was resting on his shoulder. Sweaty skin sticking to each other, and he was soothing you. Humming and stroking your hair gently. You were breathing heavily, trying to come down from this mind blowing experience. But you weren't descending, not mentally. You were still riding that high, stuck in a lust filled haze.

He started to roll his hips tantalizingly slow, and you hissed at it, feeling slight pain. Mostly you were shocked he was still hard.

His chest vibrated while he quietly laughed, "Did you forget the 'more' part, darling. I keep telling you, we're not done yet."

You whined at the sensation of his gentle movements.

"Shhh, there there." He's teasing you, "Are we a little sore?"

"Yes." You breathed.

"I can fix that."

You gasped when he slid out of you, hating the fact that you felt so empty.

He was positioning you to lay down on his clothes, taking care that no part of you touched the ground. You just let him handle you, molding your pliant body however he wanted it.

His hands were rubbing down your arms, and he was smiling down at you. When you met his eyes, you couldn't explain the exact emotions you were feeling. You'd let this man take your soul if he asked right now.

He was licking his lips as his hand trailed back to your core. You gasped again, then whined when he dragged his fingers through your swollen folds. His touch was almost massaging, yet sensual. He was touching everywhere, teasingly avoiding your sensitive bud.

The more he touched you, the more you writhed. And sensing another comment about how you can't be still or patient, you yanked him down to you so you could kiss him.

You were tired of just laying there, you wanted to start giving. To start touching.

You didn't know where all this stamina came from, but you were determined to use it. You jerked your hips up, leaning more into his touch.

It wasn't until you reached down to wrap your fingers around his length that he paused his movements.

He was still slick with your cum. And you used that to give him slow strokes.

He let out a hoarse moan against your lips, before pressing his fingers directly on your clit, rubbing in small circles. He was matching your tempo directly. You whined into the kiss, your hand picking up pace. Pumping him faster now, and he followed your lead.

Or so you thought, just as you felt your climax starting to build, his fingers were being pulled away.

He took your hand off him, and then crawled down your body, coming face to face with your core.

"So pretty, even here darling."

You were blushing at his words, but you couldn't take your eyes off of his, as he stared at you from between your thighs.

"Still sore? Let me make it feel better, little dove."

And you felt his tongue lave through your folds. It was gentle and it felt hot, and it drove you crazy. The flicks of his tongue against your clit were maddening, and you wanted more.

Your hips started slowly moving against his face, and this time he let you. He lets you roll your hips, and grind against his face. His tongue flattened against you, and you slid your hand into his blindingly white locks. You started grinding against him harshly, losing all sense and control of your body and just focusing on climaxing.

He let himself be used by you, and as your grip in his hair tightened, so did that feeling in your stomach. You felt another orgasm come over you, and he let you ride it out, quite literally.

You expected to start feeling spent by now, but you didn't. So before he could climb back up your body to kiss you, you were sitting up and pushing him onto his back.

He landed on it with a thud, puffing out air and looking at you incredulously.

You let the primal urges take over as you lowered yourself onto your stomach, and took his member in your hand. You licked up the underside of his cock, your eyes never leaving his. He groaned as you watched his eyes roll into the back of his head.

You placed a soft kiss on the tip, and licked the strings of precum off your lips.

"Fuck..." He whispered.

"Let me return the favor." You mumbled before you took his tip between your lips.

You let your tongue swirl over it a few times, savoring his taste. He brought his hand down to your face, and pushed your hair back for you.

You let your tongue run down the underside of his cock, and you sunk your mouth onto him. You had completely engulfed him, and were struggling not to gag. Still, you never intended to stop.

He was grunting as your head bobbed up and down on him, saliva collecting at the corners of your mouth and dripping down to pool at his pelvis.

"Making--ah fuck--such a mess for me, darling." He groaned.

He lets you keep at your own pace for a while longer before he starts thrusting into you. He kept your head in place, and you gagged and tears started running down your cheeks. Each stroke became more and more erratic, until ropes of his hot cum were shooting down your throat.

He pulled you off of him and you gulped down breaths of air. He was caressing your cheek, swiping a mix of tears, spit and cum from your lips before kissing you.

That's how you both continued throughout the night. Pleasuring each other, nearly non-stop, under the moonlight. Your mind was fractured, nothing else but him existed inside of it. He'd touched, fondled, massaged, and embraced you, until you could only respond with breathy whispers of his name.

"Felix..." You sighed, when he was bringing feeling back to your numb legs by massaging them.

"Felix..." You moaned, as he slowly took you as you both laid on your sides.

"Felix..." You screamed as you came undone on top of him, riding him roughly.

He took you in many different positions, and you indulge yourself in each one. When he wasn't fucking you, you were whining in complaint and going down on him. If he wasn't going down on you, he was edging you with his fingers. Your hands never left each other's bodies, always needing connection. You were sure he was just as familiar with your body as you were by this point.

The exhaustion finally hit when he had you on your back in a mating press. The last thing you remember, is staring up into the twilight sky. Dawn was approaching, the stars were disappearing before your eyes, as the golden glow of the sun started to peek through.

Your eyes were fluttering as you fought unconsciousness, determined to finish fucking this completely ethereal creature. Felix was barely putting in an effort to fuck you, but he still slid in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace, as if he wanted to keep your orgasm at bay. You both wanted to extend this moment in time, but your body wouldn't have that.

When you finally let go, cumming on his cock for what felt like the hundredth time. That's when your eyes shut and you gave into the exhaustion.

The familiar scent of nag champa incense filled your nostrils as you started to come to.

Your bedroom, permanently infused with your favorite scent to burn, that's where you were. The familiar feel of your sheets beneath you, and your heavy comforter confirmed that.

Your mind still felt a little cloudy as you started to recall how you got to your bed from the forest.

That's when you feel a body next to you and your eyes shot open.

"Felix?" You croaked, your voice dry and hoarse.

He was laying next to you on his side, in your bed, in your house.

He had the blankets pulled up to his waist, and was resting his head on his hand. Elbow propped up, so he could see you better. He was shirtless and he wore that same smile on his face, like he was so fond of you.

"Is that still the only thing you can say, little dove?" He whispered teasingly.

"How- I mean, why-?" You stutter as you attempt to sit up in bed, but your entire body aches.

You hiss at the burning sensation you felt between your legs. And your legs, gods, you don't think that they've ever felt so sore.

"Easy darling, you need to rest." He said as he helped you sit up.

He reached over to his side of the bed and handed you a glass of water, motioning for you to drink.

You eyed him curiously as you sipped your water, finishing it rather quickly when you realized how thirsty you were.

"I ran you a bath and kept it hot, when you're ready we should wash you up more."

"More?" You questioned him.

"I did clean you up last night, I'm not a monster. The bath will help ease your muscles." He chuckled.

"How did you even know where I live?"

"It's not hard to figure out, we weren't that far from it. Your house is the only one for miles."

You still felt guarded around him, even after the night you shared. If the stories your mother told you turned out to be partially true, you could only imagine what other lore could turn out to be true.

Now this mischievous creature knew where you lived, he was in your home.

"I know this is your sacred space little dove, I don't intend to intrude. However, I couldn't exactly leave you in the state you were in. How are you feeling? Is your head a little clearer?" He spoke softly as he brushed his fingers through your hair.

It is. Almost all of that dazed feeling was gone, you felt more lucid. In that clarity though, a rush of embarrassment hit you. You felt your skin heat up at the more clear memories of last night.

You were never the type for hookups or one night stands, yet the things you did with this perfect stranger... This perfect magickal stranger... they felt unspeakable. You'd never lost yourself so completely in someone else's presence, much less with your own... sessions.

You hide your face in your hands and rub at your temples, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Of your own feelings. You didn't exactly regret it or hate it. Something still felt off. Not only was the entire act abnormal in general, and downright questionable. But it was so out of character for you. Did he use... compulsions? Did he have that type of magick?

"Thinking too hard will just exhaust you more." He said.

"Look..." You sigh, as you turn to face him, "I'm a little lost here, I don't know what to make of this all."

Next thing you know, he's off the bed. He's picking you up in his arms, and you notice you're both still nude. Your face flushes again at that, and you struggle a bit in his arms.

"Be calm darling, I'm just taking you to the tub. We can talk about it all."

You let him place you in the tub, and then he's sliding in behind you. Slotting you between his legs. He's pulling you back towards him, so you lay against his chest. You both sit like that for a few moments, absorbing the heat from the bath and getting used to each other in a new type of intimate way.

You should be kicking him out of your house. You should be cussing him out. Defending yourself, but why didn't you feel the need to defend yourself against him? Why were you drawn to him?

When you think about the facts, some would say you were attacked last night. I mean there's a reason the Fae call it a punishment You didn't feel attacked though. You enjoyed yourself, as crazy as that is to say.

You always knew you were an adventurous soul, but you never thought to this extent.

How do you come to terms with actually feeling okay with this whole thing, when you knew you shouldn't be?

"You're a witch, right?" He suddenly asks you, breaking your train of thought.

"I am... though I'm beginning to question the validity of that title, seeing as I have an actual magical creature behind me." You mumble.

You knew the magick you practiced was real. You could feel it. It's not like you could create fire though, or move things, or transfigure things in front of you. You weren't even sure Felix could do any of that as an elf. You weren't sure of anything anymore.

You felt like you were entering an existential crisis. Panic was starting to settle within you when you felt his chest vibrate with laughter, it was an oddly soothing sensation that you know you've felt before.

"No, you are. I can sense it, it's in your blood. It took me a while to piece it together, but you are a witch through and through. Sometimes humans don't know of their tie to the magickal world, but I figured... from your altar, among other objects and ingredients I've noticed here, that you knew."

You hummed, your mother always told you that you were a part of a long line of witches. She raised you heavily within her practice. You never doubted her, but somehow this new revelation made it so much more real. You realize this was opening a whole new aspect in your own practice. A hidden world, seemingly waiting for your return.

"Is that why you came to me? Because you sensed a witch was near?" You questioned him, your hands playing with the water.

"No, you stepped inside my fairy ring. I have to say I was shocked. I placed it in, what I thought was, an inconspicuous area. I hadn't realized your home was nearby."

"Okay, I'm going to need you to explain." You sighed.

"Well... you already know what I told you yesterday. The stories you were told, were passed down by your ancestors and other mortals in general. You don't really just dance in fairy rings, that's a small fib we tell the children. As more human children found the rings, when we'd find them dancing. We'd send them off, warning them if they came in again that we would have them dancing until they faint. When our own children wandered into them curiously, we'd tell them the same thing until it became time for them to learn. It's just something stupid the ancestors came up with, I don't know... It does always start out with a courting dance though, but the main reason for them is, inside a fairy ring... you mate. They're essentially a part of an ancient mating ritual."

At that you nearly jumped up to smack him, but he was a step ahead of you. His arms tightened around your body, pinning your arms to your chest.

"MATING?!" You screamed at him, trying to turn your head and make eye contact, "I don't fucking wan-"

"Please, calm down little dove. It's not possible for me to actually breed you. That requires an entirely different ritual, one that hasn't been performed in centuries. I'm not even sure anyone would know how to perform it these days..." He trails off.

"So then why even lay these stupid Fae traps for humans anyways?!" You screech.

"They're not traps, and they're not meant for humans." He says defensively, and you can hear the pouting in his tone, "Think of it like this. You know how some penguins build big and pretty nests to attract a mate? It's kind of like that. It's a lot to explain in detail, and I had to create one. Now that I'm of age, it's expected of me to find a partner. Even if I don't find the need to."

"And why do they exist in this realm if they're not meant for us?"

"Well, a long time ago, back when there was only this realm, and there were more Fae than humans, they came across one. That fairy was so angry at the human for intruding on something so intimate of his, and he threatened the human with a punishment. Before any of the other Fae could stop him, he entered the ring. When they both were inside of it, they were overcome with the magic of the ring. The courting dance had started, and no one else was able to enter. The desire for each other grew. In his anger he must've forgotten what the ring's intention was, and was only focused on punishing the human. But he never got that far. They ended up... mating. They never separated from that night, spending their lives together. It was millenia ago. It created an uproar though. Our kinds had never joined before that way."

You sat and listened, calming down a bit as he told you this story.

"There were battles, not an outright war but there might as well have been. They grew to love each other, and they led the winnings of those battles to stay together. They opened the door for Fae and humans to be together, but it has always been frowned upon from both sides."

There was an entire history of this world that you had never known. One that you could never even imagine to be true. But it is. Before your mind let you delve into it though, you thought back to something he said.

"Overcome with magic? These rings hold compulsions over beings?" You questioned hastily, needing to confirm your suspicions.

"No. It's not like that..." He sighed, "Didn't you feel different last night?" He continues, "The mushrooms release something like a pheromone. An aphrodisiac, to enhance your sexual stamina. Among other mood boosting and energy boosting properties. It starts by uplifting your mood, making you feel the happiest you've ever been. Then you start dancing, your energy building up in preparation for what's to come. It's not until your partner enters that the aphrodisiacs start releasing. But it doesn't just take away your consent like that. Both parties have to be willing... it needs to be mutual. Though that's not to say that's not how every instance turns out. Evil exists in all realms."

You shivered at his words, trying to process everything. You could clearly remember the primal urges taking over, the need to constantly be filled. It explained that off feeling, why you were acting so out of character. But you couldn't deny that you had wanted it.

Craved it.

You never tried to stop it, never wanted to stop it... In fact you initiated it to an extent.

He started talking again, "That's why I couldn't just leave you there. Especially not in that forest, where other creatures lurk and might find you. I never felt anything dark there, but that doesn't mean it won't come along. I brought you home. I cleaned you up, I made you drink because you were getting dehydrated. I cared for you."

He was loosening his grip around you to rub your shoulders. It made you think back to the skilled massages he gave you last night, in between all of the sex. He made sure to take care of you the whole night it seemed.

"But none of this answers my question from earlier, why not place the rings in your own realm now? Why would any of the Fae place them here?" You asked.

"There are many different reasons..." He mumbled, "Some of them do it because they want to experience sex with a willing human. Some of them do use them as traps for humans, and those Fae are disgraceful, downright evil. Most of those types have been banished from the realm I come from. But some are like me. We try to hide them, from everyone. Because even though we're required to have them, we don't want to use them."

Then you thought back to his previous words, "Wait... 'find your partner' you said? Are we- do we have some sort of bond now?"

The silence was thick in the air. You waited for him to speak, but he didn't, so you turned around in the tub to face him. Your legs spread out on top of his, as you half straddled his lap.

His eyes stared into yours, expressionless. It was much colder than his usual warm aura, so you grabbed his hand to hold it, and asked again in a softer tone, "Do we?"

"We don't have to. It's not permanent. Most Fae who get humans within their rings leave them there once they've passed out anyways. Humans don't have the same stamina as we do, even with their boosted energy from the ring. The first woman passed out, that's where the ancestors got their silly tale from." He spoke tightly, like he was debating even revealing this bond at all.

"I see." You replied, even though you had many more questions and didn't have a full grasp on it all.

Not much made sense. In a span of hours you found out the true existence of a hidden realm, and these magickal creatures. You met one, you slept with him, then you actually slept with him, and now you bathe with him. You talk with him, as if all of this is a normal day.

It should all unsettle you more than it actually does. You should be freaking out, 100% meltdown level. This is the story of fairy tales, and maybe not a good one. This could be the big bad wolf and you could be little red riding hood. But somehow, you were comfortable in his presence. Comfortable enough to want to spend more time with him. To learn more, about him, his world, and this new bond.

So you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, giving his lips a small peck.

"Maybe we could... figure it out together? See what happens next, if you explain more to me, that is."

His eyes lit up with hope, and his charming smile returned to his face. The thought that you could wake up every day to that smile entered your head quicker than you could blink.

You'd figure something out. You had to. He couldn't leave your life now. Not when it seemed like it was just getting started thanks to him.

Taglist:

@eczlipse @sailor--sun @maisyyyyyy @jupire @prettiichocolateprincess

@meowmeowminnie @joyofbebbanburg @adieu-lisette @sleeping-beau-tay @staytinyluv

@lookitsjess @majorlymismanaged @kpopsstuffs @helloimacalumgirl @bbokarimenu

@bubblepop-stay @mauvemelon @ohhlittlegirl @ang4lheart @spnwinchestersd

@adieu-lisette @loud-minhoe @juwire @anylady-fics @antisocialties

@nebugalaxy @wowitsafemale @irrevocable-exposure

As always, please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist. And if you do, pretty please interact with my fics besides liking (ie; replying/commenting/reblogging). Although I will always appreciate liking as well! Feedback is always cherished! ♡

But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

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dont-look-its-embarrassing · 1 day

Text

To Be Seen

Azriel x Reader

This is my first ever one-shot or fanfiction type writing on here, so be patient with me bc it will be FAR from perfect or good.

This is purely self-indulgent bc again, I'm new at this and just wanted to write an insert or y/n type little blurb.

Summary; Being the best friend of Feyre when she was human, you regretfully got roped in and turned with her sisters as a tool for manipulation by Hybern. As the sister's find it hard to settle in claiming the attention of the two other bats, you attempt to make Feyre's and the inner court's life easier by flying under the radar and figuring it out on your own. However, are you really as unnoticed as you hope or is a certain shadowsinger entrapped by your caring and soft nature as his heart battles his mind for the third sister or you.

Warnings: None really, mentions of PTSD and anxiety, loneliness and self-help, slow-burn, slight angst with a fluffy ending, reader just wants to be seen but feels like she can't ask

Word count: 2,389

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you sat in the drawing room in the house of wind. The gentle crackle of the fire Infront of you allowed your body to sit comfortably within the rather cold season and the book you were just reading sat loose in your lap. You haven't gotten used to your enhanced hearing yet as your now longer and thicker hair gently fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear.

"Y/n?" Your best friend's voice echoed into the room as her footsteps followed. A soft smile spread across your features as she came in, confirmed you where there, and plopped down ungraciously on the couch next to you. "Thank the mother you are here."

Her features where stressed, the worry written all over her face as she took your form in.

"What's going on?" You ask, hopeful to help.

Feyre let out a sigh as she let her eyes wonder to the fire Infront of the both of you.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, it seems that everything I do to try and help Nesta and Elaine seems to only make things worse." She rung her hands, a trait she picked up back in the human lands when she was nervous or upset. "It just never seems enough to make them comfortable or to try and apologize for everything that happened."

Your best friend's eyes slightly widened as she took her gaze from the flames.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" The genuine care and concern oozing off of the female Infront of you reminded you of why you cared so much about your friend in the first place. When she was taken, you had searched high and low for her in hopes to get her back only to have her return happy and healthy with a loving man, or male, doting on her every need. You were ecstatic, and expressed yourself as so, even if it was with fae beings. When you and her sisters were taken, that happiness was put on hold to make sure that you are all where comfortable. Feyre's self-sacrificing nature did always drive you mad, even now when she was so close to being truly happy.

"I'm okay Feyre." She shot you a look, trying to dig deeper and call the bluff you made. "Seriously, I'm here with you and in an amazing place that I could only dream of with great people."

"A lot happened Y/n. A lot happened to Elaine and Nesta, but a lot happened to you." She was right, and it was weird for you to be so put together when the worlds of the other two were falling to pieces. With your more emotional and strong relationship with Feyre, you had been held captive with her sisters yes, but you also took the brunt of interrogation that the wicked king deemed necessary to gain any information of her court. You had put yourself in that position, you knew how awful she would feel about her familial blood being brutalized in such a way, so you took the heat. But, in the end, her sisters still took the change harder and refused to accept their new life, making everyone on edge and overexerting themselves to help.

With one look at your best friend's-tired eyes, you knew that she couldn't handle another burden. More like she shouldn't have to handle another burden.

The word tasted sour on your tongue.

Burden.

Shaking your head a small gentle smile graced your face, and you forced your features to emulate that same energy.

"I'm okay Feyre, really. Aside from some cool new power thing that I haven't figured out, I'm fine. " The breath she released could only register as relief in your mind as she met your smile.

"Okay, and we will definitely start working on that when we are all settled here." Her reassurance did little to reassure that it would be investigated. Again, with the two sisters gaining war altering abilities, your random energy (that had yet to manifest) would be put on the back burner until everyone else was settled. Again, the slight dismissal ached, but you understood the need for others to take precedence.

Giving a little nod, you two sit in silence for a bit just listening to the crackling of the fire and enjoying each other's presence. That is, until a wince rippled across your friends face and she slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I think Elaine is out and not talking to Lucien and it's a mess-"

"It's fine Feyre, go make sure they are okay." You assure with the same smile. Giving one last 'thank you, I love you' she was gone like the wind that howled outside the windows. The silence that followed her exit had the ringing in your ears become a bit to unbearable. Removing yourself from the couch, you travel down to your room and grab a quick change of footwear.

Today would be a good day to explore the town, or at least good enough to get your mind out of the dark slump of trying to acclimate to its' new body and abilities.

Making your way towards the door, a small flicker of shadow catches your eye.

"Hello?" You call. You know that Rhys is most likely with Feyre and Azriel is also probably there because of Elaine, so you dismiss it quickly after a moment, chalking it up to just a trick of the light.

Opening the door, the slight chill on the wind has a shiver run through you, but the sun quickly chased it away. Breathing a sigh, you look at the vastness of the stairs below you.

No time like the present.

Taking one step at a time and avid breaks when needed, you would rather not admit to yourself just how much time that trek took. However, upon reaching the bottom, the satisfaction that filled you outweighed the journey. Walking down the streets of Velaris, the bustling normality of the people filled you with ease. As your heels clicked against the stones below, your gaze just missed the little shadow that trailed behind your body.

Taking in the colors and vibrant people, the ease and happiness that covered their faces had the ache in your gut grow more and more. Your mind wandered to if you would ever be that happy and mundane. With everything that had happened so far, the familiar life in the human forest (although had its struggles) seemed like an ideal. It was the lack of routine, lack of knowledge, the newly sprouted life, the misplacement, all of it plus more. You didn't notice your breathing gain more weight and take longer to fill your lungs than it did at the house. You also didn't notice the little skitter of the shadow that had followed you as it raced away towards some unseen location. The heat in your body seemed to increase as the sight of a simple family loving and walking together entered your mind.

Would anyone love you like this?

You couldn't think.

Ducking into a nearby ally, the overhead sheets and covering allowed it to be shaded and darker than the streets 20 feet away. Even then, the darkness of the ally seemed to illuminate with your presence there. However, it wasn't the light, it was the lack of grasp of oxygen you could inhale and the strenuous shaking your body couldn't stop. The tears that fell without your knowledge burned their tracks into your skin and sizzled as they hit the ground. Your body gave way to the spasms that took ahold of you as your mind raced. Burring your head into your knees, you attempted to shut the world out and let your mind slow but to no avail. You wished the darkness of the alley would swallow you whole, allow the sun and light to escape you being seen just this once.

Almost as if your prayers where in fact answered, the light surrounding you died as the darkness of the ally surrounded you. Picking your head up to view what cloud or magical being answered your plea, your eyes were met with those of hazel crouching Infront of you.

"Azriel?" You hadn't met this male for more than a couple days ago. He was nice, offering to go with you places or chat every so often. You had a couple nightly talks with him where you shared some stories between the two of you. Nothing out of the ordinary though, you felt safe around him when he was near. Confusion washed your features and for a moment your brain stopped running in circles and focused on why the male might be in front of you in this very unfortunate situation.

"You're okay." His large hands had gently pried your head from between your own. He Slowly, as if not to spook you further, reached for your hands and took them in his own. As twisted as it sounded, the morbid scarring that littered his skin grounded you further and pulled you back to this moment and out of that forsaken cell and cold water. "Focus on me, breathe."

The ease of your breath returned as the seeming dark cloud that surrounded you peeled back revealing that same dampened alleyway. However, the slight char on the walls and burns on the ground was distinct enough to question. Looking around, more of those marks surrounded you but faded as it got further from you. Opening your mouth to ask, a quick look from the male had you hesitant as he shook his head.

"One thing at a time sunshine." You nod, ignoring the small butterfly that hatched in your stomach at the nickname, but the pain in your head from the little outburst brought you back to reality. Bringing your hand up to caress the muscle between your eyes, Azriel scanned you from head to toe checking for any other possible injuries. "Let's get you back to the house, okay? Have Madja take a look at you and maybe give you something to help process."

Although the beginning of his statement was directed at you, for an answer, the second part was mumbled more to himself.

"Okay." The short response was all you could get past your lips as he sent you a small smile and opened his arms.

Looking at him questionably, he held back a chuckle.

"Have you never flown?" Shaking your head, no, you had never flown before. Winnowed? Yes, but never in the arms of one of the three males residing in the same house at you. The aspect of Azriel being your first had a little flush cover your cheeks. He approached you carefully, scanning your eyes for any aversion to being touched or space invaded. If you didn't just have a literally breakdown in the middle of Velaris, you could've sworn there was a deeper emotion residing in his eyes.

Guilt?

Worry?

Longing?

You couldn't place it and decided not to keep the process waiting. Taking a step towards him, he kept his arms spread out to accompany your space against his.

"Wrap your arms around me." His voice was lowered with your closer proximity. Slowly you brought your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He waited until you settled there before moving to hoist you up into his arms and walk slightly out of the alley to give his wings more room to take flight.

While doing so, you couldn't help but settle into his warmth as it felt nice against our colder frame. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you were left shivering.

"Make sure to hold on." He noted, which was all the notice you got before suddenly you two were no longer on the ground. Tightening your grip instinctually, you shut your eyes as you could practically feel the male smile at your nature.

"How did you get down there anyway?" With the loud wind it was hard to hear, but again due to the lack of space between the two of you his voice rang clear.

"I walked."

"Down those?" Without realizing the easygoing atmosphere he created, you had peered open your eyes to look down at the stairs you both were currently soaring over. Only a brief look however as you still had some human tendencies and did have a slight aversion to heights.

"Yeah." You nodded and went to shut your eyes once more to finish out the flight, but as you did you caught sight of a new look on the spymaster's face.

Pride.

Landing as softly as possible, Madja was already there waiting for the two of you to arrive. Without thinking, you blamed it on the spymaster's shadows (but grateful they were there). Feyre also stood to the side of her, worry wringing her hands again and you let out a sigh of defeat.

Stumbling out of Azriel's arms, he steadied you, giving a once over before his high lady had shot him an inquiring look. She looked at you shortly after.

"You are never to lie to me again Y/n, you hear?" Her chastising voice was filled with love and worry all the same.

But before you could open your mouth to respond with a thousand reasons why you might, a certain male beat you too it.

"Don't go too hard on her, admittedly we have all been a bit busy to check in." You both glanced back at the male in question as his shadows wrapped around him in song. He has said it was so to promise his attention to fix the problem, which warmed your core.

"She will be okay Feyre." Meeting eye contact with him, he had sent you a small nod of his head and smile before disappearing into the dark.

Your best friend looked at you in question, but a deeper thought was spinning in her head. However, the little throat clear of the healer nearby jumpstarted the next 24 hours of care and therapy from your best friend and the best healers in Prythian. The whole endeavor couldn't tear your thoughts to a certain inner court male and the way his arms felt around you.

Maybe you would be okay.

#acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #feyre archeron

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megamindsecretlair · 3 days

Note

Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘

A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.

Touch Me Like You Care

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Word Count: 4,475k

AO3 Link

A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did.

After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting.

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.

The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.

You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone.

Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.

Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.

You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.

Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life.

You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail.

Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better.

He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips.

“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin.

His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”

“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?”

“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked.

Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break.

On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.

Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.

“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher.

“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive.

“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh.

“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said.

“I really forgot this time,” you said.

Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.

“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said.

“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.

You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf.

He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.

You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice.

Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said.

“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective.

He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?”

“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them.

He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips.

He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed.

He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.

It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.

How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that.

“Baby,” you said and licked your lips.

Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of.

Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry.

Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level.

It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out.

“Keep reading,” he said.

You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly.

Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?”

You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said.

Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said.

“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm.

“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said.

“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan.

He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else.

“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer.

Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.”

You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers.

“You know what Daddy needs,” he said.

Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction.

“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them.

It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him.

He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.

“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel.

Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence.

You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him.

“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed.

Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other.

“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned.

“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves.

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.

His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed.

Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged.

“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily.

“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.

Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked.

“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve.

Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”

Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him.

You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice.

Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.

“She too tired now?” He asked.

You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said.

Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.

You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride.

He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.

A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”

Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.

You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats.

“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled.

Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.”

You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more.

Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust.

“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence.

“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed.

“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.

You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him.

“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear.

“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”

Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts.

“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged.

Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things.

“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek.

“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered.

Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said.

He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned.

“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.

Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned.

Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent.

“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back.

“C-Can’t,” you stuttered.

Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you.

“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned.

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned.

Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder.

Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted. “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time.

“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped.

You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy.

You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching.

Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably.

“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?”

You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you.

There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.

Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck.

“Taste that?” He asked.

You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed.

“Sleepy,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead.

“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.

WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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bakugoushotwife · 1 day

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in my opinion, gojo’s storyline has been handled so so poorly i can’t help but think it’s intentional. it is not bad writing to kill a character—even a beloved character. i know most people will dismiss my criticisms because gojo is so beloved to me and so many others. i’ve said before that i don’t mind if he died. does it hurt? of course, and i would still cry and be sad about it. but there is a beautiful way to do it. with respect and honor for his legacy—for what he has done for your manga, the characters in it, and audiences worldwide. but no…gege chose the path of horror and disrespect. at certain points i’d say to myself, well. this is a dark manga. but essentially gojo is the only character that receives this treatment. since the beginning—since suguru left him, he’s been wondering if he mattered because he was a person, or if he only mattered because he was powerful and useable. we certainly fucking answered that question. he is a weapon and nobody ever cared about him at all!!!

and we knew he was being used—he knew he was being used, but he is selfless. so he did it for his kids. for megumi and yuuji and yuuta—he wanted them to be safe. in these flashbacks it’s exceedingly clear that he knew he would die. again—that’s not my issue. gojo dying to sukuna makes plenty of sense and it would hurt to leave it there. but to give us an afterlife scene where he’s presented a choice—north and south—that concept lead nowhere, that’s truly fucked up. to leave all the subtle clues and hints for no reason but to keep people reading and theorizing his return is fucked up. to continue to use his imagery to promote your manga when you know he’s not even honored in your manga is fucked up. we don’t get a funeral or a grave for him. no one’s spoken about him in chapters despite him fighting for hours against sukuna and damaging him so much that yuuji could win, nothing. yuuta wearing him like a costume and no one is horrified about it. i thought his students WERE different. they weren’t jujutsu society yet. that’s why gojo was their teacher—shaping them into better human beings. how am i supposed to trust in their future when it seems they’re just as cold and heartless as everyone before them? no one has honored gojo in any way since the moment he died. and they’ve forgotten about him. he spent his entire life fighting and no one can even say thank you. gege intentionally used gojo to promote the end of his manga because he knows that gojo fans make up at least half of his fanbase so had we stopped reading when he died, he would have lost a lot of traction. he baited us intentionally, cruelly, and something that transcends storytelling. i’ve truly never seen a mangaka have this sort of vitriol for one of their characters and the people that love him.

we spent the entire last chapter talking about some random fucking mission when we have several unanswered questions and concerns. i thought gege said he wanted this ending to be shocking and something you didn’t see in shonen? tying everything up neatly where no one has any trauma or grief for what they’ve experienced, everyone comes back to life except the one character you hate specifically and choso, defying your own power structures and having everyone laughing into the sunset is exactly how shonen ends so what in the fuck is he talking about??

let me disclaim, this is not megumi hate at all. i love him very much and i am so happy he’s back with the group but like. he shouldn’t be able to even walk. he tanked unlimited void for over 6 minutes whenever that length caused irreversible damage to sukuna himself. not to mention the countless black flashes. so what the fuck? he doesn’t mention gojo at all?? the first time he laughs in this manga is after he reads a note written by his dead fucking caretaker about his dead fucking father? like i don’t believe. random open ended kenjaku/suguru mention just to piss me off, an absolutely no mention of gojos sacrifice or how they’ll miss him. i’m sick to my stomach. gege defiled his memory both in the story and outside of it. wow.

P.S. SUKUNA CARED MORE ABOUT GOJO THAN ANYONE ELSE (SUGURU IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS I MEAN HIS STUDENTS AND SOCIETY)

#jjk finale #jjk 271 #jjk spoilers #jjk271 spoilers #my comments

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 1 day

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The Northern Winds (pt. 3)

PART 1 & PART 2

Summary: Lady Y/N is pregnant again after suffering a miscarriage. Winter is coming and with it spring and the news of Prince Jacaerys coming to Winterfell.

Warnings: pregnancy and its symptoms, childbirth, mention of postnatal depression, mention of rape, mature NSFW content (18+), SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON/FIRE AND BLOOD (both what has happened and what will happen in the end!!!)

A/N: Let me just say that I cried writing the ending of this story

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion

***

Before long the Lady of Winterfell was high into her pregnancy and with it arrived a white raven from the archmaesters of the Citadel announcing the winter was upon them. If anyone knew of winter, it was the Northerners. A third of the crops of every harvest had been stored for winter ever since the first white raven arrived sending word of the summer’s end. The winter town beneath the walls of Winterfell filled eagerly once more, its houses, markets, and taverns bustling with life. Fire burned ceaselessly in every hearth making the view from the towers of Winterfell seem like the night sky with stars not of silver but of gold.

The Lady of Winterfell stood atop of one of Winterfell’s watchtowers, observing the smallfolk rushing among the houses and the passageways, taking care of the final errands before the day’s light would be consumed by darkness. Even as the night set in, Lady Y/N could still see them hurrying about because of their torches and lanterns to light the way.

Lady Y/N pulled her heavy cloak closer, supporting her great belly beneath it. If everything was as it was supposed to be, childbirth was not far away. The thought of it filled Y/N with equal measures of joy as well as worry.

The first few moons with child were not easy. Lady Y/N was abed for most of it, sick with nausea and barely keeping anything down. She did not care for food other than salt beef and rusk bread. Even oranges that were once her favourite she could no longer stand. And simply the smell of ale would make Lady Y/N sick immediately. Although it was Cregan’s preferred drink, he ordered it not be served at feasts any longer if the Lady Stark was strong enough to attend. As for him, he would drink wine instead or hippocras when the winter truly set in and the cold was strong enough to bite off your fingers.

Maester Bennard too was with Lady Stark most every day, brewing remedies for her nausea but with very little effect. Yet as the babe grew stronger, the sickness disappeared almost overnight. Lady Y/N regained her strength and her love for oranges and resumed her duties as the Lady of Winterfell with much eagerness although always beneath the watchful eye of Lord Stark. His hard, grey eyes would not leave his wife during council meetings, lingering either on her or her slowly growing belly. As someone who always wielded power, even as a child for Cregan was his father’s heir, Lord Stark came to know complete powerlessness for the first time in his life when his wife fell with child. Whilst he could command his men and wield his great longsword, Cregan could do little when it came to his yet unborn child. Whilst Lady Y/N was abed with sickness, Lord Stark would often leave the leading of the council meetings to his maester and his other trusted advisors. If anything were to go wrong again and Cregan would not be there for his wife, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Lady Y/N too was worried, especially during the first half of her being with child. She could not sleep for fear of waking coated in blood. She had nightmares and was sometimes so tired, not only from sickness but from fear, that she could only leave the bed to use the privy. Yet this time, Cregan was there by her side, watching over her and making sure that his wife had everything she could want and need. When Lady Ellyn was away to get some rest as she tended to Lady Stark at all times, the Lord of Winterfell would stay by his wife’s side, keeping a watchful eye even when Lady Y/N slept. But as the pregnancy neared the end, both the Lord and the Lady of Winterfell quickly forgot about the worries of the past and had no choice but focus on the present.

“If you are trying to freeze to death, there are easier ways than standing atop of a tower,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he joined his wife. Lady Y/N turned around, meeting her husband’s warm smile with her one of her own.

“The cold air does me good,” said Lady Y/N as Cregan wrapped his arms around her, his nose buried in the fragrant skin of her neck.

“Of course,” murmured Cregan, “You are carrying a northern child.” He kissed the part of Y/N’s neck not shielded by the red fox fur of her blue cloak. Goosebumps rose of Lady Y/N’s arms as she placed her hands on his that were supporting her belly. The babe kicked and although the sensation was uncomfortable for Y/N, it always filled her heart with warmth at the proof of new life.

Lord Stark could not help but smile when he felt his child move beneath his touch. But then his excitement faded some. “Does it hurt you when he does that?” asked Cregan his wife. Lady Y/N was surprised by his question, yet she should not have been for Cregan’s curiosity never ceased and his questions never remained only in his thoughts.

“It is uncomfortable but not painful,” said Lady Y/N before she could actually comprehend what Cregan said.

“He?” asked Lady Y/N, a grin growing on her lips. She turned around to look at Cregan. If it were not for the darkness of the coming night, Y/N would be able to see the heat creep into her husband’s cheeks.

“Or she,” said Cregan quickly, his eyes shifting between his wife and their unborn child. “Either one will do,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he knelt before his wife and kissed her great belly, leaning his forehead gently against it. Lady Y/N ran her gloved fingers through Lord Stark’s hair, secretly wishing their child, be it a boy or a girl, to have their father’s eyes.

Lady Stark placed her hand on Cregan’s cheek when he got up, her thumb smoothing across his wind-lashed skin.

“I too think it is a boy,” confessed Lady Y/N in a gentle voice. Cregan’s grey eyes had never before seemed so big and childlike to her as in that moment when his lips were parted but his mouth at a loss for words.

Lady Y/N stepped on the tips of her toes before Cregan cupped her cheeks and guided her closer. He kissed her ardently again and again, unable to detach himself from her love.

***

A snowstorm raged outside that morrow when the Lord and Lady of Winterfell broke their fast on fried eggs and boiled ham before they would attend the council meeting. Yet as Lady Y/N climbed the stairs of Rodrick’s Tower, a terrible pain spread from her back to her abdomen. A loud gasp escaped her lungs as Lord Stark turned around hastily, Lady Y/N’s hand grabbing onto his arm.

“What is it?” hurried Lord Stark.

Y/N gasped again at another wave of pain, followed by a strange sensation and a small gush of fluid trickling down her leg. A striking pain shot through her abdomen alone this time. Lady Y/N cried out in pain and would have fallen to her knees if not for Cregan holding her.

“The babe … It’s coming,” breathed Lady Y/N, her nails digging into her husband’s forearm.

Cregan did not hesitate and wrapped his arms around his wife, picking her up with easily yet with great care. “Hold onto me,” said Lord Stark and carried Lady Y/N to the birthing chambers. He shouted to the servants to get the maester and the midwife as his wife cried out in pain. Her breathing grew even faster when Cregan laid her into their bed. Y/N caught his hand, begging him with her eyes not to leave her side. Tears gathered in her vision as all of her fears and worries returned to her. She was not much afraid of the pain but for the babe. She would not be able to bear losing it.

“You will be alright, my love,” said Cregan and kissed Y/N’s brow. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her forehead before loosening the strings on her dress. A small sob escaped Lady Y/N’s lips as she paced her breathing whilst they waited for the maester and the midwife.

“I’m not going anywhere,” assured Cregan, holding his wife’s palm with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other. “I promise, my love.”

Lady Y/N nodded just as Maester Bennard, midwife Othella and her ladies-in-waiting arrived.

The maester asked Lord Stark to leave as was customary but Cregan would not be moved from his wife’s side. It was unheard of and yet not a soul dared to say a word of protest.

Lady Y/N remembered her mother’s letters of her own time with child and how Lord Jonos was never remotely interested in the babe until it was born. Lady Whytefort was supposed to visit before Lady Y/N went into labour but the snowstorm must have kept her in a lesser lord’s castle somewhere. Y/N had hoped her mother would be there when the babe would arrive yet she was grateful Cregan was there at least.

Lady Othella, the midwife who assisted the Lady of Winterfell in childbed, was no highborn lady at all but the smallfolk and the noble alike addressed her as lady for the many children she helped deliver and save when the labour was difficult. Lady Othella was a short woman of petite stature yet her hands possessed the strength that could wield a sword. She wore her hair in a coif of deep blue but her tawny locks more oft than not slipped onto her pale, heart-shaped face.

“Breathe, my lady,” instructed Lady Othella as the servants made the bed more comfortable for Lady Y/N. They placed pillows behind her head and beneath her hips, relieving some of the soreness in her back.

Lady Y/N nodded and paced her breathing. Her pains were still very far apart yet no less painful.

The labour lasted through the day and well into the night although there was no telling the time as the snowstorm raged on outside the windows of Winterfell. Near the hour of the ghosts, Lady Stark’s labour pains grew stronger and more frequent, now only moments apart.

Lady Othella announced it was time under the careful supervision of Maester Bennard.

Y/N let go of Cregan’s hand as she was sure she was going to crush all the bones in his hand. She gripped onto the linens instead but the Lord of Winterfell made her take his hand once again.

Lady Y/N pushed and pushed and prayed that the baby would come and come healthy.

“You are almost there, my lady,” encouraged Lady Othella, giving Lady Stark the last bit of strength she needed to push her baby into the world.

A sense of relief came over Y/N as the pressure was gone and the babe’s crying filled the room. Lady Y/N’s loud and fast breathing was scattered with the crying of happiness as Maester Bennard cut the navel string and the babe got wrapped up in clean linens.

“My congratulations, my lord, my lady,” said Lady Othella, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “You have a son.”

Lady Y/N fell the breath get knocked out of her for a moment, her big, pensive eyes wide with wonder as she stared at her son in the midwife’s hands. Lady Othella gave her the babe as Lady Y/N reached out with her hands and Lord Stark finally let go of his wife’s hand. Y/N pressed the babe to her chest instinctively, her mouth full of sobs as the babe’s crying eased. She looked at her husband whose grey eyes flickered between the child no larger than his two hands put together and his beautiful wife, his beautiful wife who just gave him a son.

Cregan’s vision became blurred. He could not remember the last time he cried for it was when he was still a child himself. Yet as Lord Stark saw his wife holding their son, his heart filled with joy indescribable to anyone and at the same time with fear so great he thought it would break him.

Lord Stark got up and kissed Y/N’s forehead, his hand barely touching the babe for fear of hurting him. The baby nuzzled into his mother’s chest, recognizing the warmth and the comfort of her body.

“We have a son,” Lady Y/N cried from happiness as she looked up at her husband.

“We do,” said the Lord of Winterfell in a quiet voice. “Rickon?” asked Cregan as he looked at his wife, his eyes were big and pure as a child’s.

“Rickon,” agreed Y/N and smiled at her babe.

***

After the long and tiresome labour, Lady Stark had time enough to rest and recover but would not let a wetnurse feed her son, not when she could do it herself. Maester Bennard advised against it and encouraged Lady Y/N to focus on recovering and to leave the babe to the wetnurse. Lady Othella did not share his opinion entirely, which was the cause of many quarrels between the maester and the midwife already during Lady Stark’s pregnancy.

Maester Bennard looked to Lord Stark for support, speaking of how the late Lady Gilliane Stark, Cregan’s mother, always entrusted her children into the care of a wetnurse as did the wife of Cregan’s uncle, who had three healthy sons.

Lord Stark stood by the small window of the birthing chamber, seeing how the terrible snowstorm was beginning to cease. The wind whistled and howled violently all the while as the Lady of Winterfell was in childbed.

Lord Stark turned to Maester Bennard when he felt his scholarly gaze on his back.

“You will do as my wife says, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark, his arms crossed pensively over his broad chest. His voice was as even and cold as steel.

“You are a maester of the Citadel and are highly valued in my household, Bennard – not only as a learned man but as a friend,” continued Lord Stark. “You are a maester of Oldtown yet you are neither a woman nor a mother and that is no fault of yours, so you will do as Lady Stark commands even if she chooses not to heed your advice.”

Maester Bennard lowered his gaze and bowed, “As my lord commands.”

The newborn babe suckled happily on his mother’s breast, who in equal measure could not be happier herself. Lady Y/N was not opposed to a wetnurse yet she wanted to care for her babe as much as she could on her own, particularly now when the babe had hardly been born.

Once Lady Othella and Maester Bennard retired, assuring Lady Stark was in as good health as she could be, Cregan allowed himself so sit beside his wife and his newborn son. Lady Y/N held the baby with one hand but reached for her husband’s palm with the other. She brought it to her lips and kissed it, her eyes closed as she did so.

“Thank you,” spoke Y/N gently, leaning her head tiredly against the pillow as she watched her husband.

“Whatever for?” asked Cregan, his sharp brows in their usual frown. He had done absolutely nothing whilst his wife did everything.

“Everything,” said Y/N nevertheless, gently holding onto Cregan’s hand. “Did I break all of your bones?” she smiled, brushing her thumb across the top of his palm.

“I think I still have a few of them left,” grinned Cregan as he looked down at his wife’s small hand in his. His heart weighed heavy in his chest but he did not know why. Perhaps he was so happy that some of his happiness had to turn into sadness or he would burst with joy.

“What is it?” frowned Y/N when she saw the melancholy in Cregan’s features.

I’m afraid, Cregan wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose you and I’m afraid to lose our son. Strange how new life so quickly reminds one of death.

“Cregan?” asked Y/N softly when he did not speak. Cregan only sat closer and kissed his lady wife, kissed her again and again, first on her lips then her nose and her cheeks and finally her brow. Cregan leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes shut tight.

“I love you,” promised Lord Stark and sealed it with another kiss.

“I love you,” said Y/N and caressed her husband’s cheek. The baby cooed when it was done feeding, now happily nuzzling against his mother’s warm chest.

“Do you wish to hold him?” asked Y/N with a smile. Lord Stark froze in place, his eyes round and his lips parted.

“I don’t know,” said Cregan and watched how the happiness dimmed in Lady Y/N’s bright eyes. “My hands … What if they are too rough for him?” said Cregan warily. “What if I hurt him?”

Lady Y/N’s smiled once again. “You won’t, I promise,” said Y/N as she sat up with Rickon resting securely in her hands. Cregan mimicked the shape of his wife’s arms and waited patiently for her to place his tiny, delicate son into his hands. The babe missed the comfort of his mother’s body and let out a cry and then another, each startling Cregan more than the other. But as soon as the babe found the warmth of his father’s chest he stopped his crying and sighed contently. Cregan felt his body tremble as he held his son, seeing how he blinked his small, storm-grey eyes.

When Lord Stark looked up once again, he saw how his wife had fallen asleep, her hand outstretched towards him. Cregan sat close beside her and listened to her soft breathing. As he watched his son, the Lord of Winterfell vowed to himself to destroy anyone who would ever think of harming them.

Come morning, Lady Stark awoke with her husband was sleeping beside her, his arm entwined with hers. She sat up quickly thinking of her son only to see him sound asleep in his bassinet. Lady Y/N laid back down, coming to realize how sore her body was. Every muscle in her body felt uncomfortable. She turned on her back, unable to supress a groan that woke Lord Stark from his light sleep.

“Will you please ask for Maester Bennard?” asked Y/N as she tried to sit up. Her body was something she did not recognize. A mess of pain and discomfort and unpredictability.

Cregan jumped to his feet and called the servants, who fetched Maester Bennard. In the meantime, Lord Stark returned to his wife’s side.

“Are you in pain, my love?” asked Cregan as he knelt beside the bed.

“Everything hurts,” confessed Lady Y/N but it was only normal to feel this way. She had been in labour for near a full day before the babe was delivered. Y/N needed help to use the privy and when she returned Maester Bennard was there with his assistants. He gave her instructions of recovery and some remedies for the pain.

“I would have a bath,” asked Lady Y/N, looking at her maester for advice.

“I believe it would do you good, my lady,” agreed Maester Bennard as he gathered his potions in his ornate, wooden box. “I would also advise warm cloth for your belly and your chest.”

The servants prepared a nice, warm bath whilst Lady Ellyn and Lady Jocelyn helped Y/N out of her clothes. Lifting her legs only slightly proved a greater challenge than Lady Stark could have foreseen. The warm water helped remedy the soreness of her body, however. Y/N allowed Lady Ellyn to help her wash as she could barely find the strength to move her aching limbs.

“You did so well, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn gently as she sat beside the bath, her thumb drawing circles into her friend’s hand. “You have the most beautiful son, you ought to be proud.”

Lady Y/N managed a smile but could not help but feel an unusual melancholy creep in. Lady Whytefort wrote to her of her own mother’s sadness after she gave birth to her. Lady Cerwyn – then Ryswell of the Rills before she widowed and remarried – was said to have locked herself in her chambers and refused to care for her daughter for near a moon’s turn. But afterwards when Lady Y/N’s grandmother recovered everything was as if nothing had happened. Even Y/N herself had not known of this prior to her lady mother’s letter although she was close to her maternal grandmother and stayed at the Rills many a summer’s moon.

Lady Y/N shared this story with Lady Ellyn.

“I am sure you have nothing to fear, my lady,” Lady Ellyn tried to reassure her friend although she had heard of similar experiences happening to other women. “Even if such a thing should occur, you have your ladies and a host of wetnurses who would die to serve House Stark. You would recover and all would be well, I am sure of it,” tried Lady Ellyn. What her friend spoke was true Y/N knew and yet she could not help but feel like a failure at just the thought of not wanting to care for her son. However, as sore and tired as Lady Y/N felt, she could and would not judge any woman who would feel the way her grandmother did upon birthing her daughter. Y/N could not even imagine how difficult it must have been for her own mother especially with a man like Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N loved her father dearly in spite of it all, but she could not stand the way he treated her mother. Especially not now when Y/N saw herself there were different ways of leading married life, good and gentle ways.

Lord Stark returned to Lady Y/N’s chambers. He had washed and shaved and had a change of garments. He seemed tired, a pensive expression hiding in his features.

“I would have a moment with my wife,” said Lord Stark to Lady Ellyn. She got up and curtsied. “If you are able,” said Lord Stark, now turning to his wife.

“I will get dressed,” nodded Lady Y/N.

Lady Stark was helped into a comfortable gown of cerulean blue and white Myrish lace with pearl embroidery whilst she had the servants braid her hair. The warm bath helped Lady Y/N with her pains, allowing her to walk with the support of her lady-in-waiting.

Whilst the Lady of Winterfell had a change of garments, the servants had brought food and drink aplenty for Lord and Lady Stark to break their fast on. They prepared a hearty broth rich with venison and grains for Lady Y/N to recover her strength, offering congratulations left and right as she sat down. Lady Stark reserved a smile for each of them no matter how low- or highborn.

“Could you find any rest, my love?” asked Lady Y/N once the servants left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell to break their fast in peace. Y/N took Cregan’s hand, the warmth of his touch instantly reassuring her. Cregan had dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin appeared ashen. He had not left his wife’s side not for a moment since she went into labour and stayed awake for as long as he could even after Lady Y/N had already fallen asleep.

Lord Stark rose his pensive, grey eyes to Y/N. “How can you ask me that when you have just given birth to our son?” said Cregan gently as he squeezed his wife’s hand in his.

“I could not have done it if you had not been there by my side,” said Lady Y/N genuinely. She paused.

“Are you happy?” asked Y/N anxiously. Cregan’s brows furrowed into an incredulous frown.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Only … You seem distant,” said Lady Y/N, watching her husband’s eyes for any trace of doubt.

“Forgive me,” said Cregan heavily yet his voice quietened some as he looked towards the window.

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N, not ungently, and squeezed her husband’s hand reassuringly.

“I …” began Cregan. “I had a brother,” said Cregan, his grey eyes returning to his wife. Y/N stared at him, her mouth parted. “He died aged only two when I was ten-and-one.”

“You cannot remember him from your time here at Winterfell. You could not even if you stayed for a full moon and not a day. My mother did not like him leaving his chambers. He was sickly … He had been since he was born,” said Cregan. “I … I barely knew him …”

“I am so sorry,” said Y/N, not knowing what else to say. She reached out to him, enfolding his calloused palm between her hands. They had been wed for more than a year and yet Y/N had never heard Cregan nor anyone else for that matter mention Lord Stark having had a brother.

“What happened?” asked Y/N gently.

“Fever took him,” said Cregan, his gaze focused on his wife’s hands clasped around his own. “First it took my mother, then Benjen not even three nights after,” told Cregan, his voice deep and sombre. “He was named after my grandsire.”

“I am so sorry, my love,” spoke Y/N gently.

Lord Stark got up from the table and stood by the window, his gaze reaching out beyond the walls of his strong castle.

“At least my mother did not have to see him die,” said Cregan to himself more than to his wife. “At least the Gods spared her as much.”

Y/N stared at her husband’s back, coming to realize where Cregan’s melancholy and pensiveness came from. The birth of their son agitated old wounds and disturbed the present. Cregan did not so much feel the loss of his brother when he held his newborn son; rather, he came to understand his mother’s worry and fear at the prospect of having to bury her child.

Lady Y/N gathered what strength she could and got up from the table on her own. Lord Stark turned around but Y/N was already by his side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Cregan’s hands instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as he buried his nose in the warmth of her neck. Cregan let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

*** 2 YEARS LATER ***

As the cold and heavy winter went by leaving nothing but darkness and snow, a hope of spring returned when a white raven flew in from Oldtown bearing news of the winter’s end. Although the snow was never quite gone north of The Gift, the blizzards and snowstorms grew scarcer and were replaced by days of warm sunshine at Winterfell.

Despite the winter and Lord Stark’s frequent visits to the Wall before the snow became too tall to travel, there was always some form of joy and merriment in the castle walls of Winterfell. As little Rickon Stark, the firstborn son of Lord Cregan and Lady Y/N Stark, grew older and bolder by the day, he kept his noble parents busy even when there were no lordly duties to attend to.

“Rickon tells me you are going to show him how to ride to-day,” spoke Cregan softly, his voice deep and husky in the hour of the nightingale. His fingers were tangled in his wife’s hair, their foreheads nearly touching as they savoured the last moments of peace before the castle would be bustling with errands and duties to attend to once again.

Y/N rose her big, sleepy eyes to her husband’s. “He will only sit ahorse,” said Lady Y/N quietly, tracing her fingers across the scars on Cregan’s chest. “Mayhaps I will let Ser Tybald lead him around the courtyard if Rickon will wish to,” considered Y/N aloud.

“Of course he will, he is your son,” laughed Cregan, secretly delighting in his wife’s soft touch.

“Is he not your son too?” said Y/N aghast as she grinned, leaning on her elbow. “I suppose you preferred learning the names and banners of Houses to spending time with swords and horses,” she teased.

Cregan smiled and pulled Y/N into a kiss, her arms resting on his strong chest. She moved even closer, deepening the kiss as she harboured a secret to tell her husband. But as his arms wrapped around Y/N’s hips eagerly, she forgot all about the news and straddled Cregan’s waist instead. He pulled off her nightgown, his hands reaching immediately for her soft breasts. Cregan sat up and kissed them as Y/N’s hands tangled in his dark hair. She moaned when he found her sweet spot, knowing her body better than sometimes she did.

“Mommy! Mommy!” called a small voice running around the hallways of Winterfell. Y/N gasped as her gaze darted towards the door.

“Gods,” muttered Y/N hastily and jumped off the bed where she picked up her nightgown and slipped it on just in time. Cregan laughed as he leaned against the bedframe, watching a deep blush flush his wife’s cheeks as Rickon burst into the room, wrapping his arms around her mother’s knees.

“Good morrow, little one,” said Y/N, her eyes locking with Cregan’s when she picked up her son and held him to her. “Should you not be abed?” Lady Stark asked of her son but made eyes at her all too amused husband.

“I wanted to see you,” said Rickon cheerfully although there was sleep in his eyes.

“Alright, little warrior,” said Cregan as he got up from the bed. “Your mother is right. Back to bed.” Cregan took his son from Y/N’s arms, the playful, teasing look in Cregan’s eyes making Y/N’s knees weak. A shivery breath escaped Y/N’s lips as she watched her husband’s bare back when he walked across their chambers.

Rickon’s wetnurse was already at the door of their rooms yet dared not come in.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord,” said the wetnurse as she took Rickon from Lord Stark’s arms.

“That’s alright,” said Lord Stark gently, running his hand through his son’s dark hair one last time before he returned to his private chambers.

Cregan slipped his arms beneath Y/N’s bum and lifted her up eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. He sat down, his large hands squeezing his wife’s soft thighs. Cregan went for his breeches but Y/N stopped him.

“Let me do it,” she spoke softly, her voice laced with desire. She dropped to her knees and undid Cregan’s nightbreeches, pulling them off with haste. Cregan watched as his wife took him in her mouth, her tongue sliding skilfully along his length. Cregan threw his head back in pleasure, his fists balling around the linens of their bed to keep himself from climaxing immediately. As Cregan groaned in pleasure his eyes met Y/N’s. She stopped, teasing her husband.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” muttered Cregan and quickly pulled Y/N into his lap.

“Show me,” she breathed against his lips, her heart beating harshly against her chest.

Cregan took Y/N’s waist and turned her around, pulling off her loose nightgown yet again. His fingers found her breasts once more as he kissed her neck one last time before he took Y/N’s hips and entered her. Y/N moaned loudly as she clawed at the furs of their bed. Cregan’s thrusts were hard and even before he slowly escalated his pace. Y/N could not help but whimper in pleasure as her husband’s fingers tangled in her long hair, pulling on them gently. Cregan leaned down and kissed her from behind, his hips moving faster and then slower as he felt himself nearing his pleasure. He reached around Y/N’s waist with his hand, his fingers nestling between her thighs. Y/N winced in pleasure, leaned into his touch and only moments away from complete pleasure. Y/N whimpered halfway through a moan, climaxing sooner than she anticipated. She leaned her head against the bed as her eyes closed, Cregan’s fingers digging harshly into the soft curves of her hips. Cregan’s seed dripped down the inside of Y/N’s thigh before they both fell flat on the bed, their bodies tangled and exhausted from divine pleasure.

***

After breaking their fast in Benjen’s Hall, Lady Stark took her son Rickon to the stables as she promised. Ser Tybald provided a well-natured, chestnut pony with mane the colour of butter for Lord Stark’s firstborn son.

“Let him smell you,” said Lady Stark and lifted her son into her arms. “Like this,” she showed by placing her palm gently to the pony’s muzzle. Rickon reached out hesitantly but when the pony leaned her muzzle against his hand, he smiled with eyes as happy as ever.

“You have to name him now,” encouraged Lady Stark, “But you have to name him carefully for he will carry that name for many years.”

Rickon looked at her with big, round eyes, his mind whooshing with a thousand ideas. He looked at his horse again with his lips parted.

“Squire,” said Rickon determinedly.

Lady Y/N watched as her son reached for the pony’s muzzle once again, mesmerized by Rickon’s likeness to his father.

Y/N kissed her son’s temple and put him down, allowing the master-of-horse to show him how to properly saddle and ready a horse. She watched as he was sat into one of the saddles, first off horse and later on Squire. He beamed with joy when Ser Tybald asked him if he wanted to have a walk around the courtyard.

“Mother, may I?” called Rickon from atop of his butter-maned pony.

“You may,” allowed Lady Stark, her lips spreading into a smile at the sight of her boy content. “Only be careful and hold on tight.”

“I will,” promised Rickon, his little hands wrapping tightly around the horn of the saddle.

Lady Y/N pulled her cloak closer to her as a cold, spring breeze swept through the walls of Winterfell.

“What did he name the horse?” asked a voice behind Lady Stark. She turned around, her eyes finding those of her husband.

“Squire,” smiled Lady Y/N.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark, unable to disguise a grin off his lips.

Y/N wrapped her hand around Cregan’s elbow, pressing closer to him. “What did you name your first horse?” she wondered.

Cregan smiled, “Jester.”

Lady Y/N could not help but snort a laughter, finding the name so very fitting of Cregan as she imagined him as a young boy. He laughed with her, almost asking the same of Y/N but quickly remembered.

“Blackspur was my first,” said Lady Y/N all on her own, the smile on her lips turning into a melancholy one. Ser Tybald had to put her down soon after the beginning of the new year for she had grown sick. It was the kindest thing to do, knew Y/N, yet that acknowledgement made it hurt no less. Blackspur had a long and comfortable life, longer than many horses. Those were the only thoughts that could make Lady Stark’s grief less painful.

“I know,” spoke Cregan and kissed his wife’s temple.

Suddenly echoed an approaching sound of hooves against the cobblestones. Lady Stark stood up straight, detaching herself hesitantly from Cregan’s warm body to welcome unexpected guests. Yet only two riders crossed the Hunter’s Gate into the castle, leading a beautiful filly tied to one of their saddles. She had long muscular legs, her coat of raw umber brown. She shook her head, her mane alike in colour, as the horsemen dismounted and one of them took her into Winterfell’s stables.

“Wait for me,” asked Cregan of his lady wife before he met with the other horseman, who bowed their heads before the Lord of Winterfell. They spoke briefly and even shook hands. Lady Stark’s gaze drifted to her son across the yard when his pony neighed, her heart leaping out of her chest for a moment. Rickon laughed however, savouring every moment before he would have to listen to Maester Bennard’s lessons on Houses great and small.

“Come,” Lady Y/N heard her husband call. She turned her attention to him but saw the riders leave through the Hunger’s Gate. They were gone as quickly as they arrived.

“What is it? Is their horse injured?” asked Y/N once at her husband’s side. Knights and lords, especially of smaller Houses, often brought their mounts to Winterfell if the animal was ill or injured for Winterfell had one of the best stables in the North.

“She is in perfect health,” said Cregan as he led his wife into the stables. The ash brown filly paced restlessly, her elegant head turning towards the strangers coming to see her. She was young, only just old enough to saddle.

“Why did they bring her then?” asked Y/N, admiring the magnificent animal and wondering if per chance they wanted Ser Tybalt to break her in and have her ready for riding.

“She is yours if you want her,” said Lord Stark, his gaze shifting between his wife’s eyes and the filly he chose for her.

“What?” gasped Lady Y/N, looking up at her husband’s expecting eyes. She was at a loss for words.

“I know she cannot replace Blackspur but—”

“Thank you,” Y/N cut Cregan off before he could finish. She took his hand and stepped on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He leaned down for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Y/N pulled away slowly, looking around to make sure they were alone. Ser Tybald was still leading Rickon on Squire and informing him all about caring for horses.

“I have to tell you something, husband,” said Lady Y/N, biting her lip as she could not help but smile. She looked down at her Cregan’s chest and the silver direwolf emblem resting between his collarbones.

“What is it?” asked Cregan, his brows quickly jumping into a gentle frown.

“I am with child again,” whispered Y/N as she looked up into her husband’s eyes. The emotions in the greyness of his irises swirled like a great summer storm.

“Say it again,” breathed Lord Stark incredulous.

“I am with child,” repeated Lady Y/N, her smile as bright as ever as she observed her lord husband’s reaction. Cregan pulled her into his arms eagerly, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her deeply. Y/N’s palms rested against her husband’s chest as she could not help but smile into the kiss.

“Mommy!” called Rickon’s small voice as he came running into the stables. Ser Tybald followed him with Squire.

“Can I ride again in the after-noon?” begged Rickon, his eyes as big as stars. The boy knew the answer would be ‘no’ but with his mother at least he stood a chance.

“Ask your father,” smiled Lady Y/N, her hand creeping into her husband’s palm.

“Father, may I?” asked Rickon carefully, his arms locked behind his back as he swayed left and right ever so slightly, his eyes resting on his father’s boots. He knew the answer this time too.

“Tomorrow,” said Lord Stark. “Come, Maester Bennard must be waiting for you.”

Speaking of which, as soon as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned inside the castle they were met with Maester Bennard. He was out of breath, his normally pale cheeks flushed with fever.

“My lord,” Maester Bennard gasped for breath, “My lord, urgent news from Dragonstone.” He handed Lord Stark a scroll of parchment with a broken seal of a red, three-headed dragon.

Cregan placed Rickon into his wetnurse’s care before he unrolled the raven scroll. “It’s Prince Jacaerys,” told Lord Stark aloud as he turned to his wife. “He is coming to Winterfell.”

***

As they lay in bed that night and Cregan’s hand rested gently on the barely visible bump of Y/N’s belly, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell could fall asleep. The night was bright and the moon shone invasively through the windows of their private chambers.

“What do you think he wants?” whispered Y/N quietly in case Cregan managed to fall asleep. She need not have asked for she knew, she only did not want to accept it.

“I do not know,” spoke Cregan gravely. “But I do now my father swore an oath … I swore an oath.”

News of trouble and strife in House Targaryen had long been flying north to Winterfell. The ravens more oft than not came from outside the walls of the Red Keep, coming from the Riverlands and the Vale and even from the Reach. The matter of succession seemed to be settled when King Viserys the Peaceful declared his daughter as his heir and future queen. Yet upon his death, appeared to have formed two camps that the smallfolk and the great alike called the Greens and the Blacks. The first supported Prince Aegon’s claim to the throne as he was King Viserys’ eldest son and the latter the claim of Princess Rhaenyra. If the North was to get involved in the war within House Targaryen, Winterfell would declare for Princess Rhaenyra as it did when King Viserys was still alive.

Y/N’s heart grew heavy in her chest. She placed her hand atop Cregan’s that was resting on her belly and squeezed it tightly. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she stared at the ceiling, knowing full well she will not find any sleep tonight.

“Hey,” whispered Cregan and leaned on his elbow. He caressed Y/N’s cheeks, making her look at him. “We will not know until he is here,” Cregan tried to reassure her some. He could not tell if it was the moonlight glistening in Y/N’s eyes or whether they were tears he saw, but Y/N nodded nevertheless if only to give her husband some peace.

The following eve came word from New Castle. Prince Jacaerys spent the night in White Harbor with his dragon Vermax and would fly for Winterfell in the morn.

The castle was up in preparation for the welcoming of the royal prince. Lady Stark ordered the kitchens to prepare the finest dishes of roast boar and pheasant in a sauce of almonds. The best casks of ale and wine were to be brought from the cellars of Winterfell and the Great Hall arranged appropriately. Only the highest and noblest of councillors were to attend the feast upon Prince Jacaerys’ arrival alongside Lord Stark and Lady Y/N.

After only just bearing through the winter, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell were too pleased to prepare a dozen sheep and goats for the prince’s dragon to feast on yet they had little choice in the matter.

Lady Stark chose a gown of ash green and pale white in the colours of Winterfell with a belt of white gold with the emblem of two direwolves’ heads baring their fangs at one another in its centre. She wore a necklace and earrings of emerald stones encrusted with diamonds that Cregan had gifted her upon the birth of their son.

The Lady of Winterfell paced around the Great Hall, making sure everything was perfect for the feast. Although she had put tremendous effort into the evening, both she and Cregan decided to keep the spirit of things much alike they would for any other highborn lord or lady coming to visit. Even though House Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen many years ago, the sense in the North was still that of House Stark’s rule.

Lady Y/N did not truly consider the prince’s dragon until she heard it screeching and roaring above the castle walls. Her heart sank as her eyes grew big coming face to face with her husband.

“Come,” said Cregan, holding out his hand. “He is here.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell gathered outside, greeted by the early spring snows. Lady Stark wore a heavy cloak of cloth-of-silver and wool, with fur of the grey wolf. She held her hands locked together before her, her breath coming out in clouds. It was nightfall already as she gazed into the sky. Her mouth went dry at the sight of an enormous, bat-like figure dancing in the sky. The beast screeched, irate with the cold and the snow.

The prince descended into the courtyard of Winterfell’s castle, the force of the dragon’s leathery wings sending snowflakes back into the sky. Prince Jacaerys dismounted and spoke to his beast in High Valeryan before meeting the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

Lord Stark bowed his head and Lady Y/N curtsied gracefully before the crown prince.

“My prince,” said Lord Stark first, his words echoed by his wife.

“Lord Stark,” greeted Prince Jacaerys. “My lady,” he said, kissing the top of Lady Stark’s gloved hand. She offered a small smile but could not help but notice the prince’s youth although there were not many years of difference between them nor between him and Cregan for that matter. It was true what they said, however. The crown prince looked little like a Targaryen ought to with his head of brown locks and eyes of green. In truth, Prince Jacaerys looked much more like her own brother, thought Lady Stark, save for the prince’s fox face and slender frame true of House Targaryen.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Cregan as he accepted the prince’s hand in his. Lord Stark towered over the prince although he towered over most any man and Prince Jacaerys was no different.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell welcomed the prince into the Great Hall where the noble councillors of Winterfell awaited, bowing and showing their respects to Princess Rhaenyra’s heir and messenger as he would name himself.

Prince Jacaerys was seated to the right of Lord Stark whilst Lady Y/N sat to his left. She nodded to the servants to bring the food and serve the drink whilst the singers sang and played their music. There was no talk of succession nor war or politics until the feast had ended. Although the Lord of Winterfell offered the prince to rest for the night before they talk, both Prince Jacaerys as well as Lord Stark were of a mind to speak now.

They walked the walls of Winterfell to ensure privacy, accompanied only by the cold and the snow. Prince Jacaerys looked toward the winter town, seeing but a few of the lights that warmed its houses during the past two years.

“I see winter is still true in the North although they say elsewise at the Citadel,” spoke the crown prince.

Lord Stark smiled although he wished to laugh. “These are only the spring snows, my prince. During winter, all that you see was covered in snow and all memory of warmth was neigh forgotten.”

Prince Jacaerys turned to his mother’s sworn vassal. Cregan Stark was a man hardened by cold and winter, a man seasoned in battle and in swordplay, whose reputation as one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms preceded him. Lord Stark was only a few years his senior and yet he had seen and lived the life of a man.

Prince Jacaerys looked at Lord Stark with both envy as well as admiration. He was a royal prince and yet he had not lived or done as half as Lord Stark.

“I confess I wished to see the Wall,” said Prince Jacaerys, stirring his thoughts in another direction. “It would have pleased me to meet with you in the place where our ancestors treated.”

“Indeed,” said the Lord of Winterfell, the fur on his heavy coat ruffled by the cold winds. “At least you have the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon.” Lord Stark’s words cut a uncomfortable silence between the two young men.

“Surely the great Torren Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You are right in that,” agreed Lord Stark as they walked along the walls of his castle.

“That unity is now threatened,” urged Prince Jacaerys. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if the men do not remember their oath sworn to King Viserys. And to his rightful heir.”

Lord Stark stopped. “Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” said Cregan sombrely. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In the winter, my duty to the North and to the Wall is even more dire than what I owe to King’s Landing,” spoke the Lord of Winterfell as they continued walking. “I need my men here.”

This time, Prince Jacaerys held his step. He frowned at his mother’s vassal, his temper as quick as any Targaryen’s. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne.”

Lord Stark did not heed the haste of Prince Jacaerys’ words and climbed into the northmost watchtower.

“If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united,” said Prince Jacaerys, following him into the nest, “She needs an army. War is coming – to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wager without the support of the North …” spoke the prince, his words losing breath as the vastness of the North opened before his eyes. An endless sea of white spread before him, disturbed only by shadows of trees and moving clouds of snow.

“My father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall. His grace watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it,” told Lord Stark as the prince found his breath.

“Do you think my ancestors built a seven-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” said Cregan, looking the crown prince dead in the eye.

The young prince stared at him pensively. “What does it keep out?” he asked.

Lord Stark eyes darkened. “Death.”

The Lord of Winterfell walked Prince Jacaerys inside the castle. He felt the weight of his father’s oath, the oath that was his own.

“I have thousands of greybeards who have already seen too many winters,” said Lord Stark. “They are … well-honed.”

“So they are old?” asked Prince Jacaerys, his brows raising slightly. They had reached the chambers prepared for him.

Lord Stark nodded solemnly but the North needed its best men to remain.

“I can ready them to march at once,” promised the Lord of Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, grateful for Lord Stark’s dislike of pretence.

“If your greybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,” agreed Prince Jacaerys.

A smirk crept into the line of Cregan’s mouth. “They will fight hard, like Northerners.”

***

Y/N could not even find it in her to sit down, much less fall asleep until Cregan returned to their chambers. The hour was late yet Y/N was as awake as it were mid-day. She stared at her husband expectantly when he returned, a great tiredness set in his features.

“He wants our men to fight for his mother’s claim,” confirmed Lord Stark.

And what of you? Does he want you? Y/N wanted to ask but could not make herself speak.

“I told him my men need to stay in the North. The Wall must needs be protected,” said Cregan. Y/N’s chest dropped with an exhale of relief yet only for a moment.

“I offered him my greybeards,” spoke Cregan before he walked over to one of the chests with his belongings. “I will go south as soon as they are ready to march.”

Cregan’s words knocked the wind out of Y/N as her heart dropped to her stomach. She grew sick with nausea.

“I thought to save this for another occasion,” said Cregan as he took a large package wrapped in cloth of silk from one of the painted chests.

Y/N stared at him astounded but took the parcel that he offered. She laid it carefully on the bed, pulling apart the silken wrapping. A coat as white as snow lay underneath, trimmed in fur without a single hair of colour. Y/N’s lips parted as her fingers glided through the fur as soft as butter. She frowned for she knew it came from a beast as rare as any. No wolf or mink could ever produce such a soft and white coat.

“Winter fox?” Y/N thought out loud, her big round eyes rising to her husband’s.

“To keep you warm if I do not return before the next winter,” said Cregan with a small smile although he could not hide the guilt and melancholy in his grey eyes.

Y/N looked at him thunderstruck. She did not care for the coat no matter how magnificent; all she wanted was her husband.

“Before the next winter?” gasped Y/N. “But … That could be years. That will be years.”

“I swore an oath, Y/N,” said Cregan with a heavy heart. “I cannot send my men south with no one to lead them.”

You swore an oath to me too, Y/N wanted to say but was glad she did not; the last thing she wanted was to argue. She understood that the realm was more important even if she herself would have let it burn to the ground if it meant her husband would remain by her side.

Y/N looked down at Cregan’s chest as her eyes welled with tears so hot they felt as cold as ice.

Cregan did not have the words to comfort her. He only pulled her into his arms, holding her head to his chest as she wept quietly.

*** ANOTHER 2 YEARS GONE BY ***

Many moons went by, then a year and then another during which Cregan’s letters maintained Lady Stark’s sanity. If not for her children and her ever faithful friend Lady Ellyn, Y/N would be sure to lose her mind. However, with one child running around and another at her hip - a daughter born in the late spring that she named Sarra - time went by quickly for the Lady of Winterfell after the first few moons without Cregan.

The council held news of the progress of the Targaryen war in the south. It received reports of the little prince Jaehaerys’ assassination, the death of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at Rook’s Rest, King’s Landing changing rulers faster than the wind changes in the North, and even news of Prince Aemond’s death met at the hands of Prince Daemon at God’s Eye, where the lake swallowed both Targaryen princes as well as their mighty beasts.

All the while the news of war arrived from the capital and its surrounding Houses, the Lady of Winterfell prayed in the Godswood for her husband’s safety, that neither he nor his army be met with dragonfire, and that he returns safely to her, to Winterfell, to see his son grow and meet his daughter.

Lady Stark taught her children the ways of the Old Gods and spoke often of their father. Sarra was but a near a babe still yet Rickon had known and loved his father well. He cried many a night after Lord Stark marched south, and Lady Stark cried too. However, as time passed by, Cregan’s absence became easier to bear and life forced everyone to continue living. Seed needed to be planted for the first crops and people were beginning to leave the winter town abandoned to return to their farms and fields. The castle needed mending after the harsh winter as did the Wall, and lords from all over North came to House Stark for help.

In the meanwhile, Lady Y/N grew great with child and her lady mother came to stay until the babe was born. Lady Y/N had it easier with Sarra than she had with Rickon both in terms of early sickness as well as her time in childbed. Her daughter was born in the early hours of the morning, the labour lasting only a few hours. Sarra was a small, fragile babe but quickly grew stronger as the spring turned brighter and warmer. Although Rickon looked much like his father when he was born, he had grown more and more into the character of both his mother and father. He loved climbing and riding and pestered Ser Harwyn every waking moment to train him at swordplay. Sarra, however, was silent and calm. She looked like her mother with eyes that were exactly like those of Lady Stark.

The summer neared when a raven arrived bearing Lord Stark’s grey direwolf. Lady Y/N sat with the letter in her husband’s solar and read.

Beloved wife,

I encountered no war to speak of when my greybeards entered the red city. King’s Landing has long yielded to the many deaths of its kings and queens. I held court for six days to seek punishment for those who ended the life of King Aegon II, for no king should die of poison but on the battlefield with honour. I sought punishment for those too who conspired against the rightful heir. Many decided to take the black and join the Night’s Watch than to die at the blade of my sword. Those are the ones who will return north with me whilst many of my greybeards decide to remain in the south and in the Riverlands to attend the Widow Fairs.

I was offered a place in the king’s service that I could not accept. I long to return to you and our children, to see the towers of Winterfell rising before my eyes. When they place the crown on the boy king Aegon’s head, I will gather my men and we will march home.

Cregan

Lady Y/N reread the letter over and over again until it was engraved in her memory. Her heart beat harshly against her throat as her eyes watered yet she did not weep. She folded the letter and held it to her chest, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her husband’s chair. A ride from Winterfell to King’s Landing took a moon’s turn at the least, more with an army marching with you. Yet it did not matter. He was coming back. Cregan was returning home.

***

Lady Stark took to the Wolfswood with Ser Harwyn and an escort of knights following not far behind. She rode her mare neigh every day, the ash brown filly her husband gifted her after the passing of her beloved Blackspur. Lady Y/N named the beast Tempest for her temper and the ashen colour of her coat. Although Blackspurt had been wary of strangers but warmed up to them eventually, Tempest did not care for them. If she disliked any of them, she would show it by stomping her hooves or kicking, her teeth snapping at many a stableboy’s hand. But she was different with Lady Stark. There was a bond between the temperamental mare and the Lady of Winterfell no one could quite understand. Even in her pregnancy, Tempest sensed the change in her mistress, and whilst the horse did not care for her caretakers, she never lashed at children.

One evening Rickon resented his mother for not being to tell him when his father would return from the march. It has been close to two years since Lord Stark left for the south with his greybeards. The boy disappeared from his rooms in the night with no one being able to find him.

Lady Y/N’s first instinct was to check the stables and Squire but the boy was not there and the pony was in his stall. Whilst the castle was up in the search of Winterfell’s heir, young Rickon was hiding right where they first searched for him – in the stables. He meant to go to Squire, his beloved pony, yet as he stepped into he stable, the noise aroused Tempest.

Rickon tread carefully towards her, knowing of her temper but could not help himself. His curiosity was too great. He looked at the ashen brown mare in her stall, her breath coming out in clouds in the cold night. Rickon approached the iron bars of her door, carefully raising his hand to her muzzle. Tempest snorted, frightening little Rickon so much he fell to his butt. He did not understand why but he picked himself up and tried again. He brought his hand up to Tempest’s muzzle once again and let her smell him. Her muzzle was warm and wet against his touch, causing a smile to spread across Rickon’s lips. He carefully pushed open the door to her stall and met her, standing twice his size. His heart was thumping in his chest with excitement but he was not afraid.

They found the boy in the morning when one of the stableboys brought Tempest her grain and came to clean her stall. The mare was lying in the hay, staring warily at the stableboy whilst little Rickon slept against her belly.

Cold northern winds whooshed through the forest, rocking the tall trees of Wolfswood. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to their swaying crowns as she took in the fresh air after being cooped up in council meetings and hearing of the issues of the smallfolk. She had to condemn two thieves and a rapist – the thieves lost the same amount of fingers as the chickens they stole whilst the rapist chose death over taking the black and Lady Stark was glad for it.

Every time the Lady of Winterfell had to condemn a rapist she remembered the bandits who attacked her many years ago right there in the Wolfswood. She could not forgive herself for not taking an escort that time. If she had, the knights would have cut down the delinquents and they would never have had the chance to despoil that peasant girl. Lady Stark often rode past her father’s farm to see how they were living. When the girl wed last year, Lady Y/N then found a way to pass by her husband’s carpentry shop, making sure the girl and her family had everything they needed. It pained Lady Y/N to see the girl bow her head to her and curtsy clumsily when Y/N passed by on Tempest when she was the one who wanted to drop to her knees and beg the girl forgiveness.

“Have there been any more news from King’s Landing?” asked Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms at Winterfell, waking Lady Stark from her thoughts.

“Not since Rhaenyra’s boy was crowned,” said Lady Y/N, leading her mare up a gentle slope.

It has been more than two moon's since the youngest son of Queen Rhaenyra was crowned Aegon III Targaryen although the smallfolk had already named him Aegon the Unlucky.

“Mayhaps Lord Stark took rest at Riverrun,” suggested Ser Harwyn, following his lady up the slope on his tall red gelding.

Lady Stark did not say anything. She would not allow herself to think of Cregan’s return for she found it consumed her thoughts and she could not find the will to do any of her duties if she did so. When Cregan left to fight the wildlings shortly after they were wed, Y/N felt almost as if she were greeting a stranger when he returned; and they have been parted for only four moons. It has been more than two years since they last saw each other now. Y/N could not bear to think of her husband finding company in another woman’s arms, of his love for her blowing away like the leaves off a dying tree.

“I would return to the castle though Stone Creek,” said Lady Stark to keep her thoughts from drifting.

“Past the girl Alys’s house?” asked Ser Harwyn although he already knew the answer. He as well as any who were there that day when the bandits were tried and condemned by Lord Cregan Stark knew the wroth of the Lord of Winterfell and the justice of his lady wife.

It was Ser Harwyn too who found the girl for Lady Stark and told her of her name and where she lived. Alys wed a carpenter, a boy her age with yellow hair and eyes the colour of the sky.

As Lady Stark commanded, they passed though Stone Creek on the way back to the castle. It was a small village of some half a dozen farms and their respective fields. The smallfolk stopped their work when the Lady of Winterfell passed on her tall mare and bowed their heads with respect. The Lady Stark wore a gown of pale poppy red with hems and bodice embroidered in the string-of-gold. It has been more than five years since Lady Y/N of Whytefort became their Lady of Winterfell yet none of her beauty faded in that time. She only grew further into her womanhood although ruling Winterfell made Lady Y/N harder. It strengthened her back in her saddle and firmed her slender yet womanly body with authority.

Lady Stark passed by the girl Alys’s house. She saw her in her garden surrounded by blooming herbs as she fed the chickens, her newborn baby crying softly in its woven bassinet. It has been a while since Y/N passed through Stone Creek for the last time she saw Alys was when the girl was still great with child.

Lady Stark smiled to herself and spurred Tempest on. The escort of knights followed as their hooves thumped through the small village. Winterfell already rose in the distance when the sky turned grey, its menacing clouds foretelling rain.

The company spurred their mounts to a leisurely gallop as they crossed the fields and meadows back to the safety of the castle. A drop of rain fell here and there but Lady Stark hoped to reach Winterfell before the downpour. The air was thick with humidity in the face of the summer. Y/N thought she heard thunder in the distance yet her eyes fell upon a darkness beneath the walls of Winterfell.

Lady Stark reined Tempest to an abrupt halt at the sight of the massive host of warriors beneath her castle. Ser Harwyn and the knights pulled up their mounts to a sudden stop as well, their horses neighing and pacing anxiously.

The sound of Y/N’s heart echoed through her mind as hot fever crept up her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Gods,” gasped Lady Stark soundlessly as more raindrops began to fall but her gaze was set on the horizon.

Y/N's heels nudged Tempest’s belly as she urged her on with haste. They fell into a gallop so swift that Lady Stark’s hair escaped her pearl-embroidered net and floated freely in the wind. The castle approached quickly yet not nearly quickly enough. Tempest’s long muscular legs outran the other mounts who carried knights clad in heavy armour. Lady Y/N passed through the winter town, nearly knocking down a man and his flour cart in her haste. The sound of Tempest’s horseshoes against the cobblestones of the castle echoed in Y/N’s ears along with the wild beating of her own heart.

Lady Stark reached the innermost courtyard as thick raindrops began to fall in the thousands. As Y/N reined Tempest in, the young mare nearly rose to her hind legs. Tempest paced restlessly and snorted loudly as her breathless mistress sat frozen in her saddle. Y/N’s eyes found her husband standing beneath the stone canopy of the castle’s entrance, his formidable grey eyes awaiting the sight of the approaching rider.

Y/N’s breathing was loud and laboured as heavy rain fell down her face. Thunder echoed through the sky as Lord Stark came out to her. A stableboy rushed in and took the reins of Lady Stark’s mount. Cregan’s arms went to his wife’s waist as he lifted her from her saddle and helped her down. Y/N’s hands gripped onto Cregan’s arms, holding him tightly. To her, he looked the same as the day he left her. Her eyes welled with hot tears as heavy rain poured on the both of them.

“Is it really you?” asked Y/N, tears falling down her cheeks. Her body trembled. “Are you … Are you really back?”

Cregan watched her beautiful eyes, deep like pools with hope and longing. “It’s me,” he spoke as his large sword-calloused hand caressed her cheek, the tip of his thumb brushing across her lips. Cregan leaned in and kissed her desperately, having dreamed of this moment for what seemed to him a hundred years. His arms locked around Y/N’s waist, her feet no longer touching the floor. Even as they reached for air, their lips returned to one another’s, not being able to let go of each other’s bodies.

“Father,” said a small, breathless voice yet it was the only voice that could make the Lord and Lady of Winterfell tear away from each other.

Rickon stood beneath the stone canopy, not being able to believe his eyes either.

“Father!” called Rickon and ran out into the summer rain, his arms wrapping around his father’s neck. Cregan picked up his son and held the boy close to him, his heart aching with the time he had missed fighting for a crown he did not care for.

“Did you look after your mother, son?” asked Cregan against his son’s hair. Rickon pulled away, his big grey eyes meeting his father’s as he smiled.

“I did,” said Rickon proudly, “And I looked after Sarra too.”

Cregan turned to Y/N with Rickon securely in his arms. His grey eyes were drenched with guilt and love so profound he did not know how he was able to contain it in his chest.

“I would meet her,” asked Cregan, his voice soft as he stole another kiss from his wife. She took his hand and nodded as they got away from the rain.

Sarra was down for an afternoon sleep when Y/N showed Cregan to her nursery. The wetnurse stood up and bowed, startled as she saw the Lord of Winterfell had returned.

"Leave us please," Lady Stark gave her a small smile. The wetnurse bowed again and left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell with their daughter.

Cregan knelt beside Sarra’s small bed, his heart ripping into a thousand small pieces. A shaky breath escaped his lungs as he caressed his daughter’s soft hair from her face.

“She is so beautiful,” whispered Cregan, unable to take his eyes off Sarra. “She looks just like you.”

Y/N ran her hand across Cregan’s broad shoulders as she stood beside him, her heart filled with so much happiness it brought tears to her eyes. The Gods listened to her prayers.

Cregan took Y/N’s palm and kissed it as rain dripped off her long hair. He looked up at her. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I missed you, my love,” said Cregan as he stood up, his hands cupping Y/N’s cheeks. “I always dreamed of you.” He caressed Y/N's face gently with his thumbs, his gaze memorizing her beautiful eyes. Cregan kissed his wife tenderly.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark x y/n #winterfell #house stark #the wolf of the north #cregan fanfiction

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 day

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Hi there! I'm crazy about your stories about Feyd!! Truly brillant!! I've sren your accettino requests...wanted to know if you could a Feyd x reader where they are married and she let him keep the harpies. One day, while Feyd is in a council, reader gets attacked or someone tries to have his way with her and she's saved by the harpies, who kills the man and than take her to their room to care for her, and when Feyd arrives he reward them or something....you choose the endind.

Thankss

Protecting His

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Warnings/Notes: I made it a little bit different, so I hope that's ok. Mention of attempted assault, but it is not detailed. Goes with my His series, but you don't have to read it before reading this. I know this could've been smutty, but idk, the inspiration just didn't take it that route.

Words: 1360

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“I apologize, my Lady,” the harpy says as she dabs alcohol along the fresh slash on your forehead. “It’ll only be a minute more.”

Your chuckle is a weak breath of air. “You saved me. The last thing you need to do is apologize,” you tell her.

She briefly pauses her work before continuing. “Our Lord na-Baron will not understand,” she says.

She’s probably right. Red will be blinding his vision. It’s enough that a guest in your home—an invited guest, a welcomed guest—tried to take advantage of you in a moment when you showed him kindness, but a plethora of additional factors will only heighten your husband’s fury: the fact that you allowed yourself to be alone with another man, even though that was against your intention; the fact that that man touched you and tried to do more; the fact that you’re bleeding because of it; and the fact that Feyd wasn’t the one to protect you, and in his place, one of the harpies was forced to step in. As if they weren’t in enough trouble already.

He’s been deciding what to do with them for days now, trying to figure out if they have enough use elsewhere to be worth keeping alive, but he’s been coming up short, and you know their fates at the hands of your husband are unlikely to be forgiving.

They’d been so good for so long, so well-trained after they tried to take a bite out of you—literally—as you slept by Feyd’s side almost a year ago to the day. That act of disobedience cost them each a finger, but from learning their lesson, they eventually became trustworthy enough for Feyd to assign them as your handmaids. And they maintained the position until the unfortunate incident of one of them losing control.

She tried to take a nibble out of your flesh, and worse, in a moment when you were holding your newborn son. When Feyd learned of this, he lost his mind. Though the harpy acted alone, Feyd banished the three to the other side of the fortress and took the hand of the harpy who tried to have you for her next meal—this harpy.

You stare at the stump, a bandage replacing where pale, delicate fingers used to be. She’s lost enough. It’s not right that she suffer a lash to the neck simply for being within range of you. It’s not right that Feyd’s rage will have him do the same to the other two.

“I’ll make him understand,” you promise her as she covers the cut with a strip of tape, and as if on cue, your husband practically blows the door down with the force of a hurricane.

His eyes land on you and soften with worry at your injured state. They reharden as they find the harpy at your side. “What did she do!” he snaps.

You quickly rise to your feet, ignoring the dizziness that slightly blurs your vision, and place yourself between him and the harpy. “She saved me.”

He rushes toward her, but with your hands pressing into his chest, you keep him at bay. “She tried to harm you not a week ago!”

“And now she saved me.”

Feyd sucks in a breath through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling, his chest puffing and deflating. His eyes fall to your face. His brow knits as his hands cup your cheeks. He presses a long kiss to your lips, then says, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” you say. “He would’ve done more if she hadn’t been there.”

“I gave explicit orders—”

“I know,” you intercept. “But would you rather a dead wife?”

It’s a blow. Not a wise one, considering he almost lost you during the birth of your son, but it’s reality. You could’ve died tonight. The man that wanted to hurt you wouldn’t have kept you alive to name him after the fact, whether you’re the na-Baron’s wife or not. He’s much too high-ranking, and without your voice there to reveal his lies, he could’ve pinned the crime on anyone.

Feyd’s hands drop from your face, and during your husband's brief placation, you glance over your shoulder at the harpy. “It’s best you go back to your cell now. A guard will escort you.”

She bows her head. “Yes, my Lady,” she says before she treads lightly around you and your husband to the door.

Only once she’s gone and Feyd has settled into his seat at the foot of the bed do you say, “Don’t kill her.”

His head snaps up. “You will not tell me what to do.”

“I’m asking.”

“Why?”

You snort. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Feyd crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you teasing me at a time like this? Your life–” His eyelids pinch and he shakes his head. “You could’ve–”

With a sigh, you move to sit beside him on the mattress. “I’m fine,” you tell him. “But you cannot punish her for saving your wife. It’s not right.”

He pauses in his contemplation before he says, “What was she even doing on this side of the fortress?”

“She said she wanted to apologize to me and that you wouldn’t permit it, so she snuck over,” you answer. “You could’ve at least let her do that much.”

“I couldn’t risk it,” he lightly snaps. “I couldn’t risk you and the baby.”

When your hand lands on his forearm, he takes your fingers between his. “And they don’t have to be around us ever again if that’s what you want, but please reconsider hurting them further. They were always kind to me and–”

“Except when they tried to steal you from me to eat,” he reminds you.

“Yes, well, they were more kind than uncontrollably hungry.”

Feyd stares at you long and hard. His thumb rubs back and forth over yours. “You’re serious.”

You give a single decisive nod. “I am.”

—

When Feyd unlocks the cell door and steps inside, two of the harpies skitter across the floor to Feyd’s feet. They paw at the ankles of his pants. One’s head nuzzles the toe of his boot. He pays them little attention, his eyes on the hunt for the one tucked in the corner against the stone wall. She shies away from the blazing ray of his glare.

“My Lord, we are very sorry for what our sister did,” the first harpy says—the eldest, the tallest of the three. It is most fascinating to see her so low. She tightens her fingers into the pants fabric, but Feyd kicks her off, and her entire body jolts back like a creature freshly injured.

“So very sorry,” the second, who has backed away alongside her sister, mimics.

“Please spare–”

“Hush, I’m not in the mood,” Feyd scolds.

“Y-You will kill us?”

Feyd finally tears his stare from the huddled harpy to the ones by his feet. “You can pray to the kindness of my wife that I will not be,” he says. “You,” he juts his head back to the other. “You get a reward that I expect you to share with your sisters.”

Her head lifts from where it was resting atop her knees. Her dark eyes widen a touch.

“A reward?” one of the others says.

“For us?”

Feyd gives a curt nod to the guard behind him, and a moment later, the man who attempted to take you against your will is tossed into the room. Already battered and bruised, he remains face down on the cobblestone flooring. A groan escapes through his lips, but that and the slightly pinkish hue of his skin from whatever blood remains in his veins is all there is as proof of life.

“A meal,” Feyd says. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

The three glance at the body and then back up at Feyd. He doesn’t say another word as he turns on his heel and signals his guard to relock the cage. He doesn’t look back as the screams begin to echo through the dank halls. He has better things to do, like tending to his wife. It’s been a long day, after all, and she could use the comfort.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #austin butler #dune 2

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elysiansparadise · 2 days

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Sun as the ruler of the Composite Chart

This is possible only if you have Leo rising in the composite chart. If the Sun is one of the dominant or strongest planets in this chart it can resonate to some extent, that is, if the Sun is highly aspected, if there are many Leo placements or 5th house placements.

This is a relationship between people with a strong sense of identity. They both have a strong value and appreciation for themselves, so it is important to them that their and their partner's individuality is respected and cherished. This couple will always encourage their partner to show themselves as they are, not to hide any side of their personality and they will show genuine love to each part that makes up the essence of their partner. They like the idea of being clear with who they are, “if you like it, you stay… If not, you can leave.” They do not intend to change themselves or their partner, and I am not talking about not wanting to improve, but rather wanting to change traits in their partner that make them who they are.

Just now that I mention it, this couple will always have in mind wanting to constantly improve, progress together and be proud of each other. They will celebrate each other's joys and achievements as if they were their own. There will be mutual adoration, admiration and dazzle for the other, and they may have fallen in love with each other from the beginning. Both easily catch the other's attention and not only that, but they know how to maintain it. Together they make things fun in the relationship, they are playful, daring, authentic and very witty.

With this relationship, both will know sides of their personality that they might not be aware of, likewise, they will find in each other a lover or friend [or both] who will love them just as they are. They will be warm with each other, affectionate and demonstrative. They will know the fun side of connections with another person, a more lighthearted, less gloomy side in which they will not have heavy burdens on their shoulders or where they will not feel judged or singled out 24/7. Both of you can be taught to have fun and let go easily, not to demand too much of yourself, and to truly and constantly embrace and love each other. Both can have a confidence boost and even a glow up, in general they will feel more attractive and self-confident.

Being with each other will bring you a strong sense of warmth, you will feel immediately happy when you find the other's eyes looking at you. Smiles will appear in your faces and you will find yourself loving every part of the other's face, personality and heart. They can more easily awaken the emotion and joy of the other's inner child, they feel that they are young again next to each other. They will alternate between the most passionate lovers to the most playful and childish ones. They feel alive, excited, entertained and even excited about not only the relationship, but life.

🖤With the Sun in the 1st house, this couple will seek to be dynamic, they will want to experience amazing and incredible things together. They will seek to be warm with each other and connect by being genuine and authentic with each other. They don't need to prove anything to anyone, or show everyone what an amazing couple they are, they focus on showing each other the enormous love and respect they have for each other. They want and desire to bring beautiful and positive things to each other's lives.

🖤Sun in the 2nd house makes them want to seek stability and create a trust formed by actions that show their devotion and affection. They want to constantly show the other how important they are in their lives, how much they care about the other and the love they feel. They want to be that stable pillar for each other, someone they can trust and rely on if necessary. They will always seek to give their partner their place, respecting them, not hiding them from others and taking them into account.

🖤When the Sun is in the 3rd house, both will focus on communication being direct, honest, fun and clear. They want to be each other's confidants, they want and are excited to know how the other's day was, to hear what's going on in their mind or simply to laugh at their jokes. They want the other person to feel appreciated for what they have to say, truly heard. They will love the idea of getting to know each other through meaningful, long, heart-to-heart conversations.

🖤Sun in the 4th house indicates that they want to be each other's safe place, the place they go when they want to feel safe, loved and accepted. There is a beautiful quality between you, as you seek and manage to deeply love the deepest sides of each other. There is adoration, care, and a sense of protection of the other's heart. Tensions and stress disappear in the arms of others, those who provide them with warmth and affection. They want to be intimate and loving with each other.

🖤Sun in its domicile house, the 5th house shows a couple who wants to have fun and live a beautiful relationship together. One in which they do not place expectations, but adore and are adored as they are, from head to toe, inside and out. They focus on accepting and appreciating the other in their entirety, without idealizing. They want to laugh, live, enjoy and love next to each other, they want to be themselves together. They want to give each other the romance they deserve.

🖤Sun’s presence in the 6th house makes the couple naturally appreciate the small details that the other has with them. They have no problem understanding, adapting and improving together, every effort in the relationship is valuable if it leads to a future together. They do not bring more questions or doubts into each other's lives, this couple resolves, supports and progresses. They value their efforts and always recognize each other's actions. They focus on constantly improving the relationship.

─────────────✧─────────────

🖤Sun in the 7th house shows a couple that stands out for being reciprocal. Both people give what they get and it is never a problem for them to love the other with everything they have. They are an unstoppable team, they are a support in each other's lives, a reliable lover but above all an equal, here no one dominates over the other. They focus on having and enjoying a relationship where they feel equally loved, one that cheers them up when they are low and that makes them see love in a better light.

🖤Sun in the 8th house makes this couple's focus on creating a relationship where they can be intimate with each other in every way. From enjoying and connecting in the sexual area to knowing the depths of the other and those facets hidden from the public eye. There is a strong desire to be with each other, to connect together like never before like anyone else. This relationship is not superficial for either of them and can become an unforgettable one for both of them. There is a deep fascination with the other and great attraction between them.

🖤When we find Sun in the 9th house, we deduce that they focus on living and experiencing life together. They will travel and discover great things together from the literal to the metaphorical sense. Both focus on living intensely with each other, on forming that healthy relationship that fills them with happiness and positive teachings. They want to grow together and it genuinely gives them happiness to imagine a future together. They will want to explore each other's inner world and get to know each other deeply.

🖤Sun laying in the 10th house shows that they are both focused on the relationship having a clear direction and that you are both working together to make things work. This couple thinks a lot about the future and decides to invest time, love and energy in the relationship to give it the necessary strength. They face obstacles together, unstoppable and very oriented towards their path together. They focus on being each other's pillars and guiding each other when fears or insecurities lurk. Strong admiration for the other.

🖤Sun’s presence in the 11th house makes them create a relationship in which they do not limit each other, they appreciate the individuality & independence of the other. They want to show themselves to the other as they are and have no problems completely accepting their partner, because they feel a genuine fascination and intrigue for the other. They both want to fulfill their goals and dreams together, and support the other no matter what. They do not seek to control the other or impose expectations.

🖤And finally, Sun in the 12th house makes both seek to support and care for each other, there is a genuine desire to see the other well and help each other when things are not going well. Both feel attracted like magnets to the other, possibly from the beginning. They may be able to read each other like a book from the early stages. They want to create a relationship in which both can be themselves and express themselves without fear of judgment or demerit. There is a strong emotional and spiritual connection.

#composite charts #astrology #composite chart #composite chart post #astro content #sun #sun in the composite chart #sun ruling the composite chart #leo rising in the composite chart #leo #composite chart ruler

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liahaslosthermind · 1 day

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~ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒇 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒍 ~

Past Rhysand x OC (Adelaide), Eventual Azriel x OC Part 3 of Betrayal Summary: With renewed purpose, Azriel heads to the library to see what he can get about resurrection spells. He also has to deal with a family intervention. Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Hurt/No Comfort, Death of a loved one, Grief, Cheating, Betrayal.

Azriel raced to the library after giving Adelaide a goodbye kiss on the forehead, hoping it was the last time he would do so while she was dead.

He grabbed anything he could find on magic such as this, and scared the shit out of the priestesses in the process. He would usually take good care to show patience and nothing but kindness to them, but the desperation, lack of care, and now suddenly, hope, he couldn't bring himself to hide his feelings.

Azriel started to walk back to her room when he stopped by his door.

Maybe he should shower? Change clothes?

These weren't things Azriel cared to do much anymore. He kept himself from smelling, and changed every time he did so. But that was out of necessity, and he did it as fast as he could. It was never to make himself feel better or because he cared enough to want to.

It was a weird feeling in his chest when he put on the warm clothes the house had given him. Happiness? Fear? Hope?

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't really call himself happy, only two hours ago he was planning on taking his life, but he felt he could soon be happy, he now had a future to look forward to.

A future in which his best friend was once again by his side.

In other new developments, when Azriel's stomach made enough noise for him to truly realize how much he was starving, he decided he did want a proper meal, not just the scraps he had been forced to eat by his family because he otherwise wouldn't have done so.

It was the middle of the night, a time that usually meant it was safe for him to leave her room without being disturbed. His shadows would alert him if anyone had been there, but since he had come to the decision to take his life, they hadn't been speaking to him, certainly upset at his choices.

But they also didn't leave his side. They had been a constant companion these past 6 months. At first, he begged and begged them to leave him alone and while they would keep their distance when asked, they were never not only a few feet away, tucked into the corner of the room.

The hardest moments, when his chest felt like it was caving in from grief, they became a shield from the outside world, covering him and giving him a safe space. He could feel them providing a heavy weight upon his skin, not as to crush him, but to keep him grounded.

He had appreciated it, thanking them when he remembered to. But now, he cursed them out when he walked into the dining room to see his entire family sat at the table, staring at him, surprising him.

6 months ago, something like this would never happen. The Spy Master never allowed anyone to sneak up on him, to surprise him.

But he didn't feel like the Spy Master anymore.

"Sit, boy." Amren commanded. Not unusual of her to do so, but there was more in her tone than just snappiness. Hurt? Despair? Two emotions he rarely saw from her.

He felt his shadows nudging him to the empty chair at the head of the table. Where she used to sit, Rhysand at the other end, Azriel usually by her right side.

But his usual seat was taken by Gwyn, one of the priestesses he had become almost friends with before... everything. He would train with them sometimes and he would usually go to her when getting books for himself or Adelaide.

Despite the shadows' nudging, he didn't move an inch.

"What is this?" He asked, a thousand thoughts running through his head. Everyone looked... somber. Desperate. Angry.

"Please, Azriel" Elaine managed to get out before sobs left her mouth. While whatever they had in the past had faded, they remained good friends, thats why he finally sat down at the table with his family for the first time in months.

"Gwyneth came to us after you went to the library. She said- she said there was something wrong with you." Rhysand said, grief heavy in his voice. A rare occurrence, when the High Lord couldn't mask his emotions.

"No more than usual." Azriel snapped back. This was a waste of time, and he had not forgiven Rhysand for his actions, no matter how much his brother groveled, no matter how much Azriel knew he was mourning, no matter how ashamed he was of what happened.

How could he? When at the end of the day, Feyre was the one holding his hand and comforting him, while Adelaide, sweet Addie, was lifeless in a cold marble box.

"Your family said as much to me, but it was different, Azriel. I hadn't seen you in a few months and while I know this is a difficult time, I couldn't recognize you. There was, there was something else." Gwyn spoke up.

"I went to check on you in her room, expecting to see you in the same chair, but you weren't there, just a note in your place.'" Nesta explained.

Bury me with her, thats all I ask, that was Azriel's final request, his final message to his family, after 500 years together.

Sobs came from somewhere but he couldn't tell who it was. The ringing in his ears, the blurry vision, the feeling of his stomach dropping, it was all too much for him. He should have gotten that note the moment he came back.

Cassian, who was to Azriel's left, was shaking as he tried to stop his emotions from taking over his body, spoke in a soft and pained voice, "Nesta came back to us, holding the note and looking as if she- as if she'd seen a ghost. When she read it out, to us, Rhys and I winnowed to her resting place. You weren't there, the only sign you had been was your blanket, drapped over her. We thought- we didn't know if-" Cassian couldn't finish his sentence as Rhysand interupted him, seething with anger and hurt.

"Haven't we lost enough? Why would you do this, Az? Are you truly that selfish?" He screamed. He only stopped and took a breath when Feyre put her hand on his arm, trying to offer a comforting touch. He now spoke with a more level headed tone. "Why not talk to us, talk to me? I know you are upset and hurt by my actions. Gods know I will never forgive myself for the rest of my days, but I lost the woman I had loved my whole life. We both lost her, I- all I wanted to do these past 6 months was grieve with the one other person who loved and knew her as much as I." Feyre retracted her hand, clearly jilted from Rhys mentioning his love for another woman. "You didn't lose anything. You immediately had a replacement lover! I lost everything, and I had to stay by her side as she died, watching you betray her in her final moments. You are calling me selfish for wanting to end my life, but you would have been in the same position had you not had your mate to eagerly take her place." He spit out the word mate in disgust. He had spent his whole life wishing for a mate, but seeing all the pain they seemed to cause, he now wished to never have one.

He had liked Feyre, initially. She hadn't been anything but kind to him, but she jumped at the chance to be Rhys' one and only, and the few weeks before Adelaide had died, Feyre had acted as if she had claim to the High Lord. As if a mating bond could undo centuries of love.

But Azriel guessed it could, seeing as she was now warming his bed.

"Azriel," Cassian spoke up, trying to stop him from saying what he was about to.

"No! Fuck this. You were replacing her as she was dying. Don't talk to me about how much you are mourning her. If you ever feel even a sliver of the misery I have felt for the past 6 months, it would kill you. And I hope it does."

"Azriel!" Feyre yelled, shocked at how he could speak this way to his oldest friend.

He turned to Feyre, finally addressing her for the first time in half a year, "I know you aren't, you are too self centered to, but I also hope you feel shame and disgust every second you spend with him. I hope it eats you alive and you grow to hate yourself because of it. I wish you nothing but a long and unhappy existence."

"How dare you speak to your High Lady like that." Rhysand screamed. In 500+ years, Azriel had heard him yell like that but never had it been directed at him.

The world simultaneously stopped turning for everyone in that room as it sunk in what he just said. What he just revealed. All Azriel could do was look at his family, seeing each of them not surprised at the information, but ashamed, and disgusted, and scared at what was to happen next. They all knew.

"What?" he said, with as much venom and hatred in his voice it was a shock the High Lord didn't fall dead because of it.

Rhysand was now pale, apologetic. He knew he had fucked up, and he had fucked up hard.

Swallowing his guilt and fear, Rhysand tried to calmly explain, more care in his voice than before: "A few months ago, Feyre and I accepted the bond. We then immediately married. It was a secret and intimate affair, no one else but the officiant and us two. I then declared her as my High Lady."

Silence, as they all awaited the Shadowsinger's response. He didn't move for several moments, but his shadows became thick and heavy, almost suffocating everyone in the room. The High Lord and the General had seen him do this, but that was when he was about to torture someone, as he was about to hurt someone who he hated.

Using his wings to propel him forward, Azriel launched himself at his brother, intent on giving him a slow and painful death.

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #rhysand x oc #rhysand x reader #rhysand angst #rhysand #feyre #cassian #elain archeron #nesta archeron #azriel x oc #acotar angst #~ lia's betrayal series ~

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robo-writing · 5 hours

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I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing.

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck.

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity.

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so.

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed.

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm.

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about.

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read.

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

#Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #hope this was sad enough for you anon #graphics by strangergraphics!

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