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yourlocallunatic · 3 months ago

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My King in the North

Cregan Stark x fem Velaryon!reader 18+

Summary: You fly with your brother to meet with the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to ally your families in the height of the Dance of Dragons. In exchange for soldiers, your mother has offered up you—her eldest daughter.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, piv sex, oral sex (fem receiving) canonical Stark breeding kink (seriously, hardcore breeding kink). HoTD tragedies (character deaths)

wordcount: 8.2k

The wind grew sharper the further North you flew, snow started to cling to your hair and lashes, encasing you in the cold. On the back of your dragon, you tried your best to curl into yourself to keep warm. The rain you saw from time to time on Dragonstone was cold, but not like this. You could feel the fierce power of the North in the gusts of the wind and it made you feel something, something more than you felt anywhere in the South.

You approached Winterfell, the rolling green hills and the thick forest surrounding it. The sky was gray and a light snow covered the cobblestone streets and the tops of the tower. It seemed dull, but there was a distinguished charm to the place. You and your brother landed your dragons near the front gates, and the guards standing watch shuffled stiffly on their feet–eyes growing wide at the sheer size of the beasts. The gates opened and a man walked at the front, he was broad and burly, his long hair was pulled half-back and a large sword was slung across his back. This was the Lord of Winterfell. Your betrothed.

“Winterfell welcomes you, my friends,” his voice shook with a deep Northern accent, his arms were outstretched with a gesture of welcome.

“Thank you, my Lord. Our mother–her Grace–thanks you for seeing us,” Jacearys spoke approaching Lord Stark. You stayed back a bit, letting your brother do the talking for now.

“Please, please, come in. We have a feast prepared, you shall sit at the high table with myself,” He patted Jace on the back hard, your brother letting out a cough at the impact. The Northerners were clearly not very concerned with the prim-and-proper treatment of royals. It was refreshing. You set your dragon away, leaving her to fly and explore, knowing she would return. You follow your brother, guards following you on either side—Lord Starks welcoming behavior did not reflect that of the guards he enforced. You knew it was risky of him to trust you, and he showed you that with the guards that stood by him and the sword that lay on his back. He was smart.

Warmth enveloped you as you entered the halls, every patron of the court stood and bowed as you all entered. They did not bow at you and your brother, however, but to the Warden. You’d heard of Northern stubbornness and now you were seeing it in full effect. They did not like outsiders and you saw that as they sent occasional glares to you. Lord Stark took a seat at the high table, you and Jace sitting on either side of him, though you protested to sit next to your brother.

"Please, be seated," Lord Stark's voice boomed throughout the hall, "I thank you all for welcoming the children of The Queen, the Prince, and Princess shall remain with us for a stay, I ask you all to extend your arms to them. Now eat your fill! Winter is coming," he spoke with such a high level of authority but it was so evident in the way his people listened attentively that they all respected him. And the mere fact that he had called Rhaenyra the Queen already struck something in the minds of his people.

You still did not speak, eating quietly as you listened to the conversations around you. Jace and Lord Stark spoke to each other, you could tell a bond was forming, the two seemed very alike already. Two young Lords, they knew power at such a small age. You watched the Warden from the corner of your eye, the way he spoke with Jacearys was firm, but not unfriendly, he knew what you and your brother came here to ask and he was setting his boundaries early–the type of move a king would make. Studying his face you noticed more and more, that his brow line was firm, and his eyes a steel grey, he was very much a Stark by all the accounts you'd read. He had a small scar running along the side of his cheek, one you couldn't help but wonder what it came from.

"Tell me, Princess," you turn your head to the young woman sitting beside you, a bit younger than yourself you guessed, "you came here with the intent of staying in the North, did you not?"

"Pardon me, Lady–?" you asked. Finally speaking.

"Just Sara, your Grace. You intend to marry my brother?" this was the Lord of Winterfell's sister, you recalled–a bastard–thinking back to your books on the North. Evidently, he was very committed to his family, considering he would let a bastard sit at the high table with him; let alone sit in the hall altogether.

"The Queen's intention, yes," you bite back, still bitter at your mother for so easily sending you away for the sake of her crown.

"So you do not intend to?" the girl asked, genuine curiosity laced in her voice.

"No-well, yes..." You stutter, before taking a deep breath, "I do what the Queen asks of me."

"Do not fret, Princess, you will be well taken care of here," she sets a warm hand on your arm and gives you a soft smile, doing her best to calm you in your distressed state. "My brother may be a formidable warrior and leader, but don't let him fool you, he cares very much for those around him. Especially one so beautiful as you."

"Thank you, Sara. I apologize, I fear I've gotten caught up in my worries, leaving my family so suddenly, not even knowing if Lord Stark will accept the proposed betrothal. I have a lot on my mind." you laugh nervously, pushing your food around your plate with your fork (very un-ladylike your septa would tell you).

"You needn't say sorry, Princess," the girl was sweet, and you could tell it was genuine, hopefully, she'd be a fast friend. "And trust me, he will accept the proposal," she whispered to you sneakily.

"And how do you know that? Surely he has better offers," you combat, keeping your voice low as well, Lord Stark barely a foot away from you.

"My brother is smart. He plans to take your brother to the wall and discuss terms, leaving you here to put your impression on the people. He wouldn't have accepted the two of you here without learning more about you first, he knows the good you've done for the realm even as a young Lady. No matter the Queen's standings, he knows he would have someone good by his side. Someone the North could accept." there was something larger at play here you could tell, larger than both yourself and Lord Stark, larger than your mother and Aegon's petty argument. This was about the whole of the North.

"Moreover, my brother is a man, and no man could say no to a pretty woman with a dragon who could give him little dragon babies," she giggles, eliciting a laugh from you as well, "no man is smart enough for that." a louder laugh leaves your mouth from her comment, you cover your mouth with your hand, trying your best to be proper.

"Seems we already have two new friends!" Jacaerys voice interrupting your laughter, "Haven't heard her laugh in years, nose always stuck in a book." your brother teases making you roll your eyes. Lord Stark turns his body to face you, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Just as I hoped," he moved his gaze to his sister, his smile grew larger, and you could tell he was grateful for her warm demeanor. "Princess, would you care for a walk?" his eyes were still on his sister but he moved them quickly to you. You turn to Sara, and she gives you a smirk and a small nod, gently pushing your shoulder to go with the Warden.

"Y-yes, my Lord, it would please me greatly," you stand and bow your head. He extends his arm and you hold onto it politely. Even through the thickness of his tunic and cloak, you could feel how strong he was–and it made you blush.

The two of you didn't speak to one another as you walked the streets of Winterfell, he would stop occasionally to greet people though, goodness coming through his rough demeanor. You came to the godswood and walked through, the noise from the streets gone replaced with the whistling of the wind and the quieting chirps of birds as night fell.

"I spoke with your brother," his thick voice filled the silence, "but I wished to speak with you as well before we continue with our terms." He stopped walking and turned to face you, not letting go of your arm.

"Of course, Lord Stark," his lips turn up slightly on one side at your formality.

"As the Queen's terms stated, you need aid from the North, and in exchange, she will give me your hand in marriage. Is this what you wish?" He seemed concerned, more so than he should be.

"Of course, my Lord, whatever my Queen wishes of me." You bow your head to him in submission. Would he be a rough lover? You wondered. Everyone told tales of how brutal of a ruler he could be, how brutal a fighter. Would he be brutal with you? Only see to you to stick an heir in your womb?

"Is that what you wish, Princess?" his arm held yours tighter, a sense of urgency in his tone. "I know of your family, I know that marriage is a duty, it is here in the North too. But in the North, we believe there is also passion in marriage and love. I do not want you to subject yourself to this if you think I am only here to rule you."

"I-I wish for a happy life," you close your eyes, for the first time in your life speaking your truth plainly, "I wish for my family to be safe, children to care for, land for my dragon to fly in peace..." you trail off, his sister may have been right, he may care for those around him, but he was also dangerous to those he did not. Now all you could hope was that there was something he cared about in you.

"Then you shall have it," he spoke with the authority of a king. "I've heard of what you've done in Dragonstone and even King's Landing for your kinsman's people. I wish to have you by my side, not just to wife, but to show the North there is good still left, and we have her fighting for us."

"Thank you, for accepting the proposal, Lord Stark, it would be an honor to serve the North."

"Thank you, Princess," those steely eyes stared straight into yours and you believed him with every part of you. "I will take your brother further North to the wall to discuss the rest of our terms, when I return we shall be wed within a fortnight. Will you be alright here?"

"Yes, my Lord," you smile at him. Duty and passion he had said. You simply couldn't wait for his return, dying to see what his passion felt like.

You made your way back to the hall together, taking your seats again. They would leave at dawn he told you flying on dragon-back. You tried to get him to fly your dragon instead of going with Jace, but he insisted she stay here while he couldn't be here to protect you.

"Ever proud Northmen are," Sara whispered to you, "that dragon could protect an army," you giggle at her joke, glad you would have her here to keep you company the next coming days.

The next days you had hardly a moment's rest, busying yourself with learning more and more of the North's history within the Keep's library. At one point Sara held a lunch for you and some Ladies of the Court. "It will make a good impression." she'd told you. So you put on a smile and listened to the gossip that ensued. It took a moment for the Ladies to warm to you but once Sara revealed that Lord Stark was to have your hand in marriage they flurried into excitement, one of them even offering to sew together your wedding dress at once. You smiled, the North was a cold place, but it was clear that there was a warmth to be found in the community.

"My husband hasn't bed me in years," one of the ladies had said, several of them chiming in saying their husbands did the same, "what I'd give for one of those Stark men, I hear they bed you every night to ensure a babe takes..."

"I hear they know everything of a woman's pleasure, Lord Stark should surely pass a law to all our husbands to do the same."

"My maid saw him bathing once…told me he's got the largest member she's ever seen."

The words flew around you, the women all laughing and giving you jealous looks. Your face grew red at the thought of him bedding you, giving you all the children you could hope for. As wonderful as the welcome of these women was, it was also highly unusual for women in the South to talk about such things with one another, clearly another difference you'd have to grow accustomed to.

"Alright ladies, I'm sure the Princess would appreciate some respite on the wedding talk, as would I with hearing about my brother's cock," Sara spoke loudly, a teasing tone in her voice, but everyone listened nonetheless. She excused the two of you and led you outside for some fresh air. You wrapped the new fur cloak you were given tighter around yourself, still growing used to the cold.

You walked together for a bit before you heard the familiar screech of Vermax in the air. They weren't supposed to return for a few more days...perhaps they had come to an early agreement. You quicken your pace to the front gate, arriving just as your brother and Lord Stark entered.

"How was riding on dragon-back, Lord Stark?" you tease, walking to greet the two of them. But he didn't respond. He walked close to you, a solemn look in his eyes. Something had happened, what happened? He puts a cold hand on your shoulder, casting his gaze downward. "Is everything alright, my Lord?" your voice began to shake. He looks you in the eye once again before walking away. Had the engagement broken off? You wonder, your heart dropping slightly at the thought. Jacaerys didn't move from where he stood a few feet in front of you. His face was blank, void of any emotion trying to break through. "Jace...what's happened, am I to return home now?" he did not answer. You walked to him, grabbing his face in your hands to make him meet your gaze, "Jace, answer me. What's happened?" your voice firm, tears beginning to grow in your eyes from anger as he still said nothing. "Jacaerys!" you shout, and that's when you see it, a crumpled piece of parchment clutched in his hand. The broken seal was that of your mothers, she's sent a raven. Why? You grab the message from him and hastily unfold it, doing your best to make out the tear-stained ink.

No. No. It couldn't be real. Your brother. Your baby brother. The boy too brave for his own good. Lucaerys...

"This isn't real, it can't be..." your chest was tight and your vision began to blur, you looked around you, trying to find someone to give you answers, Jacaerys still mute. You stumbled blindly as your body began to wrack with gasping breaths, you ran into a solid body, grasping on to whoever it was and not letting go.

"Come, Princess, let's get you to your chambers," the deep Northern accent resonated from above you.

"No, my-my, no my baby brother..." your voice barely coherent, "my baby brother..."

"I know, I know, Princess, walk with me," Lord Stark did his best to keep his grasp on you, but to no avail.

"He was a child!" you screamed, pushing yourself away from him. "An innocent boy!" Your body began to tumble backward but Jace was right behind you, standing to hold you upright, his own eyes now leaking tears, trying as he might to keep a brave face. You struggle between the two men as they try to drag you back to the keep. You couldn't breathe, the air inside was suffocating. You threw open the window in your chambers sucking in a deep breath before collapsing to the ground.

You didn't know how many hours had passed, you cried until your tears ran dry and screamed until your lungs gave out. Your wails echoed through the halls. Now you sat beneath the open window, the cold air seeping into your bones as the fire in your chambers died down. War would break out soon over something so trivial. Your family had always been teetering on killing each other and you hated it. It wasn't just Aemond that killed Lucaerys, it was every single one of the Targaryens.

There was a soft knock at your door but you did not acknowledge. Not that it mattered, shortly after the knock the door opened and your brother entered. He shut the door behind him before making his way over to you and sliding down the wall to sit next to you.

"We will leave at dawn," he spoke, turning his head to face you.

"We? Jacaerys, I cannot go back there. This has gone on far too long, since the moment Aegon was born, I am finished being a part of this game of thrones," your voice was broken from the crying and screaming, and it was broken from the pain.

"Mother will want you safe, with her," he combated.

"Safe? I'm safe here Jace, away from the fighting, the safest I've been all my life. The engagement is set now and you have made your terms, my duty is to the North now, and to the North, it will stay," you spoke exasperatedly. You stood from your spot on the ground and made to tend the fire again, "Has Lord Stark given you adequate resources?" you question, trying to change the subject.

"2,000 of his older fighting men, greybeards, he calls them."

"Good, then you will take your leave at dawn. Tell mother I love her, but she cannot send me away only to try and take me back as soon as she loses a child," he nodded at you sadly, tears in his eyes, he was losing his sister too now. "Come here, I'm sorry, but this is what she wanted." You move to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you.

"At least let me stay for the wedding," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"You mustn't waste more time, avenge Luke for me, he was the best of us."

"I will. I promise," he told you, right as there was another knock at your door. You clear your hoarse throat, trying to sound the lady you were.

"Enter," yes you tried, but your voice still shook.

"My Prince, Princess," Lord Stark enters the room, giving you each polite nod.

"Please, Cregan, you needn't use formalities, I'm to be your brother soon after all," Jacaerys spoke up, trying his best to lighten the mood. Cregan gave him a smile before he continued speaking.

"Of course, that is what I came to ask. As you are leaving at dawn, I thought you may want to be here for your sister's wedding," his gaze turned to you, almost questioning. "I've had arrangements made and was curious to if the Princess would like for the ceremony to take place tonight?" you tried to interrupt, not sure if you could handle the festivities after such a loss you've endured, but he quickly cut you off before you could say anything, "It would be small, only us and a priest, we will have a feast to celebrate whenever you're ready, Princess." your brows turned down and adoration flooded you, he looked at you steadily for a response.

"Thank you, my Lord, I would love to have my brother here, your thought is much appreciated."

"Thank you, Cregan," Jace extended his hand to give him a firm handshake, the two exchanging grateful looks. The ceremony would be in half an hour under the weirwood tree in the godswood, in the sight of the old gods. It was growing late so you didn't bother trying to call a maid, instead you re-braided your own hair and put on the heavy cloak and thick wool dress you were gifted when you arrived in Winterfell, you looked positively Northern.

Jacaerys took your arm and walked you down the cobbled streets to the godswood, where Lord Stark would be waiting. You hadn't had much time to process everything, still so caught in Luke's passing, but you did know that as Sara once said, you would be well taken care of in Winterfell. It was a clear night, the moon and stars illuminated the path through the trees to where your soon-to-be husband stood. He looked regal standing there, the spitting image of a king. Your brother kissed your forehead before handing you over to Lord Stark. Your mind was foggy. I am his and he is mine. The only words that mattered, and the only ones you would remember.

Your goodbyes to Jace were tearful. He couldn't wait until dawn to leave so he mounted his dragon and left, you knew it was because up there, so high in the clouds he could cry, he didn't have to be a prince.

You walked back to your chambers, Lord Stark escorting you. You weren't sure if you could do this, he would want to consummate you were positive of it, but after the day you'd had...you couldn't muster your strength. You came to your door and waited for him to enter before you shut the door behind you, you stood there, not certain if you should wait for him or just get it over with. You turned and watched as he removed his cloak before adding another log to the fire. Get it over with. You told yourself, removing your own cloak and boots before starting on the strings of your dress.

"What are you doing, Princess?" He looked at you, confused, walking over to you quickly and pulling your dress back on your shoulders.

"This is my duty, Lord Stark," you said tearfully. He gave a slight laugh before taking your face in his hands, making you look him in the eye.

"No, no, not tonight, I only came to tend your fire, it's been a long day for you, I will never expect anything of you." you wrapped your arms around him suddenly, aching to be held. And that he did, one arm was around your shoulders and the other cradled the back of your head pulling you close.

"Thank you, again, my Lord," you mumbled into his chest. He pushed you away, and a teasing smile played on his face.

"Never mind, I will expect one thing of you, and that is to call me by my name, no more 'My Lords' or 'Lord Stark'. You are my wife."

"Then thank you, Cregan, for treating me so very well," you smiled at him, "no more 'princess' either, I am no longer one after all," you spoke back. The smile on your face turns down.

"Very well, I will leave you to rest then," he spoke your name as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and made his way to the door. You didn't want him to leave. He was yours now, you wanted him with you, to protect you and care for you in your hours of sorrow.

"Cregan," you called out softly, your dress now slipping off your shoulders again. He turned back, a hopeful look in his eye, "Stay with me?" he said nothing as he walked back to you, ridding himself of the cloak he held before removing his boots, you continued with the strings of your dress, trying your best to reach behind your back when you suddenly felt warm fingers entangled with yours and he continued your work. You were left in a linen slip, standing close to the fire to keep yourself warm. You watched as he unbuckled his belt and removed his doublet, he walked slowly to one side of the bed and placed his formidable sword next to the bed. He held back the fur coverings and nodded to you, motioning you to climb in the bed. Your steps were slow and cautious, but you trusted him. You moved beneath the furs, instantly feeling much warmer, your body heated even more when Cregan moved in next to you holding out his arm so you could fall into his body. It felt right, you were warm, you were safe, you were cared for. Your head lay across his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as you fell asleep.

"Always, dear wife," he spoke into the silence of the night where he soon fell asleep with you to the dying embers on the hearth.

_________________

You spent your days the next few weeks trying to take hold of your grief, you did your best, keeping your head buried in books to distract yourself. Cregan would take you with him to various meetings and suppers, you were thankful for the distraction and you slowly drew closer to him. You continued on with your arrangement, he would see to your chambers in the evening, tend the fire, and climb into the bed with you, stroking your hair till you slept. But with that, you grew more and more frustrated, his closeness began to stir something in you, a deep longing. You woke one night with the space beside you empty, you sat up in the bed hastily calling out his name. He was standing at the window staring into the darkness of the night, he had taken his tunic off, something he hadn't done in front of you yet, and his back was stiff and muscular from years of training. His arms–now bare–you could see exactly how strong he was, a force to be reckoned with. He hadn't heard you call his name so you slowly slid out of the bed, tugging on the silk robe one of your ladies' maids had embroidered for you, direwolves wrapping around your neck, and snowflakes falling down the sleeves. You walked to where Cregan stood, standing close to him and peering out the window along with him. The wolves were howling in the night causing a chill to run through you, you still couldn't tell what their cries meant, were they mourning with you? Were they angry? Hungry?

"It's said the blood of the first men runs through your veins, that I believe," you spoke into the night. "there's also a folk tale that says the Stark men who have that blood can turn to direwolves when they wish, that... I'm still not sure of." Cregan smiles at the sound of your sleepy voice.

"You've been reading," he states, looking to meet your eyes.

"Yes, I like learning about your people, and your library is always kept so warm," you giggle, thinking of the cozy days you've spent in there.

"I wish that tale were true...it would make ruling so much easier, I wouldn't have to go to meetings anymore, I could intimidate people without having to use my sword, protect my people better..." he sounded hopeful as if he believed he still had a chance for the tale to come true.

"You are a good ruler, you would make a splendid King," you told him, grabbing his hand to hold within yours, despite the cold of the night you could feel his blood still running hot.

"A King?" he questioned, never more than just the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

"Your people were kings for thousands of years, my ancestors took that away from you so they could unite and rule a monarchy," you say, speaking of all the books you've been reading, "In my eyes, you are still the King in the North, and the North remembers, your people remember."

"What you speak is treason, treason to your mother the Queen, and your family!" A man of honor. He pledged himself to the Queen, he would not back out of his oath, even if this is what the North had for thousands of years.

"Perhaps, but my duty is here now. We will let them fight amongst themselves as we prepare for something bigger...your kin, and mine," you give him a look of urgency. "My mother told me of the Prince who was Promised. The Song of Ice and Fire. The book I've seen sitting on your desk..." he knows what is to happen, every Stark Lord is told and does well to abide by it. Cregan was shocked to know you had knowledge of it, and even more shocked that you would put aside your family and call yourself a traitor all for a prophecy.

"My wife..." he trails, worried that this would grow into something far out of his reach.

"Your oath to the prophecy proceeds that of your oath to my mother. We will not betray her, but we must survive for the whole of the realm," you're holding both his hands now, looking at him desperately. He knows this is true.

"We will survive," he states, agreeing with you. "but I will not be the king."

"You will be my King," your eyes draw closed as you sink to your knees. "I have wed myself to you, now I pledge myself to you, I know no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." His eyes fill with adoration as he looks down at you, soon following suit to kneel with you on the ground.

"Then you will be my Queen," his words ring clear and true as he rests his forehead against yours, drawing you close to him. "come to bed with me, our celebration feast is tomorrow, and you need your rest." He stands and extends his hand to help you up and doesn't let go once you are standing as well. He leads you to the bed letting you get yourself comfortable before laying beside you, your faces mere inches away as you stare into one another's eyes.

"Cregan," you whisper, your eyes flitting down to look at his lips, his mouth was slightly open and he spoke your name back to you, "Please kiss me." he wasted not a second, moving those few inches to connect your lips, he was warm all over, the pure fire that warmed the North, his lips were dry and slightly cracked but they were full and consumed you whole. He pulled away before anything went too far and a giggle left your mouth as you looked at his reddened face. He smiled at you before placing another kiss on your forehead and pulling you close. You both fell asleep fast, holding each other until the sun rose.

The next day was a flurry of commotion to prepare for the feast. The lady from the lunch you'd had with Sara (who you now learned was Lady Umber, wife of Lord Umber) insisted you wore the dress she had sewn for your wedding ceremony, claiming you had to wear it to the feast if the ceremony had already happened. You complied for the dress was stunning, thick and woolen, a real northern dress lined with white furs and embroidered with the direwolf sigil. Foods were rushed into the great hall as garlands were hung on the hearths. One of your ladies was finishing braiding your hair in a northern fashion like you'd insisted when there was a knock at your door.

"My Lord," your lady bowed before finishing the braid and swiftly exiting to leave the two of you alone.

"You look beautiful," Cregan said softly as he made his way over to you, he grabbed a piece of your silver hair between his fingers and twirled it, "I do hope our children take after their mother." he teased, letting go of your hair in favor of taking your hand to place a kiss on your knuckle.

"I hope they take after their father," you tease back, "true little wolves they'd be," he smiled brightly at you, but behind his eyes, there was a darkness, a yearning, one that you knew for certain he had been holding back for weeks.

"Let's be on our way then, the people are waiting for the new Lady of Winterfell," even though the two of you were wed already, it still didn't feel real thinking that you were to be the new Lady of Winterfell. You'd done your best in your mourning of Lucaerys to try and connect with the people, all you could hope is that they would accept you now.

The feast was in full swing when you arrived, shouts and songs echoed in the hall but all grew silent as you and Cregan entered, making your way to the head table. You reached the front and turned to face the people, hand in hand.

"Thank you all for welcoming our new Lady of Winterfell!" Cregan shouted over the masses, and a roar of cheers erupted. "You will do well to remember our new allegiance to the Queen Rheanyra and keep your honor. These past weeks as you've welcomed our new Lady of Winterfell you may know that she has lost a brother to the usurper of the Iron Throne, we will keep in the North for our duties, but if war reaches us, think of the Prince Lucaerys and his sister, the North remembers!" more shouts echo in the halls as tears fill your eyes at the mention of your brother.

"Now, this is a celebration of our marriage, please, celebrate!" the halls resume their shouts and songs as Cregan leads you to your seat beside him, your glasses immediately being filled to the brim with wine. You make eye contact with your husband, giving him a grateful look, a silent thank you. He gives your hand a squeeze in acknowledgment.

As the celebrating continues Lords and Ladies of the surrounding Northern lands flood to your table, gifting you with all sorts of words and treasures–mostly it was the ladies sneakily whispering if you'd been bred proper yet–to which your response was a deep blush before sending them away. You do your best to match the names of those you read about to the faces you saw. Currently speaking to you were the Lord and Lady Mormont of Bear Island, more so the Lord Mormont and Cregan discussing recent wildling attacks further North. You and Lady Mormont faced each other in an awkward silence, Sara beside you at the high table waiting for the conversation to start.

"So... Lady Stark can we hope for some wolf pups soon, maybe even an heir to Winterfell?" of all the things she chose to speak about...

"Oh um...yes, I suppose..." You try to smile along. Sara beside you stifling a laugh

"Surprised you aren't already, those Stark men are something fierce," she continues.

"What are we speaking of now wife?" Lord Mormont chimes in. Oh no. He was a burly man, one of honor and tradition...

"Oh I was just asking the Lady Stark when we should expect a babe," she laughs, linking her arm with her husbands.

"She's not yet?" Mormont sounds exasperated, "You may be my Lord, Stark, but come on lad! You should be fucking her till your seed takes, surely it's been too long now!" your face grows redder than it was already, an uneasy look on your face, this had gone too far. Cregan could see the look on your face and immediately took control.

"That'll be enough, Mormont," his voice went lower in pitch as he reminded Lord Mormont of his place. "I think it's high time we all retired, I will send a raven when I need to speak to you, no sooner will I hear from you." Lord Mormont looked down in shame, put in his rightful place.

"Yes, My Lord, My Lady," a single bow and he and his wife were on their way, the rest of the people in the hall filling out shortly after hearing the altercation. Cregan stood and took your hand again, walking you to your chambers at a fast pace, one you could hardly keep up with. Once in the room, he slammed the door shut before throwing down his cloak and rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

"I'm so sorry, I should've warned you people in the North are very attached to customs–" you cut him off.

"When will you bed me?" you asked, genuinely confused.

"I-I believed you wanted to wait longer..." He trails off, slightly taken aback by your question.

"I'm tired of laying next to you in bed growing more and more desperate each night," you spoke your truth and saw his back straighten, eyes darkening as he walked closer to you, almost stalking you like prey, "I cannot say how many Ladies tonight asked me if you'd put a babe in me yet."

He loomed closer to you, "And what did you tell them..." the hairs on your neck stood at the deepness of his voice.

"I-I didn't say anything," you respond, head hanging down. He lifts your chin to meet his gaze.

"But what did you want to tell them?"

"That you'd fill me every night till a babe took." your voice grew confident, he was giving you the sense that this was something he deeply, deeply, desired.

"Would you like to do that?" his hand cradled your face now, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat, and thoughts flood your mind about what he would be like, he was a strong man, but he was gentle with you, would he be desperate enough to take you hard?

"Give me a babe, Cregan," it was over. All sense of self-control that he held was now burning in the fire. The hand that was on your face moved to the back of your head, tugging you to meet his lips, he devoured you. It wasn't like the gentle kiss he gave you last night, it was depraved, his tongue wrapped around yours, teeth clashing together with an uncontrolled hunger. His mouth began to move down your neck and you felt him nip at you, soothing over the spot with his tongue. He began to walk backward towards the bed, still holding your body close. Your hands grew restless, grabbing onto him anywhere that you could, you soon found them tangled in his hair, tugging slightly.

His hands were roaming your body now, he was restraining himself from ripping your dress right off of you, but he knew it would make you sad, what a pretty dress. He moved his hands back, beginning to undo the buckles on his doublet, you broke away from his kiss for a moment and leaned down to remove your boots. It was all a flurry of motion as the two of you hastily began to undress yourselves, at this point, he was left in only his trousers and you in your shift and corset. You made eye contact for a moment the both of you smiling giddily. He raised his hands and started on the laces on the back of your corset, his arms were wrapped around you, your face staring straight at his chest where you grew bold and started to press kisses across the expanse. The corset–now loosened–fell from your body, Cregan could see the hardness of your nipples through the thin slip dress and proceeded to cup your breasts in his hands, tweaking the hardened peaks through the fabric. Slowly–so slowly you hadn't even noticed at first–he sank to his knees in front of you, when he reached the ground his hands started running up and down your legs caressing you while moving the shift upwards. He took one hand and placed it on the center of your belly, pushing, and in one motion you lay back on the bed, your husband still on his knees in front of you. he continued to move the dress up until it hung around your waist, you sat up on your elbows and looked down at him nervously, your center now fully exposed to him.

"Do not worry, sweet wife, I want to make you feel good," you nodded at him as he drew closer to you, his hands slowly dragging up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing the insides gently, growing closer and closer to your heat. He spread your legs further apart, looking at you once more before taking a finger and running it through your slick. You moaned out a curse and fell back onto the bed, the furs around you enveloping you in warmth. Cregan carries on running his fingers through your sex, they would barely dip inside of you before he moved them back up to circle your clit, causing a teasing repetition.

"Please, Cregan, I need more," you beg.

"More? You really have been needy," he teases, his other hand moving underneath you to squeeze your behind, "Alright, then, whatever my wife wants, she shall get." You were waiting for him to move, to get up and remove his trousers so he could fuck you. But no, his warm mouth licked a stripe up your slit and followed the same motions his fingers did, never staying in one place long enough. You cried out again, moving your hands down to tangle in his hair again. He teased you a little longer before his mouth kept place on your pulsing bud, alternating between sucking and licking at you. It was heavenly, you'd never been touched like this by a man, he was pouring all his adoration into you. And as good as it did feel, you still needed more, you felt nothing would satiate you until you were dripping with his seed.

"I-I want you to fuck me now," you barely breathe out between heavy breaths, he moves his head away from your core after pressing one last kiss to your clit. A smirk grew on his face, loving the way you were practically begging for his cock. He moved agonizingly slow, standing to his feet and staring down at where you lay on the bed. He refused to move his gaze away from you as he began untying the strings on his trousers, "please..." you breathe out in a breath of desperation. His trousers fell to the ground and you move your eyes to his center where his cock hung heavy, tip red and leaking, aching for your wetness to swallow him whole.

"You want me to fill you up now?" you nodded eagerly, itching to feel his body on top of you. He lifts you by the waist pushing your body up the bed like you weigh nothing, he removes your shift entirely now, pulling it swiftly over your head. "Tell me if you need to stop, alright? His tone shifted into seriousness. You breathe a yes in response. His body moves to hover over you and his head dips down to press gentle kisses against your chest, trailing down to lick at your nipples. You feel one of his hands reach between your bodies before the blunt head of his member runs through your slick. You grab onto his upper arms, steadying yourself as you prepare for him to push into you, he goes torturously slow and you grip onto him harder, a silent way of begging him to take you already. The stretch hurts a bit, not as bad as everyone had told you but the wetness surely helped dull some of the pain. He groans as he seats himself in you fully, not moving, you rock your hips into him trying to create some friction.

"Cregan, please, it feels so good, just take me already!" he lets out a breathless laugh at your restlessness, his mouth open and panting. He pulls out in one motion before thrusting into you again. And again. And again. This is what you had wanted, for this fierce warrior to lose himself in you fulfilling a yearning desire to fill you up completely. Your moans ring against the walls and you do your best to hold yourself together before you utterly fall apart. The bed creaks as he rocks into you, his pace growing quicker and quicker.

"Fuck!" Cregan grunts out through clenched teeth. The sight above you is heavenly, strands of his dark hair frame his face, some sticking slightly where a sweat begins to sheen on his brow. His jaw was tight, and his body was stiff, a deep concentration in his features. Then, in one sudden movement, he pulls himself out of you to flip you onto your front, yanking your hips up before plunging deep inside you again. The pleasure from this angle was insurmountable, the head of his cock hit the back of your tight walls repeatedly, fucking straight into your womb. You prayed for a brief moment, begging whatever gods were listening that his seed would take and you would soon have pups to take care of. His hands gripped your hips tight, surely there would be bruises tomorrow and surely he would feel horrible about it, but you cared not. The rawness of his passion would remain on your body. A subtle heat grew in your belly and it became warmer and warmer.

"Cregan, I-I think something is happening," you mutter from where your face was squished into the furs on the bed. He groaned out another curse before speaking again.

"Let go, let go for me," his voice still strained in pleasure, "I'm gonna fill you up now, and every. Single. Night. Until it takes," his thrusts annunciating his speech. The coil in your belly grew tighter until it finally snapped and you moaned out blissfully. His thrusts didn't stop and you grew more and more sensitive, but he did not last much longer after you, cursing out one final time before emptying himself right against your cervix.

When he pulled out of you, you could feel his expense steadily beginning to drip out of you, but his fingers soon found your center again, scooping it up before pushing it back inside of you. And if that wasn't the most arousing thing ever...

"Can't have you wasting any of that, can we?" he wipes his fingers off on the bed and climbs in under the furs, beckoning you to come lay with him. You crawl to him and fall into him unceremoniously. His arms pull you in close and hold you tight and his lips fall down to press a kiss to the top of your head. There was a smile on your face, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to stop smiling. You shift your head and turn to look him in the eye, only to find he is already looking at you, his own smile shining down at you.

"Even after a babe takes..." you begin and his eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the chambers, "can we still do that?" his smile grows wider and he huffs out a small laugh.

"Of course! I don't know if I would be able to keep myself off of you knowing that you are carrying our child, you'll be the most beautiful mother." he lifts a hand to stroke your hair, the same way he's done the nights you've shared the past few weeks.

"Well, then I hope we'll have a little prince or princess on the way soon," his brow furrows in confusion at the titles and he asks a silent question with his eyes, "You are a king after all! Our babes will be royalty."

"I've told you, I'm no king," his eyes held back a sadness.

"As I have told you, dear husband, you are my king," it was your turn to hold his face in your hands, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against your palms, "I will know no other." he leaned down to press his forehead against yours and you sat together in the quiet of the night, with only the company of each other until you fell asleep. A sleep where you dreamed of a family with him, boys running through the godswood being chased playfully by their father, a young girl sitting upon your lap as you flew your dragon over the forests of the vast Northlands. The lands where your husband would be your king.

#cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan smut #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #hotd #got x reader #got smut

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confused-wanderer · 1 month ago

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Plot twist: Superman having the most insane workout routine for the wrong reasons. A workout so intense the justice league struggles to even comprehend, let alone do it.

It all started with Green Lantern boasting about his workout routine when he was in the military. Which led to Martian Manhunter complaining that it was nothing to brag about, which led to green arrow talking about his workout, and after having enough of Batman’s sarcastic glare (trust the league, you can tell the glares’ sassy) they all start doing each others routines to prove which one is the hardest.

But when they get to Superman, barely any of them last ten minutes. Because you see, while the rest of the league has a strength building workout, Superman’s consists of strength reducing routines. And it’s hard enough to make them call it quits.

Growing up as a farmboy, Kent always had more leniency in how he used his strength, but had been strictly forbidden from ever assissting the livestock until he was properly trained. Why? Because no matter how gentle he was being, he always underestimated his strength. If he wasn’t being 100% focused on all his movements at all time, his sudden movements would create strong gusts of wind, and a single tap to the wood would make the house crack. He refused to go near anything that looked fragile because he was so so scared of hurting it.

So naturally, when he became superman, and had to deal with carrying people, holding up towers and just overall being surrounded by people with the aim to protect, he had to learn to be extremely gentle in caring for them. So naturally, he took several courses for expecting mothers and learnt to handle them as carefully as a newborn. No jostling too much, not too tight, always being aware of how much pressure he’s putting, handling distress and being firm without being overbearing.

One of his routines involved trying to figure out a safe way to catch two heavily cracked eggs while being launched into the sky, while the other included a booby trapped room trigged by sound so he would learn to keep his volume at a certain level without deafening the entire vicinity. And for context: the trigger level is the sound of a feather hitting the ground.

The only person who can relate is Wonder Woman, who also remains the one person Suoerman doesn’t have to worry about hurting.

Green lantern has yet to throw in the towel but he’s been crying for the past ten minutes and everyone else is exhausted. Batman however, is working very hard on trying to implement some of these in his routine. Clark doesn’t know if he should feel happy or worried about that.

#nightwing #batman #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #red hood #damian wayne #headcanons #tim drake #batfam #justice league #Martian manhunter dc #superman #Clark kent #green arrow #Oliver Queen #Wonder Woman #diana prince

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starsofang · 5 months ago

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWO

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, 141 are mean pirates, brief mentions of gore/death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The time you spent in the brig was frigid and isolating. Despite it being summer, the cold gusts of the sea had crept in through the thin cracks of the wooden ship, rising goosebumps on your skin and sending shivers wracking through your body. You were in no attire to accommodate the chill, only dressed in your barest of summer garments, thin and dirtied from the poverty your village lived in.

Silence became your new friend, while also your enemy. As much as you were one to appreciate the quiet of the world, the waves crashing along the sides of the ship were far too loud, taunting you with a grim reminder that you were lost at sea with no home to return to.

Your home was burned down to ash, surely with no survivors, given the state of havoc you’d returned to when Ghost told you to fetch your things. Your home didn’t treat you kindly, but it was still the place you’d grown up in and planned on dying peacefully. Now, you were a prisoner to pirates, ones only told about in silly fairy tales.

The stories of pirates had scared you when you were a young child. The elders had grouped together all children on summer nights such as this one, feeding them useless fables of the dangerous men and women that ruled the seas. They were ruthless, showing no remorse for the ones they tormented, uncaring of the bloodshed they splattered along native lands of the innocent.

That’s all they were when you were a child. Stories. Only meant to keep the youth away from the seas as not to witness them fall in and succumb to a painful death of drowning.

Now, though, it was your cruel reality. A nightmare. The pirates from those tales had been plucked straight out of the book and planted right into your life, erupting it into living hell.

Nobody had come to check on you after Ghost left you locked up in the cell. It had been hours since, the only telltale sign being the peek of sunlight poking through the small brig window and illuminating the room enough to shower you in a faint glow. There was nothing but a cot in the cell, the lower deck bare of anything useful.

Your escape would be fruitless. You’d thought about squeezing through the tiny window, but even if you managed, where would that leave you? Captured in the waves of the sea until you’d sink to the bottom in exhaustion.

You had to play it smart. Staying awake for hours alone had left you with plenty of rapid thoughts, some irrational. The best thing you’d decided in the end was to play along, gain their trust, and fulfill your role. As much as a part of you wished you were dead, it would be betraying your village, betraying Mary.

They needed to be caught. These pirates needed to pay for their crimes.

Gain their trust. Get off of the ship. Inform the nearest guard station.

When daylight fully broke, the sound of a creaky door caught your attention. More sunlight poured through the open doorway from the top of the stairs, showcasing one of the pirates. This time, it wasn’t Ghost, but instead, the one who had tossed you over their shoulder like a weak sack of potatoes.

Gaz said nothing as he descended down the stairs. In his hand was a steaming bowl, swirling around him like an ominous mist. His eyes locked on to yours, hardened from years of thievery and slaughter. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in them, nor indication that he was anything besides a sailing machine designed to follow Captain’s orders.

You watched keenly as he approached your cell. He stood over you like a brewing storm cloud, shadowing you from the stretch of light behind him.

For a moment, the two of you sat there frozen. You, terrified and cautious. Him, off putting and brooding.

Breaking the tension, his free hand scrambled for the keys latched on to the loops on his trousers, inserting one of the keys into the lock. He paused, eyeing you as a warning not to pull a brainless move. When he was satisfied you wouldn’t dare, he tugged the cell door open before stepping inside.

“Here,” he muttered, crouching down to place the bowl of food in front of you. Upon further inspection, you realized it was porridge. Bland and colorless.

You had no appetite after the horrors you’d seen. The sight of food had your stomach twisting, filling with rotten bile that begged to escape you and paint the floor beneath you.

Brimming with rage and seethe, you did the first thing that came to mind. Your hands picked up the bowl, carefully guiding it up to your mouth in attempts to seem starved. Gaz watched carefully, face set in firm lines that bristled a resentful itch inside of you.

With a turn of your hands, you tossed the porridge directly at Gaz, coating him in the piping liquid, chunks of vegetable that had been carelessly tossed in for flavor slipping down his front. His shirt and trousers were drenched, staining with the lifeless meal.

His face morphed into one of surprise before quickly shifting course. Instead, he was angry, eyebrows pulling taut, scowl curling on his lips. His eyes darkened impossibly more, filling the warm pupils with a menacing black.

“You fuckin’ wench,” he hissed, standing from his crouch to angrily swipe at the food that littered his clothing. It fell to the floor in a mushy mess right in front of you. Due to his aggression, a few stray chunks splattered back on to you in retaliation.

Realizing what you’d done, you tensed up, shuffling back from your place on the floor until your back hit the splintering walls of the ship. Gaz let out a roaring groan in irritation, sending a daggering glare your way.

“You are not hungry?” he asked tauntingly. He stepped out of the cell, slamming the door shut and locking it up tight. “Starve then. You will learn soon enough.”

Watching with widened eyes, he left the brig, grumbling angry curses to himself. When he shut the doors of your escape, you were met with sickening silence once again. The sound of waves taunted you, whispering insults in your ears for being such a stupid girl.

The pact you’d made with yourself was already in ruin. Befriending the pirates would be a difficult task if you couldn’t swallow down your enmity, and now you’d gone and made a foe.

Nobody returned to your cell for the rest of the day. It was punishment, that much you could figure out. Your stomach grumbled with desperate pleas, yet you could do nothing but wallow in your own acrimony for the remainder of the night.

When morning rose, you were awakened by the sound of the door once again. The light was blinding as it invaded the room, temporarily blocking your view of the person who’d stepped inside. When your eyes adjusted, you were faced with another pirate, the one who had held Mary down while you pleaded with him to release her.

Gaz stood beside him, arms crossed to appear larger. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tease of resentment fluttering in his eyes.

“Not goin’ to toss yer breakfast on me, are ye?” the other snickered, eliciting a glare from Gaz. The pirate stepped forward, unlocking your cell and slipping inside. This time, he held the stale porridge while Gaz remained a pace behind him. “I know yer starvin’, so don’t be a prude. Eat up, aye?”

He set the bowl in front of you, just as Gaz had done. Remaining crouched in front of you, he made a gesture of his head towards the steaming meal, a toothy grin on his face.

You knew better than to feel relieved at the kindness. He was a pirate, just as the others, and he was cruel and unruly. Though, thinking back on your plan, his youthfulness may be a much easier one to befriend.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly with a respectful bow of your head. You reached for the bowl, gathering it in both hands. Gaz and the other studied you, seemingly waiting for a repeat of dirty laundry. It never came, though, and you lifted the wood spoon to your lips, swallowing down the first bite.

Just as you thought, it was bitter. How one could even make porridge bitter, you were unsure, but your stomach made no protest to the grainy oats. In fact, it was rather appealing, having been starved for two days.

“Take it ye like it, then?” the one pirate hummed, cocking his head at the display. “Get used to it, birdie. It’ll be yer meal for majority of yer time here.” He shot you another grin, resembling a mangy cat.

The reminder of your permanent stay was a difficult one, but your plan played over in your head. You wanted to go home, though it was no more, and you wanted your freedom back. Neither would be possible if you didn’t show kindness in return.

“What’s your name?” you questioned, making a poor attempt at conversation.

“Soap,” he introduced proudly. You didn’t mean to, but the name made you snort, triggering a light cough from the porridge you’d been in the middle of swallowing down.

“Soap is an… interesting name,” you grimaced. Soap didn’t seem to mind the back-handedness, only keeping that signature grin that was beginning to grow a bit hard on the eyes.

“Aye, got the name from bein’ a bit too rowdy. Price wanted to wash my mouth out.” His own words had him cackling, loud and boisterous in the cramped brig. Gaz had no reaction, opting for the hardened look that was practically piercing into you like thousands of knives. “What’s yer name, birdie? Got to learn who our new medic is.”

You wanted to remind him that you weren’t a medic. Not a professional one, anyway. You knew the bare minimum of proper medical etiquette and your medicines Ghost had told you to bring with were simply experimental mixtures. But you also knew that he wouldn’t listen nor care.

“The village called me dove,” you explained, swallowing down more porridge. It was warm in your mouth, coating your throat with gooey goodness. “Though, I don’t think it was much out of kindness.”

Soap hummed in acknowledgement, shooting a lopsided smile and a nod of his head. “Not quite a pirate name, dove, but it’ll do.”

“I’m not a pirate,” you defended with a frown.

“Ye are now,” he reckoned mindlessly, shrugging a lazy shoulder. Soap stood from his position, straightening up next to Gaz. “I’ll give ye some advice to be a part of this crew, dove. It’s not nice to throw porridge at a poor lad like Gaz.” Soap clapped Gaz on his shoulder, earning a scowl, which he ignored.

Your eyes shifted from Soap to Gaz, taking in the pure annoyance radiating off of him in waves. It was undeniable, practically filling the room’s atmosphere with black mist.

“I apologize,” you forced out, though that bitter part of you denied it. You wouldn’t feel sorry for these pirates. After all, they didn’t feel bad for the innocent lives they ruined.

Gaz’s nose twitched at your faux remorse, staring at you for a beat too long before turning away. He made no move to talk to you, but it wasn’t a blatant refusal of your apology. Perhaps he was just a tough nut to crack with a soft sweetness on the inside, even for a pirate.

The two men left you alone in the brig once again, only returning to give you meals as needed. It was terribly lonely the more the weeks went on with no move to release you from your cell. It was as if none of them trusted you, despite them being the ones to kidnap you. They burned down your home, slaughtered your people, and yet, wouldn’t allow you a chance to taste a sliver of freedom.

It was agonizing to wait, but you kept up your facade as much as you could, dripping with poisoned honey every time Gaz or Soap entered the brig with means to feed you.

Price or Ghost hadn’t made an entrance to see you. For the most part, you were grateful for it. In just the couple of weeks Soap and Gaz had been feeding you, they were warming up to you, slow and steady — Soap more than the other.

Gaz still had his reservations about you. He was reclusive, always standing on guard as if the shadows in the wall were prepared to attack at any given moment. It was better than before, where he had treated you like a burdening dog who he couldn’t rid himself of, but the progress was dwindling.

Soap was much more gracious. While he was obnoxious, he was much more welcoming company. You had no desire to truly befriend these pirates, but if any were to be the most tolerable, it was Soap.

Price and Ghost, though, were a mystery. Their absence made crucial falters in your meticulous plotting. You wanted out of the cell so you may roam the creaky decks of the ship, but the dream simply wouldn’t be possible without their trust.

It wasn’t until the fourth week of your imprisonment that the storyline had shifted. Rather than Soap bringing you your meal for the night, it was the Captain himself, standing tall and brute in front of your barred enclosure.

Unease rattled through your bones at his sudden appearance. You weren’t expecting him, nor were you prepared to face the very man who had slain your village with the help of his men.

He observed you like a lab rat, studying every movement like a variable in his experiment. It was prodding and exposing, leaving you sitting in your cell with a heavy lump in your throat.

“Soap tells me you’re warmin’ up to him,” he claimed, breaking the thick silence that smothered the air. He paced back and forth in front of your cell, eyes focused in on you. “Figured I’d properly introduce myself, seein’ as we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together.”

You swallowed the rock in your throat, unmoving from your position on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but the cot was worn and dirty, so the floor became your only friend in the midst of all your dispair.

“I see,” you managed, clearing your throat. Price continued his relentless pacing, hands crossed behind his back in a formal manner. Ironic, really, considering his ruthless occupation.

“Dove, was it?” he asked. You nodded wearily. “A shame, really. Doves are lovely things, beautiful creatures made up of the purest white. Yet your village had called you it in ridicule. Or so I heard.”

Price was a man that spoke in riddles. He spouted conversation in the form of poetry, only tainting its beauty when angered. It was both unnerving and intriguing for a pirate. He wasn’t dirtied like you’d heard in childhood tales.

“I suppose they did,” you agreed with a small frown. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew, triggering alarm bells telling you that this man was an enigma. He wasn’t to be trusted.

“And why is that?” Price questioned. He ceased his pacing to face you properly, and you wished he’d return to it. His stature was that of a behemoth, overpowering and menacing, much like Ghost had been.

“Why did they call me dove?” you responded in confusion.

“Why did they ridicule you,” he corrected.

The statement made you pause. You hadn’t really thought about your townspeople dumbing you down to a mere crazy girl with too much ambition. You were the talk of the village within your age group as well as the occasional elder who tsked at you for never marrying.

The relationship between you and your people was one of complexity. While you loved them as your own, they battered you every chance they had. Hell, even Lucius himself had outed you to a group of pirates without care in the world. The very man who had spent countless months in attempts to make you a pretty village wife had sent you to your early grave to save his own ass.

“They thought I was different,” you explained woefully. “It is not normal for a woman to partake in medicine, let alone education. Doves are beautiful, yes, but they’re also adventurous. It is a dangerous conviction to be compared to as a woman.”

Price cocked his head to the side, filling the air with silence. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to explain yourself to a dingy villain such as him, but you feared that if you weren’t honest in your conversation, he’d be able to sniff out your deception from miles away.

“Who has told you it is not normal?” Price asked, and once again, he had stumped you.

“It is not a difficult thing to digest, Captain. Women do not involve themselves in ambition.”

“They quite do,” he retorted. You stared up at him through the bars, your own head cocking. You didn’t trust his word, but a shriveled piece of you was curious. “Sure, it is not acceptable in certain places, but it is quite popular.”

You blinked at him, before staring at the wooden floor, pondering.

You had been expecting the Captain to treat you with hostility, to throw nasty words your way with the excuse of being a pirate. That was what you had been told in adolescence, how dirty they could be, but he was calm.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Price said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bars of your cell, standing over you with only that barrier separating you. “I am not a cruel man. You may think differently, and for that, I do not care. But I will say that I believe you will have a much better life upon my ship.”

His words were a mix of sweet venom being spat at you. While they could be perceived as kind, there was an underlying message, one you couldn’t decipher.

“You burned down my village and killed my people. You kidnapped me to be your medic on your ship,” you defended, unable to hold back the taste of lingering resentment.

You had nearly forgotten why you were there with Soap and Gaz visiting to shift your mind elsewhere. You almost dismissed your own plan of escape. Price had reminded you without realizing, and now, your heart felt heavy once again.

“Ah, yes. The people that willingly sacrificed their own in effort to save themselves,” Price mused mockingly. The words stung. “Yes, we took you against your will. I will admit that. But your people treated you far worse.”

“You do not know a thing, Captain,” you spat.

Price cocked his head once more, resting his forehead on the forearms that lay upon your cell. “Aye, I do not,” he admitted. “But I know a bird with clipped wings when I see one. Perhaps you’ll be grateful when you learn to accept things as they are.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to get the last word in, but he was right. You barely knew the Captain and yet, he had read you like a novel, flipping through your pages and memorizing them from one single look through.

It felt dehumanizing. He was cruel and vicious, as were his men. They were nowhere near saviors, yet he spoke to you as if he was. It sickened you to the core, but there was no denying his brutal honesty.

Price offered you a lazy smile before standing straight, arms falling to his sides. “I suggest gettin’ used to your new life. You’ve got no home to return to anyway.”

He retreated from your cell as if he hadn’t slapped you in the face with a dose of reality. His boots were heavy and aggravating as they trudged up the stairs towards the upper deck, where he promptly shut the door on you, leaving you alone once again.

Your escape plan was falling into shambles before it had even began to fester.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #cod #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #simon riley x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #soap mactavish #kyle garrick #cod fanfic #pirate!141

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strawberrykidneystone · 19 days ago

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unexpected protection

sevika x gender neutral reader

summary: this was not how the mission was supposed to go, but with sevika curling herself around you, it was hard to complain

a/n: i’m such a sap for sevika this is embarrassing

tags: fluff, canon violence, explosions mentioned, kissing

thank you for the request anon!!

ao3 version

you were supposed to keep an eye on isha while sevika and jinx fought with cait and vi. somehow, the little shit slipped down the balcony while you were busy watching the fight while trying not to bite your nails in worry and was now she was holding a gun to vi’s forehead.

you cursed under your breath and quickly vaulted down the wall with your gloved hand trailing down the concrete to slightly slow you down. sevika was definitely going to give you an earful after this. you landed close to the switch where the main explosive that the four of you had set up earlier was waiting to be flipped, and now seemed as good of a time as any.

yet no one moved a muscle, no one wanted this kid to shoot that gun. well of course until cait had shot the gun out of the poor kid’s hand. jinx had already decided to sacrifice herself and made you promise to take care of the kid, you were not going to break that promise.

as you turned your head to set the explosive off, sevika beat you to it and flipped the switch, quickly followed by a deep boom. jinx yelled out something that was quickly lost to the wind, a strong enough gust followed the blast that it was close to knocking you off of your feet. you watched as vi and cait were sent flying back, looking around desperately for your own anchor. the only reason you weren’t sent flying was because of your position behind a huge concrete block in front of you blocking the air from taking you away.

suddenly, you felt an arm around you that pushed you forward against the block. you recognized sevika immediately as she curled herself around you, pushing her body against yours while she clung to the wall with her mechanical arm. her flesh arm was wrapped firmly around you shoulders to the front of your chest. you hands came up and clung to her arm, shaking with the intensity of the wind trying to blow the two of you away. your heart was beating so loud that you could hear it in your ears and you hoped she couldn’t feel it hammering against her arm. you stole a glance at her face, needing to ensure that she was alright. she had her eyes closed tightly and was muttering to herself, it almost looked like she was praying.

shit, she was praying.

you took a deep breath and leaned your forehead against her arm, reassuringly squeezing your hands around her bicep. she dropped her head down to meet the crown of your scalp, you could feel her lips pressing against your hair and her warm breath puffing through her nose. it felt like she was burying her nose in your hair, but you just chalked that up to the strength of the wind jerking the two of you around.

you had never been this physically close to her before, only exchanging playful shoulder checks or nudges at best. now though, this felt oddly personal, very odd for sevika as she usually treated you with indifference most of the time. being this close to her felt so natural, her warmth enveloping you as it effortlessly radiated off her. you couldn’t tell if it was her natural body heat or if her mechanical arm was overheating, but you savored it regardless. sevika just felt… safe. she was always a rock you could count on, even after silco died, she let you hang around the last drop, trusting you enough to let you attempt to fix her broken arm. fine, you’d admit it, you had a huge crush on her. how could you not???

after what felt like hours, the wind finally subsided. you heard sevika’s mechanical arm unlatch from the block with a satisfying crunch. you let go of her arm and she surprisingly stayed crouched down in front of you, keeping her flesh arm planted by your head.

you wiggled around and faced her, as soon as you met her eyes the rest of the world began to melt away. you reached up and cupped her cheeks, eyes darting briefly to her lips before locking eyes with her once again. she pushed herself forward and crashed her lips into yours with such passion and ferocity, it nearly knocked you on your ass. you swung your arms around her neck and met her passion tenfold, pressing your lips so hard into hers that you’re pretty sure you forgot how to breathe. her flesh hand wrapped around your waist and gripped you so hard that her nails were digging into your skin while her mechanical arm lay dormant to the side. in this moment, there were no enforcers, no top side threats, nothing could bring you down from having sevika sliding her lips against yours so perfectly, you’d swear your lips were made solely to kiss her.

you broke the kiss when you started to feel so lightheaded you thought you were going to faint, a dazed smile adoring your face as you looked up at her. she looked frazzled, which was very unlike sevika, and was panting just as hard as you. she rested her forehead against yours and caught her breath while your hands tangled in her hair, still sweaty from the fight.

“i didn’t know how much i wanted to do that until i almost lost you,” she whispered with an unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome tenderness laced in her voice.

you giggled and shook your head, kissing her nose, “better late than never i guess.”

a half-smirk crept onto her lips and she snorted, looking at you with nothing but adoration in her eyes. as she leaned in to kiss you again, a dramatic groan sounded from the other side of the building.

“can you two stop making out? we have to go before the enforcers come back!” jinx yelled out from a higher ledge, isha clinging onto her leg.

“yeah yeah one second brat,” sevika snapped, with no actual bite to her voice. she pressed one last soft kiss to your lips before standing up, offering her flesh hand down to you. taking her hand, you stood up and laced your fingers with hers, and gave a quick nod to jinx.

“let's get out of here.”

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane sevika #arcane jinx #arcane isha #sevika x reader #reader x sevika #arcane season 2 slight spoilers #strawberrykidneystone writes #strawberrykidneystone #sevika x gn reader #sevika fluff

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deunmiu-dessie · 5 months ago

Text

(unedited)³ retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. { his pov } [ one, two, three]

she’s like a breath of fresh air. bright and cold. a gust so frigid that it sends goosebumps to shroud his skin. like the first fall of snow. was it december now? how long has it been since he’d left? how long has he wandered? adrift like a buoy at sea. but strangely stuck, straying in place. like some sort of ghost. trapped and terrified.

he thinks she’s naive. strange, even. like a child left outside without supervision. prone to being up to no good. she’s insistent in her little fiat car. her hands are covered in a pair of creme wool gloves. and when he looks close enough he notices that they’re fraying at the seam. worn. loved.

she says her name. it’s pretty, her name. it fits. she’s expectant, waiting for him to speak. give her something, anything he’s sure. she seems like a good girl. too good, too much for him, not enough for her. he hardly even knew her. but she wants to know you. she’s being nice. nothing more. simon. that’s what he tells her and it rolls off her tongue faultlessly. “well, we’re not strangers anymore, simon.” is what she says. he finds her amusing.

it’s her eyes. that’s what makes him slide into the passenger seat. they're wide. warm. nervous— despite her being the one to offer him a ride. it’s endearing, if not a bit entertaining. and the cold has already frozen his body. he can hardly feel his feet. but he deserves this. this life that he’s been subjected to.

she’s an anxious thing. her gloved hands drum lightly against the steering wheel. she’s shit at making small talk. and from the reflection of the car window, he can see the way she works her bottom lip into her mouth. he’s tempted to thumb it from within the wet heat. he doesn't.

“could be a killer.” she smiles. her eyes brighten. it’s small but he finds himself forgetting to breathe. in and out. in and out. she smells temptingly like honey and spices, all tangy and sweet. fuck. he holds his breath. “are you?” he doesn't respond. after all the killing. the blood that stains his hands. his skin. won't come off no matter how hard he scrubs. he’s a murderer. yes, i am. she’s too trusting. he wouldn't hurt her. never.

small. is how he would describe the apartment. small but homey. filled with greenery, color, and a tiny christmas tree. it’s tucked away. surrounded by lights at its base. it smells like chocolate, milk to be specific. but her as well. honeyed spices and dried fruits, tangy and sweet. the radio that he hears plays quietly. silent night in instrumental. his heart tightens in his chest.

he’s not sure how he ended up here. surrounded by her four walls. she suggests sweetly. eyes wide and sad at his destination. he declines. she isn't the type to take no for an answer. her brows are knitted. hands tightening. he’s enamored. he shouldn't stay. he should tuck and roll out the car while he has the chance. run. like he’s used to doing. too late the two pull in. she’s pleased with herself. he grins faintly beneath his mask. cute.

the couch is a bed. it pulls out into one anyway. she busies herself. shuffling to get sheets and a comforter. it’s a faded baby blue, printed with delicate flowers. and she looks proud. smiling at the cozy couch. her lips are coated in a sheen. from the lip balm she’d put on a second ago. and he adverts his eyes when she looks toward him. couldn't meet those wide eyes. sweet and nervous. he stares instead at the makeshift bed. she speaks. grins awkwardly.

“thank you.” he means it. it’s stiff. his voice hoarse from the cold but, he means it— no matter how gruff it comes out. her hands. no longer swathed by wool gloves, slide down denim-clad thighs. lips press. and her head nods. she says his name again, but scurries before he can reply, and maybe it’s for the best. he can barely speak.

click.

he shouldn't. but he finds himself amused. good girl. he was still a stranger after all. a strange man she has willingly invited into her home. he wondered briefly if she was right in the head. right to slow for him. to smile at him. she couldn't be. unsure. he can’t get comfortable. just lays there and listens to her faint voice. walls thin. voice muffled. but words clear. “die tonight.”— “…love you.” he ponders.

he doesn't remember a ring. friend? mom? boyfriend? his heart aches. he doesn't know her. he has no right to feel anything. she was nice, too good. he was the opposite, with nowhere to go. nothing to offer. why was he here? he should leave. but sleep weighs heavy on his eyes. bing crosby lulls him to sleep. he’d be gone before she woke.

i've always thought simon to have very choppy thoughts. and always being very in his head. very observant. so yeah. listened to christmas music making this! hehehe

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aemondsbabe · 4 months ago

Text

Oathkeeper

summary: aemond comes to winterfell to vie for favor and while cregan has his mind set on backing rhaenyra, you remain unswayed. will your indecision be his saving grace?

pairing: aemond targaryen x stark!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, brat taming, aemond is a little shit, choking, mild degradation, oral sex (f receiving), very lyanna mormont coded reader, aemond whimpers, he's down bad tbh he loves it, angst, allusions to violence but no actual violence, please no one kill me for the end lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.1k

a/n: happy 3k laura!! i'm so happy to be a part of this collab with you and so many of my other fantastically talented writer friends! check out the full milestone celebration here and the masterlist will be here!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

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Icy air whips around you as you stand atop one of the many high stone battlements of Winterfell, eyes scanning the horizon; the grey earth and sky seem to meld together as one as the sun sets lower and lower.

“It is our duty to hear them out, sister,” Cregan rumbles beside you, brow furrowed. Ice glimmers in your periphery when you glance over at him, the great sword strapped over your brother’s shoulder contrasts sharply against the deep black of the furs draped over his body, “If they come to us for aid, we must negotiate.”

The air around your lips turns to mist as you scoff, jaw clenched. Today, of all days, you could do without your brother’s condescending tone.

“Negotiate,” you echo, pulling the thick white fur of your cloak more snugly over your shoulders as the wind seems to pick up, “They come with hardly any notice, with two dragons, and you still believe this is a negotiation?”

“Sister –”

“To call it anything but extortion is a fool’s game, Cregan,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, focused only on the horizon, when he turns to glare at you, nostrils flared.

“Need I remind you that we are sworn to House Targaryen? That we have been for –”

“Which House Targaryen?” You swiftly counter, cutting your gaze to his with a biting scowl of your own. The wind gusts again yet you pay it no mind, hardly noticing when a shadow passes overhead.

An all encompassing roar seems to vibrate the very air around you and you whip your head up just in time to see a behemoth of a beast duck down below the clouds, followed swiftly by a smaller, though no less monstrous, one that lets out a resounding cry of its own.

“Gods be good,” you sigh, already feeling weary of this whole endeavor; you roll your eyes when you look to Cregan, only to find him positively beaming, entranced. You, however, would not be so easily wooed – of that, you were determined.

Glowering, you turn your face to the sky once more and watch as the creatures circle one another, huffing when it dawns on you that their movements strikingly resemble two riders racing on horseback, goading and taunting one another.

Shaking your head, your chest heaves with a tired groan, Seven Hells.

“I shall see you in the Great Hall when you have finished fawning,” you sigh once more before turning, leaving your brother to stand like some open-mouthed whore, gawping at the sky.

“My Prince and… my Prince,” Cregan’s voice echoes throughout the great stone hall, accompanied by the steady crackle of the enormous fireplace at its back wall, “We bid you welcome to the North, I trust your journey’s were pleasant ones.”

The tension in the air is nearly palpable as you stand beside your brother, carefully watching the two dragonriders.The one on the left, Prince Jacaerys, stares straight ahead at Cregan, as if he doesn’t trust himself to look anywhere else. His dark brows are set in a slight scowl and his gloved hand hasn’t once risen from the pommel of his sword since he dismounted his dragon, who you’ve been informed bears the name Vermax.

Your gaze, however, seems continually pulled to the right, determined to see through the cool mask of indifference Prince Aemond wears. Unlike Jacaerys, his singular lilac eye had been busy flicking all about the space, though he stood stock still with a haughty manner about him, hands clasped behind his back.

“‘Twas a fine journey, yes,” Aemond hums, looking first at Cregan and then to you; his gaze is piercing and you can’t help but wonder if the rumors among the smallfolk are true – that he’d replaced his lost eye with some sort of gemstone, “Vhagar and I were fortunate to not encounter… anything of note.”

Your eyes move quickly to Jacaerys, breaking from Aemond’s stare once you catch the pointed tone of his words, slicing through the air like daggers. His jaw clenches, though only for a second, as you silently pray that this does not end in the two men coming to blows, or worse.

“My journey was quite pleasant, my Lord Stark, thank you,” a small part of you is impressed that he seems determined not to let his emotions run amuck. He steps forward and pulls a rolled piece of parchment from the inner pocket of the thick, fur-lined cloak he wears, “I come with a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Beside him, Aemond quickly steps forward as well, producing a similar scroll, close enough to you that you’re able to just make out an image of House Targaryen’s three-headed dragon embossed on the golden wax seal. “And I come bearing a message from King Aegon, Second of His Name,” he pauses, looking between you and Cregan, glancing almost imperceptibly toward Prince Jacaerys, “Who currently sits the Iron Throne.”

“Usurper,” Jacaerys mutters under his breath, nose twitching in annoyance.

“Say that again,” Aemond’s voice is low as he whips around to face Jacaerys, all but shoving the scroll he brought into your hands.

“That is my mother’s throne,” the brunette replies, simmering with a barely contained rage as he hands over Rhaenyra’s terms to Cregan in a similar manner, “Your drunken fool of a brother has no right to it.”

Your heart thrums in your chest as they stare one another down, the hostility between them seems to suck all the air from the room and bathe it in a silence you’ve only ever felt in the crypts.

“And who would bend the knee for a whore with bastard heirs, nephew?” Aemond’s footfalls echo about the hall as he stalks around the other prince, circling him with a goading smirk, “She could not honor the oaths made to her husband, I shudder to think what would become of her promises to the realm.”

Your eyes widen and a gasp is wrenched from your throat when Jacaerys whirls around with a snarl and the sound of metal-on-metal grates through the air as both men unsheath decorated daggers from their belts; they stumble a few steps back, chests heaving as they each wait for the other to make the first move.

“Do it,” Aemond taunts, lips twisted into a wicked smile while he and Jacaerys circle one another. Raising a hand, he pulls the black leather eyepatch from his face and tosses it to the floor, clearly relishing the way the other prince falters at the sight of his uncovered face. The deep blue sapphire he reveals gleams in the light from the fire, the sight of it makes your breath hitch, “Finish what your bastard brother started, go on.”

“Cease this!” Cregan shouts, voice firm, though he may as well not have spoken at all for all the good it does – each man only sparing him a glance.

“I did not come to fight you,” the brunette huffs, scowling at his uncle while keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his dagger.

“No?” Aemond questions sardonically, “You’ve no wish to prove your might, hm? To show the realm how strong you are?”

The remark sounds like any other taunt to you, yet something about it seems to make the fire simmering within Jacaerys blaze closer to the surface – too close. You can see it coming before it happens from the way he tenses, from the miniscule twitch of his hand.

Acting quickly, you lunge for the great longsword strapped to your brother’s back and unsheath it without a second thought. Cregan reacts just as swiftly and clambers for you when you turn on your heel and rush over to where the two men glower at one another. From the corner of your eye, you see Jacaerys lunge forward but you cut off his movement as you swing Ice over your head.

Metal crashes against metal, filling the hall with a shrill clang, before the great sword slams against the stone floor with a cacophonous din. Everything comes to a sudden halt as the loud noise sends a shock through the hall.

“Enough!” The word leaves your lips as a snarl while you stare between the two men, nose twitching in annoyance, “How dare you sully our home with such feckless, asinine bickering!”

Each of the princes sheaths his dagger in silence, though you hold the sword between them still, the tip of it digging into the stone as you keep hold of the pommel. “I’ve no doubt that were those creatures outside to engage like this that they could easily rip Winterfell to pieces, stone by stone, and yet they remain peaceful! Tell me, do you have baser morals than that of a beast?” Your voice is low as you speak, every ounce of patience you had for this idiotic farce wrung from you, “Is this the kind of man House Targaryen sets upon the realm?”

“Apologies, my lady… my lord,” Jacaerys murmurs, glancing between you and Cregan before quickly staring down at the floor, his jaw set.

You give him a curt nod before training your eyes on the silver-haired prince and narrowing them expectantly; he holds your gaze for only a second before looking off into the fire with a sigh, “Apologies.”

Cregan reaches for the sword again and this time you relinquish it without a fight, turning your attention back to the two scrolls abandoned on the longtable – one carrying a gold seal, the other a black one, both bearing the three-headed dragon emblem.

Your brother sighs behind you and you can practically feel him throwing an icy glance at the two men before he joins you at the table, leaning back against the edge of it and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“We will hear your terms,” he starts, ignoring the way your head whips around to face him, “As is our sworn duty, but there will be no violence in these halls.”

“No.”

“Sister –”

“Not tonight,” you shake your head firmly, glancing over your shoulder at the princes before leaning closer to Cregan, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry in through the hall, “‘Tis late and they are on edge as is. Any negotiations will not go peacefully tonight.”

He turns his head toward you with a soft sigh; you tilt your head just slightly when your eyes meet, communicating silently, with only a look, as you have since the two of you were small.

“Please,” you think, your gaze flicking between his blue eyes, lips set in a firm line, “Listen to me, just this once.”

Finally, after a long moment, he simply nods and looks back at the two men still standing in the hall, looking pointedly away from each other now.

“We will hear your terms in the morning,” you announce, turning to face them, your expression set and neutral, “The hour is late and I imagine the two of you are tired from your travels, the –”

“Lady Stark,” Aemond starts, stepping forward, jaw clenched with barely contained annoyance, “W–”

“We will hear your terms in the morning and that is final, my prince,” you repeat, enunciating each word firmly, leaving no room for whatever argument he was intending to make. You glance between the two men again, watching as he gives a polite, stiff nod.

Sighing tiredly, you give Cregan one last withering look before turning on your heel. “The servants will show you to your quarters,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing the gold sealed scroll from the longtable on your way to the doors without sparing the men another look.

By the grace of the Gods, you manage to have a few peaceful hours to yourself. The castle remains quiet, save for the usual bustling of various servants and guards. The crackling of the small hearth in your chambers is the only sound that accompanies you while you read over the terms Prince Aemond brought with him, which were fairly generous, all things considered.

Only one point gave you pause, perhaps King Aegon’s greatest gift – the offer of his brother’s hand. You wrinkle your nose in disgust when you read over that bit, although you had expected it. It’s no secret that you, Winterfell’s greatest prize as you’d been told time and time again since you were old enough to even somewhat comprehend the idea of marriage, are unclaimed. Of course the Greens would exploit that, the Blacks probably did as well.

Of course any other weaker Lady would take the offer.

Unconsciously, you clench your jaw as you gaze into the fire, watching the flames dance while you think over the terms set before you, etched cleanly on the parchment. You get up from your place at the desk to go see if Cregan has finished reading over Rhaenyra’s terms, quite curious to see what it is she’s offering up.

“Gods!” You exclaim when a sudden knock at your chamber door cuts through the peaceful silence of the night, startles you enough that you grab at the edge of your desk to keep the bottle of ink there from spilling. Corking it, you let out an annoyed little grumble as you stand.

“Enter!” You call out, smoothing out the silken, fur lined fabric of your evening robes, the soft blue color sparkling like seafoam in the light from the fire. Your brows pinch together in equal parts annoyance and intrigue as a certain white-haired prince saunters through the door, his lips set together in a firm line, as if deep in thought.

“Prince Aemond,” you huff, bristling when he closes the door behind him, “The hour is quite late, surely whatever you’ve come for can wait until the morning.”

He pauses at that, not moving from his place in the entryway. Confusion wells up within you when he doesn’t meet your gaze, his lilac eye blinking as his lips open just slightly – something clearly weighs quite heavily on his mind.

“I apologize for the late hour, my Lady,” he murmurs, finally looking up as he takes a few steps into your chambers, arms clasped behind his back, “But I do not think the matter can wait until morning, no. I don’t believe that would be wise.”

“Speak, then,” you nod with a sigh, resting against the arm of a small sofa by the fire. You try your best to hide your annoyance, feeling certain that whatever the Prince had come to you with is not nearly as serious as he seems to believe.

Aemond remains quiet for a few seconds more and you can practically see the wheels turning in his brain, something brewing just below the surface. “I… Did you intend to make a fool of me, Lady Stark?”

“What?”

“I’m aware that my coming, and that of my nephew, were… sudden,” he continues, leaving you utterly perplexed, which only makes you clench your jaw, already exasperated at this entire exchange, “But, had you and Lord Cregan made it clear that you had already come to an agreement, I could’ve left — been on my way to the Stormlands and saved us all the trouble.”

“Seven Hells, why must he speak in riddles,” you think, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching your brow tiredly.

“Prince Aemond, perhaps I could be of some help if you spoke your concerns more plainly,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and peering at him once more, “However, I can assure you that Cregan and I have decided nothing. He and I have planned to take the evening to read over yours and Prince Jacaerys’s terms, which we will discuss in the morning.”

“Mm, then am I to believe that your lord brother plots without your knowledge, my Lady? I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

Aemond paces, smirking as he traipses back and forth before you, acting like he can see clearly through some false plot you’ve set… if only you’d set one at all.

“I overheard them, Cregan and Jace, in the library — I cannot seem to find sleep and thus was wandering the halls,” he murmurs, quickly explaining his actions before you have time to ask, “Surely you’re aware that your brother intends to support my traitorous sister.”

His words should come as a shock, that Cregan would do something like this behind your back, and yet you can’t find it within yourself to be truly surprised. Ever since he’d become Warden of the North, he’d become… hardened, even to you. Before, he would’ve never dared do this, would’ve considered your thoughts as carefully as his own, but not anymore.

“My brother may be decided,” you start, voice clipped, “But I have yet to come to a decision.”

The prince hums yet again, something he seems to do often much to your great displeasure. He studies you for a moment, lilac eye never wavering from yours, before looking away with a tsk. “And yet, from what I overheard, he seems quite convinced that you have.”

You scoff at that and push yourself off the arm of the sofa, placing your hands on your hips as you blink at him for a moment while the corners of your lips twitch with the threat of a smirk, “I must confess, my Prince, but I do not know how to proceed. We seem to be at an impasse – I assure you of one thing and yet you cling to your belief in another.”

“So it would seem.”

His calm reply does nothing to lessen your irritation and your chest heaves with a sigh, jaw clenching. “Well, then,” you huff, no longer patient enough to keep the frustration out of your tone, “What would you have me do, hm?”

“Perhaps,” your eyes narrow at the indifference with which he speaks – an act, you’re sure of it, “It would bring me some comfort if we could come to some… agreement of our own. As your brother and my nephew seem so eager to do.”

“As I’ve said, I do not wish to discuss the matter further. ‘Tis late, my Prince, and I see no point in staying up half the night to do something that can be accomplished just as well tomorrow.”

“Mm,” he hums, pacing around you and further into your chambers, to your great annoyance. You turn, watching him as he saunters through the space, acting as if it’s his own, only to come to a stop beside your desk.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips just as he feigns surprise at seeing the scroll he’d brought with him unfurled over the wooden surface, “But, you have read the king’s terms, no? Surely discussing them would not take long.”

“Discussing them, no,” you acquiesce, gritting your teeth, “My thoughts of accepting them, on the other hand…”

You can tell he’s only half-listening as you speak, focused on reading over the notes you’d scrawled in the margins of the document – questions of various assurances and the like… aside from one particular line which you’d hastily crossed through. A shiver goes down your spine when his eye trails up from the parchment to once again meet yours, darkened with some new sense of resolve.

“You are aware that the crown has the ability to strip you and Lord Cregan of your titles, yes? Especially if I were to inform my council of your plot against me…”

Your heart quickens at his warning, thumping meanly in your chest while you try to process his words. “All this over a simple marriage offer?” You think as your brows pinch together in a scowl; you do not take kindly to such threats.

“Over my brother’s right to the throne…,” Aemond murmurs and it’s only then you realize you must’ve spoken aloud, not hearing your own words due to the turmoil in your head, the rush of blood in your ears, “Over my family’s safety, yes. I would be willing to dole out harsher reminders as well, if need be.”

“You must understand, this is not a slight against you, nor your council,” fire rages within you as the winds outside pick up, howling throughout the castle, “I have no want to be bound to anyone –”

“Think of the station you’d have,” he cuts you off, determination seeming to well up within him the same way it does you; each of you is ready for a fight, “The power you could wield in King’s Landing, everything you could do to benefit –”

“You could not drag me from the North kicking and screaming, I have no desire to go –”

“My Lady, you are intelligent, ‘tis plain to see,” he murmurs lowly, indignation finally managing to bleed through his placid exterior while he paces about, circling you just as he did Prince Jacaerys, “Surely you realize that your talents will be wasted here, squandered to the cold, frozen waste –”

“Do you think insulting my home is the way to win me over, my Prince?”

“Mm,” his dismissive hum alights a spark within you and your hands curl to fists at your side, “No, though I suspect flattery would do no good either.”

His words are sharp, spoken with the sole purpose of cutting into you, yet all they draw is an angry huff. You can see his eye narrow in your periphery, can feel him studying you, no doubt trying to find a way to make you crack.

A part of you hopes he’ll succeed.

“So, you see, I’ve no other choice than to resort to threats,” he hums, long silken hair swaying over his shoulders as he finally comes to a stop before you, close enough that you’re forced to raise your chin to maintain eye contact.

“Should you be fool enough to try, you will not succeed in taking the North, my Prince,” you say softly, a quiet calm blanketing your fury just as snow blankets the fields outside, “Even Aegon the Conqueror could not, surely you know that.”

Something dangerous flashes in his eye at that and your eyes narrow with the knowledge that you’ve crossed some invisible boundary, gone a step too far.

He stays quiet for a moment, just long enough for the eye of the storm within you to pass, for the maelstrom to be ignited once more.

“Surely you’ve heard tale of the wrath the Conqueror brought upon Harrenhal, Lady Stark,” his voice is low when he finally speaks, though there is no softness to it; only a harshness, a finality, that would surely make anyone else grovel for forgiveness at his feet, “Reduced to a pile of ash and molten stone… even now, more than a century later, it stands as a ruin – a cursed place…”

Your jaw clenches tightly at his words, eyes narrowing as you stare into his own as if challenging him to say it, to finish his threat.

“It would be quite a shame if that same doom was brought to Winterf–”

Aemond lets out a grunt when his back thuds against the stone wall behind him, gasping and caught off guard by your sudden advance.

“Have you no shame?” Your words are biting as you snap at him; fury pours off of you in waves, your entire being concentrated down into rows of gnashing teeth, “You come into my home, unbidden. You threaten to spill blood in my hall, you feel entitled to my time and my space and my thoughts and my hand, all unbidden.”

For the first time all evening, the prince seems to have no response, not even a condescending hum. He stands frozen on the spot, held against the wall by your forearm pinned across his chest. The air feels like it evaporates from the room, leaving the two of you in some sort of bubble where the only sound is Aemond’s harsh pants. You see his angular nose twitch and his lips press firmly together as a sneer forms on his pale face.

There’s a cruel, almost savage, gleam in his eye that should scare you, that maybe actually would, were it not for the soft pink flush spilling across his cheeks and an undercurrent of something resembling shame in his gaze – the expression of a child being scolded by a parent, caught doing something they shouldn’t.

The strangeness of it brings you to heel for a second, only for the anger within you to flare up once more when he starts to open his mouth, starts to push himself off of the cool stone at his back.

“Don’t,” you huff, narrowing your eyes and pressing back against his chest. A bitter laugh bubbles up from your throat as you stare at him, surprised once more when he quickly gives in and lets you push him back, “I bet you’re quite used to getting your way, hm? You’re a prince of the realm, of course you are.”

With each passing second, your ire for him seems to be slowly replaced by a growing curiosity — Why isn’t he fighting back? What kind of game is he playing at?

“Entitled prince,” your heart quickens when his breaths start coming more harshly and his chest heaves against beneath your arm, “You hold no power here.”

Aemond’s nostrils flare and his lilac eye narrows, just as fiery and intimidating as before. Your lips part when his hands come to rest on your waist, far too delicately for the situation.

“Might I remind you,” he mutters, a rumble to his voice that hadn’t been there before, “That the crown—“

“The crown, the crown, the crown,” you lean in, nearly on your tiptoes, just a hair’s breadth away from touching your nose to his. Without considering the movement, your free hand wraps itself around his pale neck, not squeezing but merely resting there, pressing against his Adam’s apple — a reminder for him to remain silent, “Why is it that you lean so heavily on something you do not even have, my Prince?”

You can feel him swallow against the palm of your hand, once again not fighting back. Though, it’s only when you meet his half-lidded eye and see that heady, shameful spark hiding there does the truth finally hit you.

“Gods, he likes this,” your eyes widen ever so slightly at the realization, such a mighty, fearsome prince and yet he’s all but melting under your touch. The feeling is rather intoxicating and you feel a rush of power flow through you, making the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end.

“I don’t see a crown on your pretty head,” you continue leaning into the feeling, intending on leveraging his submission to whatever extent you can, “Doesn’t that bother you, Aemond? Hm? Being reduced to the second son when you could’ve been so much more…”

“V-Vhagar could—“

“Vhagar could do nothing,” your fist tightens around the column of his throat as you press yourself more tightly against him, the thin fabric of your evening robe the only thing separating you from the warm black leather of his tunic, “Not if I take my brother’s sword and go slit her great belly myself.”

He balks at that, brows furrowing as he stares at you — half in fury, half in wonder. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off again, not interested in hearing another half-baked threat.

“Does it bother you that I don’t find you the least bit intimidating?” You question, narrowing your eyes at him.

A grin blooms on your lips when he just barely shakes his head, the movement so subtle and so quick that you hardly catch it — though it sends lightning down your spine all the same.

“No? It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Again, he shakes his head, more firmly this time; his throat bobs beneath your grip, “Do you like it? That you can’t scare me?”

He nods — not good enough.

“Say it,” you command, tightening your grip on his neck once more.

“I… I like it…,” he answers after a long moment, his voice hardly a whisper.

“Good boy.”

He whimpers, the small sound vibrates against your hand. A shock goes through you and before you can fully register what you’re doing, you release his chest and neck and haul him toward your bed — that barely there whine enough to ignite a fire in your belly.

You can see the confusion written plainly on his face when you sit on the edge of your mattress and gaze up at him expectantly, you try not to focus on the little flip your heart does at the fact that he’d followed you so willingly, like a little puppy.

“Kneel,” you command, nearly giddy when he actually does, actually sinks to his knees before you. You lean forward and quickly tug off his eyepatch, eager to see the sapphire once more, and again, you’re shocked when he doesn’t put up a fight.

Tossing the small scrap of leather to the side, you stop for a moment and admire the glimmering gemstone, even admiring the long, thin scar that adorns his otherwise flawless face.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side all evening,” your fingers card through his hair while you speak, your voice low, hardly louder than the crackle of the logs in the fire, “Starting fights, coming to my chambers in the middle of the night for matters I said I would not be discussing, talking back… and I can think of much better uses for this mouth.”

Aemond’s breath hitches when you cup his jaw and skim a thumb over his bottom lip, grinning when he just barely follows your touch. With your free hand, you tug your robe open at the slit going up your leg, just enough to show him you’re bare beneath it.

“If… if I do this, you’ll back Aegon?” He rasps, staring up at you from his place on the floor as his hands come to rest gingerly on your thighs, “You’ll agree to his terms?”

“Of course…”

“… All of his terms?”

“All of them,” you echo breathily, sighing softly when he leans in and kisses the top of one knee, a smug grin on his lips despite the situation.

If only he didn’t make this so easy.

“Enough talking,” you grab at his pale hair and shamelessly pull him to where you need him, smirking at the little gasp that leaves his lips once he’s face to face with your center, “Show me what it is I’ve agreed to.”

For all his faults, Aemond doesn’t make you wait and quickly dives in — licking a solid line up the middle of your folds, groaning as he goes. His hands tighten around your thighs and he eagerly spreads them wider, shifting on the floor until he’s pressed closer to you.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You gasp, leaning back on an elbow, though you keep a grip on his hair and use it to drag him directly to your aching pearl, arching your back when he hungrily suckles at it. His eagerness makes the fire in your belly burn bright right away and you swallow thickly, battling against the dryness at the back of your throat.

Aemond growls against you and dutifully licks over your bud, flicks his tongue against it again and again until your head spins. Your thighs tighten around his head but he’s quick to press against them once more and hold you open, fingers digging into your supple flesh.

“Good boy,” you pant, relishing the way his eye rolls back. Biting at your bottom lip, you yank his hair once more — guiding him to your entrance. He catches on quickly and another almighty gasp is wrenched from your throat when he pushes his tongue inside you, making you shiver.

“Seven Hells!” Your hips buck against his face of their own accord when his angular nose brushes against your pearl, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. Your walls clench down around his tongue, pulling twin whines from the both of you.

Knowing you won’t be able to hang on for much longer, you press his face against your core and rock your hips more earnestly against his face; your eyes nearly go cross when he groans deeply against you, squeezing at your thighs hard enough to surely leave behind bruises.

“T-That’s it, that’s it,” you chant, chest heaving. It feels as if lava flows through your veins each time he presses his tongue against you, the fire inside you burning brighter by the moment.

Suddenly, he moves on his own accord and nips softly at your pearl before suckling at it once more. The sudden turn of events causes you to snap and finally slip over the edge, making fireworks explode behind your eyelids.

“A-Aemond, Gods!” You cry, harshly tugging at his hair, nearly ripping it from its roots as pleasure beats against you in waves. You’re so lost within yourself that you hardly hear him growl against you, low and heady.

You shove him away after a moment when his touches begin to border on overstimulation and lie panting on the bed, dropping to your back against the warm blankets and staring, half-lidded, at the ceiling.

You can hear the shuffle of his clothes as he pushes himself up off the floor but you don’t bother sitting up, limp still from your peak. It’s not until he speaks that you finally look up.

“I take it I’ve fully persuaded you, then?” He hums, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Leaning up on your elbows once more, you look him over — taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest thrums under the dark leather of his tunic, the evidence of his arousal pressing tightly against the ties of his trousers.

Gods, what a desperate thing — wanting so badly for validation.

“Well, I’ll still need to read over Rhaenyra’s terms…”

“But —“

“But nothing,” you snap, sitting up once more on the edge of the bed, “I must at least operate under the pretense of being fair, no? Cregan will know if I don’t come to collect the papers your nephew brought.”

Aemond nods stiffly, lips set in a thin line as he looks you over. Your heart speeds up just slightly when his lilac eye pauses at your chest, darkening at the way your robe has loosened, showcasing your cleavage.

“True,” he acquiesces, brushing a lock of hair from your shoulder, “It would be smartest for us to be careful now…”

He leans down, intending to kiss your cheek, perhaps even your lips or neck, but you put a hand up to stop him — shaking your head with a small smirk and a raised brow.

“That’ll be all.”

His brows furrow at your words, eye searching your face, “I thought —“

“I need to rest,” you cut him off, nodding to the door, “Goodnight, my Prince. I hope sleep finally finds you.”

“I…” he starts, staring at you for a second, absolutely crestfallen, before simply nodding. “Lady Stark,” he mumbles, finally turning and seeing himself out, hands clasped behind his back.

“Poor thing,” you think with a sigh as soon as your door shuts behind him, “He has no business here.”

You’re hit with a wave of deja vu as you take your place next to Cregan, each of you standing before the long table at the head of the Great Hall. Once again, the place is as silent as a crypt, the only sound being the steady crackle of the fireplace.

You stare straight ahead, focusing intently on the opposite wall while your brother addresses the two princes — exchanging morning pleasantries and worried smiles. Throughout his small speech, you can practically feel Aemond’s gaze on you, like he’s determined to sear a hole straight through you.

“I have read your terms carefully, both of them,” Cregan states, each of the scrolls laid out on the table behind you, “And I propose that House Stark honor will keep faith with its alliance to Lady Rhaenys, in memory of the oath we once swore to King Viserys.”

“Very well,” Prince Jacaerys nods, giving your brother a small, polite smile and grateful nod.

“And what say you, my Lady?” Aemond cuts in, determined to force your hand, for you to make good on your assurances from last night.

The desperation in his eye almost makes you feel bad.

With a sigh, you finally look up at him for the first time all morning, immediately noting the dark circles beneath his eye. Breaking from his intense, nearly pleading gaze, you look toward Prince Jacaerys with a small smile.

“I’m afraid I must agree with my dear brother,” your voice is cold, emotionless as it rings throughout the stony room, “House Stark will not be breaking its oath today.”

Aemond lets out a sharp, stuttering breath, as if he’d been punched in the gut and his shoulders sag in defeat.

And you almost feel bad, only for a moment.

Almost.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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iamgonnagetyouback · 13 days ago

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james potter x reader who gets asked out by james with the help of the boys and..... minnie?

You clutched the small, crumpled piece of parchment in your hand, staring at the words written in James Potter’s unmistakable scrawl:

“Common Room. After dinner. Don’t tell anyone. Trust me, love. It’ll be worth it.”

Now, trusting James Potter was a gamble at best, but curiosity—and your soft spot for him—led you to climb through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

The space was eerily empty, the usual chatter replaced by an ominous silence.

“James?” you called out, your voice echoing slightly.

Before you could take another step, an explosion of sound and red smoke erupted from seemingly nowhere. You coughed, waving your hands in front of your face as crimson mist swirled around you. Instinctively, you drew your wand.

“Ventus!” you muttered, sending a gust of air through the room. The smoke cleared, revealing a massive, glittery banner suspended near the ceiling.

“DATE…?” it read in obnoxiously large, bold letters.

You gawked at the banner, completely dumbfounded. Before you could process the situation, a spotlight flickered on. There, standing on a table with a guitar slung around his neck, was none other than Sirius Black.

“Hit it, Wormy!” Sirius bellowed.

And then...he strummed the guitar.

The sound was horrendous. You weren’t sure what was more offensive: Sirius’s attempt at music or Peter Pettigrew leaping out from behind an armchair, singing in a voice that could shatter glass.

“GO OUT WITH HIM, GO OUT WITH HIM, HE’S THE BEST BOY THERE IS! HE’S THE CHASER WHO’LL CHASE YOUR HEART—”

“Merlin, no!” you yelped, covering your ears.

“—SO DON’T LET THIS CHANCE FAAAAART—”

“Wormtail!”

Peter stopped mid-warble as Sirius smacked the back of his head. “It’s fall apart, you dolt!”

“Stop! STOP!” Remus Lupin’s voice rang out from the shadows, mortified. He looked like he was actively praying for the floor to swallow him whole. In his hands, he held a small, handwritten sign: Go out with James.

Remus looked anywhere but at you, his cheeks tinged with pink as he awkwardly raised the sign higher.

“Merlin’s beard…” you whispered, half amused, half overwhelmed.

Suddenly, the room plunged into darkness.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered.

Another spotlight flickered on, illuminating the man of the hour: James Potter. He was perched—on top of a chair? The mantle? You couldn’t tell because your brain was short-circuiting. His lopsided grin was in full effect, his hazel eyes sparkling as he looked directly at you.

“Will you go out with me, love?” he asked, his voice warm and soft, despite the ridiculousness surrounding him.

You opened your mouth to respond, but—

“AHEM.”

James froze, his smile dropping as he turned toward the source of the noise.

“Not now, Pads,” he hissed.

Another cough.

“I said not now, Pads. Don't you want a brother to settle dow—” James whipped around, his expression shifting from annoyance to sheer panic when he saw who was standing there.

Professor McGonagall.

She was staring at James through her glasses, one brow arched so high it was practically touching her hairline.

“Care to explain what is going on here, Mr. Potter?” she asked in a tone that sent shivers down your spine and, evidently, James’s too.

“I, uh—”

Peter piped up, “We’re just, uh, rehearsing for the school talent show!”

“There is no school talent show,” McGonagall said flatly.

“Then we’ll start one!” James said brightly.

“Mr. Potter, the Fat Lady came screaming through the portraits about ‘horrible singing and red smoke.’ I should have known it was your group of troublemakers,” McGonagall said, her tone icy.

Peter piped up: “You know, Min—er, Professor, the Fat Lady really overreacts. I don't really believe I- the person who was singing was 'horrible'. I think we should fire the Fat Lady.”

Professor McGonagall gave him a look.

“On second thought,” Peter stammered, “she’s doing a great job. Wonderful lady. Terrific lungs.”

Sirius jumped in, abandoning the guitar and his shame. “Minnie, might I just say you’re looking particularly radiant this evening?”

“And regal!” James added hastily, straightening his glasses.

“Charming!” Peter squeaked.

“Delightful!” Sirius chimed again but McGonagall only gave them the look.

“Minnie, come on! Give us a break,” Sirius pleaded, dramatically throwing an arm over James’s shoulders. “Do you want James to grow old and alone?”

“You will grow old in detention if you keep this up, Black.” She turned her gaze to you, her stern expression softening slightly. “Five points from Gryffindor for…whatever this is. And Potter…”

“Yes, Professor?” James asked, his voice squeaky.

“You have one minute to clean this up. Good night.” She turned to leave, but not before casting you a knowing smile over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she murmured, loud enough for only you to hear, before walking out.

The moment she disappeared, James collapsed into a nearby armchair, dramatically wiping his forehead. “Merlin, that was close.”

“Close?!” you echoed, finally finding your voice. “You almost got us all detention for this?” You gestured vaguely to the chaos.

James grinned sheepishly. “So…will you?”

“Hmm,” you teased, tapping your chin. “I’m not sure. I mean, the sign was a bit much. And Peter’s singing…”

“Oi!” Peter said indignantly.

“And Sirius…”

“What about me?!” Sirius demanded, looking offended.

“…was Sirius.”

James groaned, flopping onto his knees in front of you. “Please, love. Don’t let all this effort go to waste.”

You chuckled, letting him squirm for a moment before leaning in. “Yes, James. I’ll go out with you.”

Before he could react, Sirius clapped his hands loudly. “WELL? What are you waiting for? Snog already!”

“Padfoot!”

“I mean it, Prongs! Show her why you’re the best!”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried, but James ignored Sirius, leaning in close enough to whisper, “Don’t worry. I’ll save that for our first date.”

You blushed, but before you could reply, Sirius shouted, “I’M TAKING CREDIT FOR THIS!”

#pictures from pinterest #ivy's soft scribbles ೀ #james fleamont potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter #dividers by firefly-graphics

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diamonddaze01 · 1 month ago

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Love: Best Served Hot

pairing: chef! kmg x gn!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, slice of life wc: 2.7k

summary: even when he’s exhausted, mingyu wants to care for you.

a/n: this was supposed to be a 300 word drabble idk what happened // i love chef mingoo!!

The door creaks open, releasing a gust of chilly air that carries with it the rich, savory aroma of sautéed garlic and fresh spices. The warm glow of the kitchen lights flicker to life as Mingyu steps inside, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his hair slightly tousled from a long shift. He kicks off his shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and stretches his arms overhead, letting out a dramatic sigh that echoes through the apartment.

“Guess who’s here to save your taste buds!” he announces, though the weariness in his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders tells a different story.

You look up from your phone, a grin spreading across your face. “Don’t you ever get tired of cooking, Gyu?” you tease, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, the familiar warmth of the kitchen enveloping you.

He feigns offense, placing a hand on his chest as if you’ve just insulted his entire culinary career. “For you? Never. I’m making you gourmet ramen from scratch. The kind that makes you forget your ex. Trust me; it’s a glow-up for your palate.”

“You said that yesterday about the ribs,” you point out, watching him glide across the kitchen with practiced ease. The overhead lights cast a soft halo around his figure, and the way his hair flops into his eyes adds an adorable charm to his focused expression. “And the kimchi jjigae last week, and the burgers the time before that.”

“Shhhh.” He reaches around you for a cutting board, dropping a soft kiss on your lips to silence you. The warmth of his lips lingers as he pulls back, a playful spark in his eyes. “I’ve never met someone who complains so much about getting wined and dined.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “I’m not complaining; I’m just keeping you accountable. I need to know if your cooking is really as good as you claim.”

Mingyu laughs, a rich, warm sound that fills the kitchen and dances around you; it makes your heart sing a little, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “If you’re so worried about it, maybe you should just let me cook in peace.”

As he focuses on the task at hand, the slight sheen of sweat forming on his brow catches the kitchen's light, his movements slowing just a fraction. His fingers are steady but the small tremor in his hands gives away just how long he's been on his feet. He brushes his hair back with a frustrated tug, eyes closing briefly as if savoring a second of relief before diving back into the task. It’s in these small, unguarded moments you realize just how worn he is—the dark circles under his eyes, the set of his shoulders that normally stand so proud, now sagging ever so slightly. But even through the exhaustion, there’s a determination in him, the same kind you’ve come to recognize every time he puts your needs before his own.

“Hey,” you say, your voice softening. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a break? You’ve been on your feet for hours.”

He glances over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. “And what, exactly, have you eaten today, hmm?”

“Uh…” You falter, feeling a familiar flush of embarrassment creeping in.

“Here, let me help you.” He sets down the knife and taps his foot expectantly, whisk in hand. “Knowing you, you probably just subsisted on iced lattes all day because you were too busy to get a real meal, right?”

You huff, your indignation flaring. “I’ll have you know that I had a Pop-Tart and a bag of Skittles! Those are major food groups, you know.”

Mingyu bursts into laughter, but you catch a glimpse of concern flickering behind his playful facade. “Riiiiight,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “So now, you’re going to shut up and watch your gorgeous, incredibly talented, hot chef boyfriend make you a meal that has an actual vegetable in it.”

He gets like this sometimes, when he's frustrated that you don't take care of yourself. It’s been a cause for many an argument in the past—his insistence that you need to eat and your stubbornness that you know how to take care of yourself. Those conversations often swirl around the kitchen like a storm, but there’s a gentleness in the way he brushes off your concerns that tells you he cares deeply, even if he masks it with humor.

You watch him chop vegetables, let yourself get lulled into dreamlike trance with the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board. He moves with precision, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration as he glances over to check your expression. His dedication tugs at your heartstrings, a reminder of how he loves: by placing food in front of you even when he’s on the brink of falling asleep standing up. You’ve learned that his love language isn’t just about the meals he makes; it’s in the way he basks in the glow of your compliments, how your smile lights up his tired eyes like a spark in the dark.

You take a step closer, your fingers absentmindedly grazing the cool countertop, the warmth of the kitchen offering little comfort against the concern gnawing at you. It’s moments like these that make your heart ache —the way he pushes himself, never stopping until he’s done taking care of everyone else, even when he should be the one resting. A small, tight knot forms in your chest as you watch him, the way his brow furrows with each precise chop, his body moving with a practiced ease that can’t fully mask the heaviness of his fatigue. You wish you could stop him, take over for once, but you know he wouldn’t allow it. Still, you try to lighten the mood.

“You know, you could just let me make dinner once in a while,” you offer, though your voice softens with unspoken worry.

He shakes his head, a grin breaking through his feigned annoyance. “And ruin my masterpiece? Never.”

The way he leans into the task, the sheer determination on his face, makes you fall in love with him a little more each day. It’s not just the food—it’s the way he pours his heart into everything he does, even when it means sacrificing his own comfort for yours. You can see it in the way his shoulders relax when you compliment his cooking, how he laughs more easily when you’re around, and how the corners of his eyes crinkle with joy when you taste something he’s prepared.

“I just want you to eat something real, not just sugar and caffeine,” he continues, a hint of worry creeping into his tone, finally letting his humorous facade fall for a second. “I can’t have you turning into a human-sized Skittle.”

You can’t help but laugh at the image, feeling the tension of the day slip away. “I’ll have you know that I’d be a delicious human-sized Skittle, thank you very much.”

He rolls his eyes playfully but then yawns again, the gesture drawing your concern back to the surface. “See? That right there—no more yawning until you’ve eaten something substantial, got it?”

He feigns a mock salute, but you can see the hint of exhaustion etched across his features. “Okay, okay, Captain Concerned. I promise I’ll eat something as soon as this ramen is ready. Just… give me a minute.”

You nod, the sincerity behind his words warming you. As he stirs the bubbling broth, you can’t help but admire the way his brow furrows in concentration, how he occasionally glances your way to ensure you’re still there, still watching.

“Alright, but you’d better not fall asleep in front of the stove,” you tease gently, your voice light but your heart heavy with concern.

He nods, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “No promises,” he retorts playfully, but the warmth in his gaze tells you that he appreciates your worry, even if he’d never admit it outright.

“Just keep your gorgeous, incredibly talented hot chef boyfriend awake, alright?” he says, a teasing lilt returning to his voice.

You can’t help but smile, feeling your affection for him grow in the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by the scents of his hard work. “Deal. But you’d better make that ramen quick, or I might just have to find a way to fuel you with caffeine and Skittles.”

The kitchen hums with quiet, the only sounds coming from the bubbling broth and the soft scrape of Mingyu’s knife on the cutting board. You don’t need to fill the space with conversation; just being there, your silent presence, is enough. It’s always been enough for him. After a long day of being barked at on the line, of rushing orders and chaos, this is what he craves—your calm support, your quiet companionship. You don’t need to ask him how his day was; the tension in his shoulders, the way he brushes his hair back in frustration, tells you everything.

You watch as he works, each movement slow but precise, his exhaustion barely hidden beneath the surface. And still, even in his fatigue, there’s a quiet grace in how he prepares your meal—chopping vegetables, whisking broth, his fingers moving with the kind of ease that only comes from years of practice. He flicks the pan to stir the ingredients and adds garnish with a flourish—and looks over at you for validation.

Even though you’ve seen him do this hundreds of times, you still smile when he meets your eyes. It’s a dance you’ve perfected: him cooking, you watching, the back-and-forth that fills the space between you. It’s more than just food—it's the way he pours himself into each meal, hoping to see that spark of happiness in your eyes, that subtle nod of approval that tells him, once again, that he's done well, that you love what he’s made. And it never fails—you always smile, and in that moment, it’s like he’s won an award.

“That was slick,” you murmur with a grin, watching his tired eyes light up like you’ve just given him a standing ovation.

In return, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, gentle and warm. “Only for you,” he whispers, but you know it’s true. It’s in the way he offers you spoonfuls of broth to taste, holding the spoon up to your lips, watching carefully for your reaction. When you hum in satisfaction, the tension in his shoulders eases, his tiredness momentarily forgotten.

Every compliment you give is met with a kiss—sometimes on your lips, sometimes on your nose, sometimes just a gentle press to your forehead. You know that this is his love language, this silent back-and-forth of care, and it’s how you love him, too. Just being here, watching him, letting him unwind at his own pace. You don’t need to talk for him to know you’re there, supporting him. He knows you’re here, watching him, feeling the weight of his exhaustion, without needing to say it. It’s in the way you linger nearby, always close but never overbearing, allowing him to move at his own pace. Sometimes, just your presence is enough to ease the weight of the world on his shoulders, the sound of your breathing in sync with his, the gentle hum of the kitchen filling the gaps.

You sit at the counter, content to let him work in silence, knowing he’ll fuss if you hover too much. But, true to form, he turns around every now and then, his eyes narrowing like he’s assessing the situation. “You’re going to eat, too, right? Not just stare at me?”

“Obviously,” you tease, though the warmth in your chest says otherwise. He’s tired, you can see it in the way he brushes his hair back, but still, his concern is always you—making sure you’ve eaten something other than sugar and caffeine all day. “I had a Pop-Tart, remember? And Skittles,” you add.

He rolls his eyes, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Yes, of course, the epitome of gourmet food. You need actual food, not whatever sugar rush you’ve been riding on.” There’s a playful tilt to his voice, but beneath it, the care is genuine, the worry etched into his furrowed brow. He doesn’t have to say it, but you can feel it in every movement, in the way he insists on feeding you something real, even when he’s on the brink of exhaustion.

When the ramen is finally done, the kitchen smells like a cozy hug, and he brings the steaming bowl over with a satisfied smile, his usual swagger dimmed slightly by the long hours he's endured. But instead of sitting down at the table, you slide onto his lap. His arms wrap around your waist without hesitation, pulling you closer, his body melting against yours in a sigh that carries all the weight of the day. You can feel the tension leave his shoulders, the stress ebbing away as you press yourself against him.

“Eat,baby,” he murmurs, pushing the bowl toward you. But when you don’t immediately take a bite, he reaches for the chopsticks, bringing the noodles to your lips himself.

You chuckle softly, but he’s serious, his eyes fixed on you as you take the first bite. “Good?” he asks, as if he isn’t already sure of the answer.

You nod, chewing slowly, savoring the warmth that spreads through you. “Perfect.”

Satisfied, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, but before he can relax completely, you grab the chopsticks from his hand and lift a bite of ramen to his lips. “Your turn,” you say, watching as his expression softens.

He laughs under his breath but doesn’t protest, taking the bite with a small nod of approval. “Good,” he hums, his voice lower now, sleepier. But as tired as he is, he still won’t stop fussing, making sure you take another bite, and another, before he lets himself have one too.

The silence between you is comfortable, filled only by the occasional murmur of approval or the clink of chopsticks against the bowl. Every time you compliment the ramen, he preens a little, leaning in to press another kiss to your cheek, your nose, your lips. And with every bite, you fall a little more in love—not with the food, but with him, with the way he cares for you in the smallest, quietest ways. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he should be the one resting, he’s still making sure you’re taken care of, that you’ve eaten, that you’re loved. And that’s how you know he loves you—because he can’t help but put you first, even when his eyes are heavy with sleep.

You sit there, nestled in his lap, feeding him and being fed, the two of you wrapped up in the warmth of the kitchen. This is how you love him—by just being here, letting him rest in the silence, your presence enough to soothe him after a long day. And in return, his way of loving you is by feeding you, taking care of you even when he’s exhausted. No words are needed; the quiet between you speaks volumes.

“You don’t have to always do this, you know,” you whisper, your fingers gently tracing the edge of the bowl. The ramen is long gone, and he’s running his fingers up your arm, goosebumps erupting in their wake. “Take care of me, I mean.”

Mingyu’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, the vibration sending a warm ripple through your body. “It’s not about having to. I want to,” he says simply, his voice low and sincere. “Besides, you’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Someone has to make sure you eat.”

You can’t help but laugh, even though you feel a lump forming in your throat. His love is always like this—quiet, unspoken, wrapped in the warmth of small actions rather than big words. It’s in the way he insists on feeding you, the way he pulls you closer when he’s tired but still makes sure you’re taken care of.

“I love you,” you whisper, almost instinctively, the words slipping out before you even realize.

He doesn’t respond right away, but you can feel his grip tighten ever so slightly, his arms drawing you closer as if he’s pulling you into the very core of him. Then, softly, so softly you almost miss it, he presses a kiss to your hair and murmurs, “I love you, too.”

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si11yw0rm · 2 months ago

Text

CRAVINGS.

pairing: hybrid bangchan x gender neutral reader (with no use of y/n)

blurb: your neighbour stumbles into your apartment during a phenomenal red moon, and begs you to help him solve the inner cravings of his hidden self.

tags: creampie & unprotected sex (you do not want kids, trust me), dirty talk (praise & degradation), animalistic breeding talk, choking, oral (reader rec.), fingering, Chan whimpers (male whimpering>>>>), use of pet, minx, daddy and puppy.

wc: 3k+ (no beta reading)

a/n: i loved this one. i hope you do too.

The rain made soft sounds on your windowpane, and you wrapped the blanket around you even tighter. The storm had started out calm, but something had changed.

The news alert on your phone had called it a red moon, but the superstitious cat lady that lived in the apartment above yours called it a blood moon.

Where the beings of the supernatural world were free and powerful enough to do anything they wanted.

Of course, everyone had called her crazy. Well, everyone except the man who moved in a few weeks ago.

His name was Christopher, and he kept entirely to himself.

But you knew he wasn't lonely. Or he wasn't some kind of Grinch that had no friends.

He had seven other men that were constantly trooping in and out of his dorm, and you knew because you watched him.

You had always tried to rationalize your interest in him, but he was just so captivating. It was like your body and soul were constantly clamouring for his presence.

He lived in the apartment directly opposite yours, and there wasn't a day where you didn't run into each other.

And that was becoming an increasing problem, because Christopher was a god.

He had features that belonged on no human, and an intensity that spoke of his presence before he even entered a room.

And just like you, everyone else in the apartment complex was in love with him too.

You had caught the cat lady blushing when he helped her bring her cat down from the tree, and the landlord's oldest daughter was always hovering around him when he came back from work.

Or at least you thought he worked.

Despite your "closeness" to him, you still knew nothing about him, not even the fact of what his voice sounded like.

Your phone pinged, and you lifted it up to see the apartment chat setting off again. You sighed, opening it up to see the landlord informing about the flash flood that just happened.

The apartment groupchat was buzzing - the first time since there was a case of the apartment thief- and you were scrolling through the responding chats when your door banged.

You flinched, nearly dropping your phone. There was no fucking way someone was walking around the halls. It was so fucking cold that you were still shivering, despite the fact you were sitting in front of the fireplace and wrapped up in your thickest blanket.

You got to your feet, wrapping the blanket even tighter around you as you made your way to the door.

The way your heart beat in your chest was almost deafeaning, and you could feel it slowly dropping to your feet as you swung the door open, freezing when you saw Christopher.

He flushed when his eyes landed on you, and you could have sworn he was paler than usual.

Christopher held up a mug, the flush disappearing so fast you almost thought you had imagined it.

"Do you have sugar? I wanted to make hot chocolate, but I found out my friends had finished it last time they were over, and I can't really go out to the store in my car right now."

It was the first time you had heard his voice, and by the gods, you could feel your knees knock together in your chest.

Knees don't knock in your chest, silly.

You realized Christopher was still staring, and you gestured at him to come in, tightening your grip on your blanket.

He walked in after you, sliding his free hands into his pocket. It was that move that made you notice his outfit, a simple black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants.

"Aren't you cold?" You asked as you closed the door behind him, a gust of air nearly making your bones clatter so loud it echoed in your skull.

Christopher's eyes ran over you, and you suddenly forgot you were cold. His eyes were like molten fire, and you could swear they scorched your skin as they made their way over them.

"No."

His tone made you know the conversation was over, so you shrugged and made your way to your kitchen, heading straight for your pantry.

Grabbing the sugar down, you spun around to see Chris directly behind you, and you nearly screamed. Jesus, he moved too quietly and you had squeaky floorboards.

"Thank you." His hands brushed over yours as you handed him the jar, and if his eyes had scorched you, his touch burned you from the inside out.

You could feel yourself getting hot, and it was like you didn't need the blanket anymore, because the flames were licking their ways through your veins and settling in your muscles.

"What are you?" The question left your mouth before you could process it, and you saw Christopher flinch, his grip on the jar getting so tight you briefly wondered if he could break the glass.

"What do you mean?" His voice hadn't changed in tone, but they were now melting through your ears like butter, like he had honey on his tongue.

"Well, you definitely aren't normal. You want to tell me what you actually are and what you really came here for?" You grabbed your phone, typing in '911' and showing him the screen.

He was so warm you could still feel it from here.

Christopher ran his hands through his hair and cursed, moving back. This time, when his eyes landed on you again, they were pure red, like blood.

His voice came out more rumbled, and you could tell he was nervous. "I am a hybrid."

What?

Before you could blink, he was suddenly in front of you and he grabbed your hands, gripping them so hard your scream died somewhere in your throat. "You cannot tell anyone, pet. I came here because....my wolf likes you."

You were so sure your confusion was written all across your face because Christopher sighed, before leading you towards your bedroom, where he made you sit on your bed.

He wasn't holding the jar anymore and before you could ask where it was, Christopher was leaving your room, coming back with a glass of water. "I had to leave the den area, just to make sure no one could hear us. Drink this."

The last part of his statement dripped with so much command and authority that you found yourself drinking, and Christopher smiled, slipping his hands in his pockets. "Good pet."

Your body immediately responded, and you saw his eyes shutter before he stepped back, his hands folding across his massive chest. "Take a deep breath for me."

Nodding, you lowered the glass, even as you felt your thighs slick with wetness from your core. He wasn't even touching you, but you could feel his existence and presence like a caress against your skin.

"I am a vampire and werewolf. That's what a hybrid is. I didn't trust myself alone, considering I haven't been alone for a red moon before, and like I said...My wolf likes you. It is calmer in your presence." He wasn't looking at you, but nothing about his posture or the tone of his voice screamed nervous.

In fact, your only clue was the red of his ears.

"So...I am your mate?" You asked out loud, briefly remembering all the lore you had read on the whole omegaverse. It was still trippy to believe it was real, talk less of accepting that you were actually someone's mate.

And for someone as attractive and sexy as Christopher.

He nodded, pursing his lips as his eyes trailed over you. "So it would seem. The urges are still nearly fucking suffocating, but I can withstand it better as long as I don't..."

You parted your thighs, and the scent from your core was suddenly visible to you, and you knew Christopher would smell it. Was that why you did it?

The reaction was instantaneous, and Christopher shuddered, a whimper leaving his lips. "Fuck, puppy. You really shouldn't have done that."

"I am your mate, right? You are supposed to use me." You didn't understand where your words were coming from and you sure as hell didn't fully understand everything yet, but you wanted to be there for Chris. You had wanted him since you saw him, and now, he was right here in front of you.

"Pet, I am begging. Close your legs and we can talk about this. There is still so much I haven't said yet. I cannot..." His words cut off in a groan when you rubbed yourself over your underwear and the desire in his eyes was igniting something in you.

You wanted to burn and crash with him.

You held out your hand, smiling. "Use me."

Christopher sighed, and his head lifting and you were about to drop your hand when he moved suddenly, pushing you up on the bed. You gasped, and his hand came down to slam your back on the bed, his scent filling your nose.

It made slick release from you, and you moaned, pitching your hips up to get any amount of friction.

You expected him to touch you, but he just laughed, moving down your body.

His lips brushed over your thighs, and Christopher's hands spread your knees apart. "You are absolutely dripping for me, pet. Have I left you hungry?"

You nodded, feeling your belly swoosh and dip as his lips brushed closer to your inner thigh this time, making my head swim. He hadn't changed, but there was something so different about him now that had you breathless.

"Christopher, please."

"Beg me louder."

Shame flew out the window as he pressed his palm against you, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he positioned himself between your thighs.

"Please!"

A satisfied rumble left his lips as his head dipped, and the first contact of his lips against your core had your hips arching right off the bed.

Christopher tsked, lifting his head, his hand coming up to pin your hips to the bed. His lips were glistening with your juice, and he licked them clean, darting his eyes back between your thighs.

"You are rather sensitive, pet. But I have a note of warning for you."

He spread your thighs apart wider, his voice going hoarse. "You stay put." He waited for your nod before he gave you a smile that chills climbing up your spine. "Can I finish now, pet? I hate being interrupted."

You held your breath, nodding and he didn't wait another second, diving back between your legs and running his tongue across your slit.

"Fuck, you taste so good." He muttered, sucking your clit into his mouth just as his fingers slid into you. His fingers curled just as his teeth grazed your clit, and the added effect made pressure burst beneath your eyes.

Your thighs started shaking and your vision blurred as you stared at him, your hands gripping the bedsheets so hard your knuckles went white. "Chris…"

"Beg me louder, pretty thing. I know you can. You can be so good for me, can't you?" His voice was muffled, and he was almost lost in the way his tongue and teeth worked together in tandem with his lips and fingers, and you knew you weren't going to last.

"Chris, please." You begged, not even knowing what exactly you were begging for. All you knew was that, he could give it to you. In that instant, you didn't care about any of the consequences.

His eyes slid up to meet yours, just as his fingers found that spot inside you and curled, pressing up against it and your back shot off the bed, your core clenching around his fingers. "Come on, pretty slut. I don't like to be kept waiting."

He lifted his free hand and spanked your hip, and that did it, and you felt the orgasm suddenly slam and roll through you like a whiplash.

You were sure you had gone blind, and everything was bright and ringing in your ears as you screamed his name, not caring that you were still riding his fingers even as the tremors over took you.

When you came down, Christopher moved up your body, his lips immediately finding yours. "You did so well for me, my gorgeous little whore. You made me so so proud."

You felt the pleasure light up inside you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, closing your eyes as his hand came up to squeeze around your throat.

His tongue slid inside your mouth and you felt a delirious sick feeling pass through you as you tasted yourself off his tongue. His hand squeezed and his body draped over yours, pressing you down into the bed.

Christopher groaned, his lips leaving your lips to start kissing and sucking on your neck. "God, I have wanted to scent you from the moment you came home after that party."

A moan left your lips as you felt his pheromones rise around you as his lips left marks on your skin. His hands drifted away from your neck to grip your hips tight enough that you were sure he would leave bruises.

"Jealous?" You managed to ask, trying to inject a playful tone, even though your voice was hoarse.

"Yes." Chris's hands squeezed your hips and he shifted you until you met his erection through his pants.

"Christopher." You whispered, breathless as he jerked you over him again, his eyes shuttering close. A whimper left his throat as he did it again, and this time you wrapped your legs around him.

"I am yours. Do you hear me, pet?" He whispered, his eyes trained on the spot in between your thighs, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Even though the light in the room was limited, you could tell his eyes were unnaturally dark, and you placed your hands on his cheek, lifting his head. "Christopher?"

He moaned softly and leaned into your touch, his body almost shuddering. "It is my wolf. He is testing the limits of my self control, and I don't want to hurt you. Not like that."

Christopher's voice was completely different, and his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes landed on the marks he had left on your neck, and you could see the struggle waring in his eyes.

You wanted him.

You leaned in till your lips brushed his ear, darting your tongue out to lick it, before nipping at it lightly. "Have me."

Christopher moaned louder, his eyes lifting to meet mine, this time hazy with pure lust. This was more than human. It was borderline animalistic.

It lit a fire inside you, but his eyes closed and when they opened, they looked more like the normal Christopher you were used to.

Unlike the eyes of a powerful predator that was obvious a few seconds ago.

"I want to take it slow, baby. What if I really hurt you?"

"I want it rough. I was born for you, Chris. I can take it. Give it to me rough...Please." You whispered, running your hands up his chest as you lifted up to start biting his ear again.

He was so still, and you waited till his head dropped in your neck before you whispered again. "Please, daddy. I promise to be a very good pet."

Christopher's spine stiffened and his hand came up to grip your throat, squeezing it once hard enough to cut off your circulation. "You fuckin minx."

You bit back your grin as he lifted himself up on both hands and stared down at you, a hand coming off the bed to lift the shirt you were wearing till it was bunched up at your neck. "Look at you."

A shiver ran through up your spine and his eyes darted down your body and he smirked. "You want it so bad, huh, pet? My fingers and tongue weren't enough for you?"

You felt your cheeks flush, and it wasn't in embarrassment.

Christopher's eyes flickered, and you got the sense he was slipping in control, and his wolf was quickly taking over.

"Call me that again, Pet."

You knew what he was talking about, and you held his gaze as you parted your lips with a smile. "Daddy."

"You call those other men Daddy too?"

You hadn't, but he didn't need to know that.

"Yeah. Jealous?" You repeated, and Christopher laughed, sounding more and more like a wolf, not a human.

"Jealous? No, sweetheart. They don't exist to you anymore. I have a big job on my plate, mhm? I got to make sure my slut is always satisfied, huh? Fill them up with my pups too."

He leaned down to kiss the mark on your neck. "You got a really needy pussy, darling. It takes more than one orgasm to satisfy you. But, don't worry. I am fully capable of taking care of you…"

It was definitely his wolf now.

Earlier, it was clear to you that Christopher had held himself back, as if he was afraid to hurt you, but with the way his hand was still gripping your neck and waist, whatever restraint he had was out the window.

"Your needy pussy is waiting, Daddy." You whispered, smiling when you saw his eyes twitch. Bingo.

He didn't let go of your neck, instead using his other hand to pull down his boxers along with his sweatpants, revealing a mouth watering cock that you knew would bruise everywhere inside you.

Christopher positioned himself at your entrance, but didn't move, instead squeezing your neck a little tighter. It made another wave of wetness gush out of you, and if he noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Say please, pet."

"Please."

He tsked, his hand squeezing your neck again. "Come on. Tell Daddy how much you really want his cock slamming inside you. Filling you up till you can't breathe."

His voice dropped impossibly lower and a dark smirk lifted his lips. "Till you forget your own name and your voice goes hoarse."

You wanted him to move. You needed him to move. The pressure of his tip against you was staring to fuck with your head, and you canted your hips up towards him. "Please, Daddy. Fuck me till I remember who I belong to."

He slammed in without warning, making the both of you burst into groans. "You belong to us, pretty thing. You are ours to play with. Man, wolf and vampire."

He slid back out and slammed back in, jerking you upwards on the bed. You moaned, feeling his tip bump against a spot inside you that you hadn't even know existed.

"Ours to devour."

Another slow slam that had your thighs trembling.

"Ours to cherish."

His hand left your neck to lift your legs onto his shoulders and his next thrust was so deep that it had you seeing stars and you could swear you could feel him in your throat.

"Ours to ruin."

You could feel him everywhere, and he suddenly pulled out, before slamming into you again, so deep a whimper left your throat, and he smiled, whispering.

"Ours to love."

He grabbed your face, forcing you to face him. "Say you are ours. Say you are mine."

"I am yours."

"And?"

His voice was tauntingly slow, but his pace was so different that the contrast had your head swimming.

"I belong to all of you."

"That's right, pretty baby. You are ours. Our pretty little needy human, aren't you?"

If you thought his pace was brutal, you were dead wrong. He suddenly switched, and it wasn't long before you felt the snap in your belly build up and start spreading all over you.

"Christopher, please."

He grunted, grabbing your hips to meet his thrusts. "i am going to fucking fill you up, baby. You would look so good full of my pups. Do you want that?"

Your brain had slid out of your skull, and you nodded, your voice going hoarse as your orgasm ripped through you, making every nerve in your body start thrumming.

The clenching around his dick and the way you had started milking him made Chris curse, before pausing as his groans got more guttural, and he started spilling into you.

He collapsed on top of you, muttering apologies into your hair. "Fuck, I am sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?"

He shifted the both of you, till you both laid on your sides, but he didn't slide out of you. He hadn't lessened, but you could feel him going soft inside you.

You shook your head, brushing your nose against his chest. "I loved it."

He kissed your neck, and you pulled back in time to see him wince. "You have bruises."

"I want them." You cupped his face. "I want you."

Christopher groaned, burying his face in your neck again. "Fuck, you are going to get me hard again."

You smiled and pulled him closer. "You wouldn't complain."

His answering laugh told you everything you needed to know, and he finally pulled out, whipping his shirt over his head to start cleaning you up.

"So....I ran my mouth a little."

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "A little?"

He smacked your thigh, lifting up to kiss your lips softly. "You liked it."

"Just like you liked it when I called you Daddy?" You said against his lips and this time he smacked your hips, a pained groan leaving his lips.

"Sweetheart, behave. I am trying not to fuck you again."

You wrapped your hands around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you let your lips brush his ear. "I am empty without you, Christopher. Aren't you going to help me?"

He pushed at your shoulder, laughing as you let go off his neck. "You fucking tease. You are sore."

"I like the pain."

He threw the shirt over his shoulder, smiling softly at you. "Do you?"

He kissed you so softly, his taste sneaking its way into your lungs as his tongue slid into your mouth and his hands came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over it.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I am going to make your voice so hoarse, our neighbors would think you got a cold."

Then he smoothly moved off you, and when you looked up at him, a blush spread over his cheeks. It was so out of odds with his previous behavior that you felt your jaw drop.

A flush spreading over his cheeks, Christopher leaned forward and snapped your jaw shut with his hand, his eyes going soft. "I meant that, and I really enjoyed this, but, Pet? This wasn't how our first meeting was supposed to go."

You leaned into his hand as it slid up your cheek, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. You held back the involuntary shiver, and Christopher's eyes darkened.

"I was supposed to take you out to Minho's restaurant."

"Wait, like the reclusive 3 star chef Lee Minho?" You didn't bother hiding your excitement, and Chris shook his head, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

"Yeah, I can get us a reservation." His eyes suddenly became serious, and he leaned away from you to drag his eyes down your body.

"But only if you want to, love. I wouldn't force anything on you otherwise. If you want to say no, you are 100% free to."

You grinned and wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him closer. "Yes, Christopher. It's a date."

His answering smile against your lips was everything, and as his hands slid around your waist, you felt the thing inside you that had been out of place for so long slid into place.

You were home.

end notes

this one was so fun to write. please leave behind likes and feedback if you loved it!

#si11yw0rm #si11yw0rm smut #fanfic #bang chan #christopher bang #bangchan x reader #skz smut #bangchan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut #bangchan stray kids #werewolf smut #hybrid bangchan #omegaverse #bangchan x you

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