#woolen gloves

[warmcupoflemontea]

[3peaksclothing]

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[borathae]

Kiss the Cook

“Yoongi loves to cook for you. You love to watch him as he does and soon you can’t take it anymore. You have to kiss him or you will implode.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, domestic Fluff

Warnings: cutie!Yoongi, Yoongi being a sexy cook, i said what i said, he blushes!, she feeds him some tangerines <3, as she sits on the kitchen counter, making out on said counter, Yoongi in a woolen jumper, idk but this is so hot to me and therefore needs a warning, they’re grossly in love!!!, i want what they have #bigsad

Wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i love him, i love them, i love her, i love this :( enjoy besties, oy!Yoongi is going to be the fucking death of me fjdjasf he is such a cutie ❤ ps: does a story sometimes make you feel so single or discontent with your current love life that you want to claw your own eyes out? yeah. this is that story for me. i want what they have fuxkxk they feel so mature and settled and :( grrr spreading negativity all around me grrrr

You invited Yoongi over for dinner and wine. Which means that he comes over to your place to cook while you watch him and sip on wine. Now, this isn’t because you are lazy or you are forcing him to cook. On the contrary, it was Yoongi’s idea. He loves cooking for you, so you learned, and these little dinner dates have become a regular thing in your relationship.

And it is perfect. You get to see him and talk to him. He gets to do something he loves whilst talking to you. And at the end of it, you can share the yummiest dinner ever and experience a giddy tingle in your stomachs.

You invited him over tonight for exactly such a dinner date. You dressed up in a thick jumper and some woolen socks and even did your hair.

It has been snowing rather vividly all day, turning the roads into one powdery white plane with the rest of the world. The weeping willow in front of your sunroom is bending under the weight of the snow and the frozen stream is covered under a heavy layer of it as well. It is such a beautiful view, making you happy to be inside where it is warm and cozy.

Levi, your cute little cat, hasn’t left his spot by the fireplace all day. He spends most of his winter days napping where it is warm or watching the very few winter birds eat from your bird feeder. He will not leave for outside, however, that much is sure. It is way too much work to soil his good fur with sticky, wet snow.

You check the time again. Ten past eight. Yoongi should have been here by eight. You pace in front the sunroom windows, looking at the faint lights where his house might be. He decorated the outside with lots of Christmas lights and on the nights where you miss him, you like to stand in the sunroom and look up at the lights. Whenever you do, it feels as if he was right there with you. 

Tonight however, the view makes you uneasy. Where is Yoongi and why isn’t he here yet? Did he slip and hit his head? Did a huge chunk of snow fall on him and he is now buried alive somewhere? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he forget?

Nervously biting your own nails, you hurry to the front door to take another peek outside. 

“Oh, shit!” Yoongi exclaims, stumbling back and almost dropping the grocery bags he is carrying under his arms.

You flinch back too, not having expected him to literally stand right in front of the door in the midst of ringing your bell.

“Sorry, you scared me”, he apologises for his cursing. He is bundled into the thickest winter coat ever, wearing a beanie, scarf and gloves with it. His snow pants are covered in snow up to his thighs, his winter boots are basically white from all the snow. The last few inches of his coat are opened. Holly, wearing a little beanie as well, is peeking out from it. Yoongi must have bundled him up in it to keep him warm. The view is adorable.

“You scared me too. I wanted to check if I could spot you. Come in”, you say, stepping out of the doorway.

“Yeah, sorry for being late. I underestimated the height of the snow. I had to fight my way down here without falling on my butt. I waddled like I was ninety.” 

“No worries, I’m just so happy that you’re here now and that you’re safe. I already pictured the worst scenarios ever.” 

Yoongi chuckles, “I survived. Barely, but I survived.”

You laugh. He is so funny, making you laugh again when he struggles with undressing.

“Wait. Let me take the bags so you have your hands free.”

“Thanks.” 

“Of course, I’ll carry them to the kitchen if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be with you soon.”

You are in the midst of unpacking the groceries when Yoongi and Holly join you in the kitchen. Holly greets you first, jumping up your leg and barking excitedly. 

You coo, picking him up to let him lick your face. 

“I missed you too, you little stinker. Aw big kissies, yes big kissies.”

“He really missed you”, Yoongi says, walking to you. 

“Yeah, I missed him too.” You hand him Holly. “And I missed his dad even more. Hey there, handsome”, you say, stealing a kiss. 

Yoongi smiles into it, rubbing your waist as the kiss breaks.

“Hey there, beautiful. I missed you too.” He says and then takes a step back to set down Holly. The little toy poodle instantly sets off to explore your home and look for Levi. 

Yoongi studies your get-up, “I love what you did with your hair. It suits you.”

“Thank you, heh. I tried something new.”

“It’s nice, really beautiful.”

“Thankies. Uhm, wine?” You offer. “I might have already started without you because I was picturing you dying somewhere.”

He laughs, “what a relaxing thing to do. I won’t say no to some wine, thank you.”

You prepare him a glass, then cheer with him. He enjoys it with a hum. Afterwards he touches your hip and kisses your cheek. You lean into it, smiling from ear to ear. He is always so gentle with you. You love it so much.

“I hope that you’re hungry. I’m making risotto tonight”, Yoongi says.

“Yes risotto! I love risotto. I haven’t eaten since twelve because I wanted to be really hungry tonight.” 

Yoongi smiles and begins. He puts on the apron you made for him and rolls up his sleeves. Well, at least he tries to because you stop him before he can.

“Wait, let me.”

He gazes at your face as you work, cheeks slightly flushed and heart racing. 

“Thanks”, he whispers, trying oh so hard not to expose how giddy he actually feels. Spoiler alert, he feels very giddy. You are always so tender with him. He loves it so much.

Yoongi is wearing a brown jumper made out of the softest wool. It is warm and sits on his body in the most perfect of ways. His chest and back are defined in it, but he still looks snuggly. You feel so attracted to him that it is difficult not to bite him. In an adoring way of course. 

It also isn’t helping that he is wearing your favourite cologne and a watch which really fits his wrist. Once his sleeves are rolled up, you can’t help but feel up his arms just once. You trace his veins, squeeze him and play with his fingers.

Yoongi chuckles lazily, closing his hands around yours.

“Is this still part of the service?” 

“No, this was for me. You look really sexy in this jumper.”

He smiles and pulls you close to steal a kiss. You give it to him with a fluttering heart, gazing deep into his eyes once it breaks. He has the most beautiful eyes.

“I put it on for you. Because you once said that you like me in a jumper.”

“I do. I could bite you, I’m serious.”

“Please don’t”, he laughs and pecks your cheek, “I’ll be quick with dinner, promise. No biting needs to happen.”

“Maybe a little bit of biting.”

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“If I knew that I would be dating a biter, I might have reconsidered”, he jokes, busy with setting up some pans.

“You like it. Don’t lie”, you say and sit down on the kitchen counter.

“Maybe I do.”

You snicker, picking up a tangerine to peel it as he cooks.

And so it begins. One of the coziest and most beloved date activity as a couple. He cooks while you watch him. There are only a few things better than this. 

You have the radio playing. Christmas songs because it is almost time for the holidays. The tangerine fills the air with a cozy scent and the wine tastes especially good. Whenever you and he aren’t lost in conversation, you can listen to Yoongi hum to the songs on the radio. He has a very nice singing voice. Deep and warm. You could listen to it for hours. Just as you could listen to him talk for hours.

“How are your legs by the way? Did the snow soak through your snow pants?” you ask him, staring at his butt. 

It isn’t your fault, he is wiggling it to the music. It is his fault that you have to take a sneaky look.

“Mhm? No, my legs are fine. The snow didn’t soak through.”

“That’s good to hear. How was your day?”

“It was good. I fixed some things in the upstairs bathroom and started with the chaulking.”

Yoongi is still renovating his house. It is a very big project and he isn’t stressing himself, so it’s been taking some time already. You don’t mind. It just means that he will have to stay over more often whenever the building site is too dirty. Quite frankly, a part of you secretly wishes for the renovations to take forever just so he will keep coming over to sleep in your bed. You really love having him sleep in your bed. Not only because he is a total cuddlebug (don’t spread these news to anyone, he is very shy about it) or because he always smells so good, but also because you feel safer with him close. 

“Chaulking? Wow, this sounds like process”, you say.

“Yeah, it’s been going really well lately.” He turns for a moment. “And you? Did you have a good day?”

“I had a really good day. I made some progress on the scarf and then did some yoga. Tangerine?” 

Yoongi closes the distance, snacking on the slice you’re offering.

“This sounds like a good day. You have to be finished soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it's almost finished, which is very exciting if you asked me.”

You are currently knitting a scarf and have been regularly sending updates to Yoongi via text messages. His reactions to the messages vary from “good job!” all the way to the very rare and precious thumbs up emoji. He is honestly such a cutie.

“I can imagine. Do you have a new project in mind after you finish the scarf?” Yoongi takes one more slice of tangerine before he returns to the stove. 

While you begin telling him about all the knitting project ideas you have. You don’t leave out any details. The material of the yarn, the design, the colours, even what kind of stitches you plan on using. And Yoongi listens gladly, he asks questions and reacts with his very endearing version of enthusiasm. It means so much to you. Being loved by him is so fulfilling. You feel so important, as if your existence has purpose. There is not one thing about you which isn’t important to him or which you feel like you have to hide from him.

It might sound strange, but being loved by him is so freeing. You feel so whole and so happy and you love him so much in return. 

Yoongi steals one more slice of tangerine, staying close to you afterwards as he slices some mushrooms for the risotto.

“And what about you? Any new music projects you are working on?” you ask him, switching your adoring gaze between his face and his hands. He has such sexy hands.

“Yes, so many”, he says, nodding his head.

“Tell me everything.”

You listen to everything he has to tell you, gazing at him with the biggest heart eyes. He is so interesting and exciting. His hobbies are so wonderful to listen to. As much as you love talking to him, you love listening just as much.

Yoongi feels content with you. He feels utterly and completely happy. There is nothing missing with you. When he is with you, he feels whole and like himself. There is not even the littlest thing about him he feels like he has to hide from you and whenever he comes out of one of his accidental monologues about his interests, he isn’t met with boredom but enthusiasm and questions. Truly, his nerdy little heart swells thrice its size when he is with you. 

A moment of silence follows after you and he exchanged interests. Happy and jazzy Christmas music fills it. Yoongi picks up the cutting board, carrying it to the pan so he can sauté the mushrooms in some butter. He adds the rice afterwards, seasoning it before he pours white wine into the pan. He pours some of the wine in his glass afterwards, closing the distance to clink glasses with you. 

“To this evening”, he says, smiling one of his pretty, soft smiles he always does.

“To this evening and to you, the best boyfriend ever.” 

“Be quiet”, he mumbles and drinks from his glass, looking to the side shyly. He blushes.

“Never. You need to know”, you say and lean in to munch on his cheek. 

“Hey. No biting”, he laughs as he complains, moving back. 

“Mhm, then how about I kiss the cook instead?” you say, setting the wine aside to pull him closer.

He lets you tug him between your legs, smiling at you and setting the wine aside. His eyes fall to your lips, his hands dance along a path which consists of your waist, hips and the side of your thighs.

“You’ve got a minute before I have to get back to the risotto”, he says.

“Then let me make the best of it”, you say, pulling him into a kiss. 

How you make the best of this one minute. You kiss him as if you missed him for a million years, as if you needed him for survival, as if his lips are all you ever wished for. It might only be a minute, but Yoongi comes out of this kiss with slightly wobbly knees and a racing heart. His cheeks are flushed, his lower lip tingles as you end the kiss by biting on it gently. 

“What was that for?” his voice is raspy, his eyes foggy as they gaze at your lips.

“Just felt like it”, you whisper, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Should we like, I don’t know, should I remove the pan from the stove for a moment?” 

You laugh, scrunching your nose. You know what he is insinuating, stomach tingling at the aspect of it.

“And why should you do that?” you tease him, tinting his cheeks an even deeper pink. He curses under his breath, giving your hips a gentle squeeze.

“You drive me crazy, you know. First kissing me like this and then acting innocent.”

“Shouldn’t you check on the rice?”

Yoongi lets out a whine of discontent, but breaks away from you to stir the rice. He glances at you. You retort the glances, heart racing like crazy. His hair is a little messy because you played with it as you kissed him. His lips are slightly puffy and flushed pink. Quite frankly, he has never looked more attractive than he does right now in your little kitchen wearing the black apron you made for him as he cooks you dinner and seems just a little ruffled from your kiss. 

You lift the glass of wine to your equally as puffy lips, giving him an eye smile as you sip the sweet alcohol. Yoongi blushes, shifting his gaze to dinner. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth mindlessly while his hands are busy with pouring chicken stock over the rice. 

You and he both feel the electric sparkles in the air. The feeling is addicting, just as it is addicting to spend time with each other. You just work so well together, you are so right. 

“You know”, you begin.

“Yes, baby?” he answers you, voice warm and caring.

“I love having you over.” 

He glances again. His eyes sparkle, his teeth show in the shiest of smiles.

“I can look at you, I get to listen to you and talk to you. I love it.”

“Yeah, I love it too.”

“And I get to kiss you. It’s pretty awesome.”

He looks at your lips, raising your pulse with it.

“You know. I, theoretically, have one minute again”, he says, giving you puppy eyes.

You laugh because you love when he flirts. You set the wine aside, making grabby hands at him.

“Then come here and make it count.”

Yoongi sets the spoon aside, closing the distance. How he is going to make it count.

[international-repeater-station]

also um. achoo x54

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[hyukascampfire]

LET IT SNOW! ⋅ ´- c.bg

choi beomgyu and you are best at one thing: getting on yeonjun's nerves. going out for a snowball fight on the first winter snow, he has the perfect plan. ‧ׅ ˚

៹ ۪ ´ ㅤㅤ꒰ 🕊️ ꒱ ･ 1.9k

ᰍairings ˒ crush!beomgyu x reader ft. ot5

ᧁ ; fluff

ωarnings ˒ nothing but tooth rotting fluff and friends pining over each other

✎୭ ashlynn's note im so sorry this one came out so late guys omg. i woke up late and had to rewrite some >.< @hmusunoo HERE U GO BABYYY

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The front of the car is a bustle of the boys all trying to speak over each other, their voices twisting up with the Christmas station. Yeonjun grips the wheel white-knuckled—he’s the only one that’d volunteered to drive on the glazed roads. The little park where you head isn’t too far, though, so you think you’ll be fine. 

You hope you will be, anyway. The shouting and chaos that would fall over the car should the wheels lose traction and send you slipping… he’s got the car at the slowest crawl, but you can hear it now.

The moment Soobin had suggested a snowball fight, you all had tugged on puffy layers and two layers of socks. Throwing compacted balls of powdery snow at each other’s faces is worlds more interesting than sitting around and watching the snowfall from the windows, anyway. And, you had the perfect place for it. 

When it came time to file into the car, you offered to climb into the back. The heater blasts right onto you here, and you intend to soak up every last moment of it before the cold bites. You’d tugged your seatbelt out and locked it into place with a click.

Lifting your gaze, your heart did a little flutter to find Beomgyu in the seat beside you. He’s bundled up in a black puffer. Having zipped it all the way up to the collar, it stands stiff and presses into the soft round edge of his cheeks when he turns his head to send you a cheeky smile.

It’s not that you’re uncomfortable or awkward with him. You’re just as close to him as the others. For whatever reason, though, whenever you get little moments like these, where it’s just the two of you… You fluster.

Looking into his soft brown eyes is even hard now, so you opt for watching the snow piles and glistening rooftops pass the windows by. Yesterday there had been nothing there, and now there’s a layer shin-high wherever it hasn’t been plowed off. This is your favorite time of the year—you wish it snowed more often. You suppose, though, that because it doesn’t, the serenity and stillness of days like this are more special. 

Kai and you had been the first up. Just when morning had cracked over the sky, clear and pale and wintry, you’d found each other in the kitchen with sleep-tossed hair and droopy eyes. It didn’t take more than a glance outside to know that the weather apps hadn’t lied—the air on a snowy morning just looks different. It’s silver and as crisp on the eyes as it is on the lungs. His voice had been still thick with sleep when he’d said, “Snowman?”

Of course, you wanted to build a snowman. Still in rumpled pajamas, you two drug yourselves out there, stepping around in the snow a little just to hear it crunch underfoot, and then got to work. The snowman ended up faceless and only garnished with a thick, waxy leaf poking out from the top of his head like an antenna. When you stepped back to look at it, Kai had snorted and said, “If that thing ever gained consciousness, we’d be the first people it kills.”

You fiddle with your woolen gloves, and then decide on just tugging them off. It’s toasty enough in the confines of the car; you’ll just tug them back on when you get out.

A nudge at your side has you looking up to Beomgyu. You raise a curious eyebrow at the look on his face—the corners of his lips pulled up into a sneaky grin and the shine of something playful in his eyes.

He leans toward you, the warm scent of him all woody and vanilla sweet in the car’s hot air. Keeping his voice low, a secret just between the two of you back here, he says, “I have an idea.”

An idea could mean anything, coming from him. Especially with that look in his eye. You take a look over the front of the car. It’s as loud as ever up there. Yeonjun and Soobin in the front talk awfully aggressively about something that doesn’t reach your ears, though you’re sure it’s got something to do with Yeonjun’s driving if Soobin’s wide eyes are a hint. Yeonjun’s eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror with a roll. The middle row isn’t as loud as the front, but Taehyun and Kai still are into their conversation enough to not hear what he has to say. The two of them sit at the window seats, talking over the empty middle seat between them. 

You wonder why Beomgyu took this one, in the cramped back seat where your soft thigh presses against his, rather than that one. The climb out of here is pretty annoying, too. The seats don’t go down, so you have to climb over headrests and duck under the car’s fabric ceiling.

“Hmm?” you say, deciding that his secret is safe enough back here.

His smile turns shit-eating. He leans closer, saying, “Want to piss Yeonjun off?”

You’re always down for that. Beomgyu is, too. If there’s anything Yeonjun fears most in the world, it’s to see the two of you snickering off in the corner and exchanging secret words. Most times, you don’t even have to plan it; all it takes is a sharing of a glance and raise of your brows, and you know you’re thinking the same thing.

“What are you gonna do?” you whisper back. The smile that tugs at your mouth is beyond your control—it comes to you just at the sight of his. 

He sends a glance toward the front of the car. “If the both of us only hit him…”

It’s no different from any other nagging thing you put the poor guy through, but it’ll entertain you every time. “Got it,” you say, nose wrinkling as you try to keep your laugh down.

The car comes to a stop. From your window, the expanse of the field you’ve come to turn into a warzone is brushed over with last night’s snow blast. Opened doors let a frozen, curling air in. You share one last knowing look with Beomgyu before crawling out yourself. If you don’t get out fast enough, you’ll become victim to whoever has gotten out fast enough to smush up a snowball just for you.

Flying straight and purposeful through the air, the first one does not hit you, though. It explodes into white powder and a thousand little crystal snowflakes over Beomgyu’s face, clinging to the wispy bits of the hair that falls over his eyes and all down the front of him. You don’t even know which direction it came from. He blinks it off his lashes and lets his mouth hang open for a few moments, before dropping down to the snow to build one in retaliation.

Everything devolves after that. Snow flies in arcs through the air, crashing over shoulders and into the backs of whoever’s dumb enough to turn their back. Barked laughs and shrieks break the morning’s peace. You dodge and dart, taking an awful hunk of snow to the thigh. Letting out a shrill sound, utterly unconcerned with whoever might be asleep in the houses across the street, you shoot a glare at a proud Soobin. He forms another in between his gloves, but you have a mission. 

Beomgyu’s already landed a few on Yeonjun. You squat to roll a few and come up with one, keeping a few more misshapen chunks of snow that could hardly be called a snowball in the nook of your arm at the ready. The first skims just by the side of his head, but the next crumbles against his chest, and each one after that ends.

Off from another end of the field, made a mess with your footsteps cutting the pristine surface and the piles you’ve left on top of it, Beomgyu folds with a laugh. From your peripherals, a few of the boys shout and the scattering of a snowball tells you that somebody’s been hit hard, but all you can hear is his laugh. All you can see is the pink on his cheeks and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Alliances form and a thousand snowballs are thrown, and only when Beomgyu lands a hit right at the back of Yeonjun’s head just after yours crashes against the fabric of his jacket does he realize.

“What the hell?” he spits, lips tugged down in a frown and his brows shot up to his forehead.

You cover your mouth with a soaked glove, but Beomgyu doesn’t cut his laugh. Your snort comes tumbling past the fabric as Yeonjun shakes his head and points at the two of you, laughing dangerously.

For the rest of that morning, with numb fingers and thighs sore from running, you and Beomgyu’s fates were sealed, dodging Yeonjun’s angry and pointed throws. At some point, you duck behind Beomgyu, using the width of his shoulders to escape a ball in Yeonjun’s hand with your name written on it.

Only when all of you are panting and have to drag your limbs, do you drag yourselves homeward. The car’s heater doesn’t warm up quick enough—when you step into the door, treading snow still stuck on the bottom of your boots through the entrance, the air still prickles and nips at your numbed cheeks. You peel layers of your clothes from your skin, soaked where snow had gotten caught and melted against your body heat. Tugging your shoes off was the worst; you wiggle your toes a few times just to make sure you can still move them.

Stuffing yourselves into clothes so warm that you’ll probably all be changing as soon as your bodies return to their normal temperatures, you all sprawl over the couch. Somebody snatches the remote up and clicks through a collection of Christmas classics, but at Taehyun’s insistence, you land on Christmas Vacation.

The couch is solid and warm against your back, the floor hard against your bottom. You had taken the longest to change and scarf a few candy canes down, and each seat had been occupied when you came to join their lounging. You don’t mind much—from here, you can better look at the Christmas tree and try to narrow your eyes down on which presents beneath it are yours. Kai had insisted that nobody snoops.

Beomgyu slips down beside you before the movie starts. He’s warm up against you; you’re not sure how. You’re just getting feeling back in the tips of your fingers. On his mouth, he plays a soft and easy smile, catching your eyes though you want to flounder under his attention.

Leaning toward you once more, just as he had in the car, he whispers, “Did you see his face?”

You share a quiet giggle with him, pressing your head into the fabric of his knitted sweater on his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say. “He makes it too easy…”

It wasn’t the look on Yeonjun’s face that you remember best, though. Captured in the morning light, all you had seen was the pink of Beomgyu’s cheeks and the mischievous glint there, and all you had felt was the way that it settled over your longing heart like how the fireplace warms you now.

You hope that he had been looking at you, too.

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note they're so cute i need them to kiss and cuddle and love each other

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[magical-reid]

Through the Frost

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader (Implied Slytherin!Reader)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1 K

Prompt #36: "Take my jacket, I don't want you catching a cold."

Summary: In the biting cold of the Scottish Highlands, you and Sebastian venture into the Forbidden Forest to collect Fanged Geraniums for a Herbology project, braving both the elements and an Acromantula encounter. Amid the adventure, Sebastian’s protective gestures and the warmth of his jacket lead to a tender moment between the two of you, culminating in a soft, unexpected kiss that changes everything.

The chill of the Scottish Highlands was biting, even in late autumn. You clutched your scarf tighter around your neck, your breath visible in the crisp air as you and Sebastian trudged through the Forbidden Forest. The trees around you creaked in the wind, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like ancient hands.

“Remind me again why we’re out here when it’s practically freezing?” you asked, casting a wary glance at the darkening woods.

Sebastian shot you his signature grin, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Because you’re too stubborn to admit you’d need my help with your Herbology project. Or was it the lure of adventure you couldn’t resist?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond. The truth was a mix of both—there was no denying Sebastian’s knack for getting himself into trouble, and you’d rather tag along than let him wander off into danger alone.

As you pressed on, the temperature dropped even further. The wind howled, and the light snowfall turned into a steady flurry. Your hands were practically numb despite the thick gloves, and you could feel the cold seeping into your bones.

Sebastian must have noticed, because he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to you. Without a word, he shrugged off his dark, woolen jacket, the Slytherin-green lining standing out against the monochrome backdrop of snow.

“Take my jacket,” he said, holding it out to you. His tone was firm, but there was a softness in his gaze. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Your first instinct was to protest. “Sebastian, you’ll freeze—”

“Don’t argue with me,” he interrupted, stepping closer and draping the jacket over your shoulders before you could refuse. His hands lingered for a moment, adjusting it so it fit snugly. “You’re shivering. And don’t try to act like you’re not.”

The warmth of his jacket, faintly carrying the scent of pine and something unmistakably him, was a stark contrast to the icy wind whipping around you. You pulled it tighter, feeling an unexpected flush of heat creep into your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Sebastian gave a nonchalant shrug, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips suggested he’d noticed your reaction. “What kind of dueling partner would I be if I let you turn into an icicle? Besides, I’ll survive. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Sure you are,” you teased, the corners of your lips curving into a smile despite the cold.

The two of you continued walking, his jacket keeping you warm and his presence comforting in the eerie quiet of the forest. Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped, and Sebastian instinctively stepped in front of you, his wand at the ready.

It was in these moments that you were reminded of the duality of Sebastian Sallow—the charming troublemaker who always had a clever retort, and the fiercely protective friend who would do anything to keep you safe.

“Next time, though,” he said after a beat, his voice lightening again, “maybe we should pick a less hazardous way to spend our evening. Like raiding the kitchens for pumpkin pasties.”

“Only if you don’t get us caught this time,” you replied with a laugh.

“Deal,” he said, his grin returning as he looked over his shoulder at you. “Now come on. Let’s find your stupid Fanged Geranium before we both freeze to death.”

And with that, the two of you pressed deeper into the forest, the snow falling gently around you. The jacket, and the boy who had offered it, warmed you more than you cared to admit.

The Forbidden Forest grew darker as the two of you ventured further in, the snow now a thick blanket underfoot. Each step crunched loudly, the sound eerily amplified in the silence of the forest. Though the jacket Sebastian had given you kept the chill at bay, you couldn’t shake the creeping unease of the woods.

“Are you sure the Fanged Geraniums grow this deep?” you asked, glancing at the looming shadows cast by the skeletal trees.

Sebastian hesitated, his wand tip glowing faintly in the gloom. “Pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure,” you repeated flatly.

He shot you a sheepish smile. “Well, I heard Garlick mention it during class. Something about preferring the deeper, more secluded areas of the forest. Don’t worry. We’ll find it.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow but kept walking. Sebastian’s confidence had a way of pulling you along, even when logic told you it might be a terrible idea.

A sudden rustle in the underbrush had both of you freezing in place. Your heart leapt into your throat as you instinctively gripped your wand, pointing it toward the noise.

“Did you hear that?” you whispered.

Sebastian moved closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you again. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes darted around the shadows. “Stay close,” he murmured.

The rustling grew louder, and a pair of glowing yellow eyes emerged from the darkness. Your breath hitched as a hulking Acromantula crawled into view, its mandibles clicking ominously.

Sebastian reacted immediately, raising his wand. “Confringo!”

The explosion of fire startled the spider, sending it skittering backward, but it wasn’t deterred for long. It lunged, and you barely had time to shout a spell of your own.

“Stupefy!”

The jet of red light struck its leg, slowing it but not stopping it. Sebastian grabbed your arm, pulling you behind a tree as the Acromantula recovered and began to advance again.

“Got any brilliant ideas, or should we start running?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

Sebastian’s smirk, even under the pressure, was maddeningly confident. “Running’s an option. But I’d hate to let it think it could beat us.”

“Of course you would,” you muttered.

He peeked out from behind the tree, his wand at the ready. “On my signal, aim for its eyes. Ready?”

You nodded, gripping your wand tightly. “Ready.”

“Now!”

The two of you burst out from cover, shouting spells in unison.

“Incendio!”

“Confringo!”

The combined spells hit their mark, engulfing the Acromantula in flames. It let out a high-pitched screech, retreating into the shadows as smoke curled around its massive frame.

Sebastian watched it disappear, his wand still raised. When the forest finally fell silent again, he exhaled and turned to you, his grin returning. “See? No problem.”

You glared at him, your heart still racing. “No problem? That thing could have eaten us!”

“But it didn’t,” he pointed out, his tone annoyingly casual. He reached out and gently tugged his jacket tighter around your shoulders. “Thanks to me, you’re still here to complain about it.”

You huffed, though the warmth of his touch and his playful smirk made it hard to stay annoyed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you keep following me into danger.”

Before you could retort, a faint glow caught your eye. Just a few feet away, nestled among a patch of frost-covered ferns, was a cluster of Fanged Geraniums. Their serrated leaves snapped at the air, illuminated by the soft luminescence of their buds.

“There they are,” you said, pointing.

Sebastian followed your gaze and let out a triumphant laugh. “Told you we’d find them.”

He crouched beside the plants, careful to avoid their snapping leaves, and began to harvest a few blooms. You knelt beside him, your earlier frustration fading as the two of you worked together.

As you stood up, cradling the blooms in your gloved hands, Sebastian brushed the snow off his knees and turned to you with a smile. “See? Adventure, teamwork, and no serious injuries. I’d say tonight’s a success.”

“Speak for yourself,” you said, though you couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll probably be having nightmares about Acromantulas for a week.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Then I’ll sit with you in the Common Room until you fall asleep. You know, for moral support.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” he said with a wink, falling into step beside you as the two of you made your way back toward Hogwarts.

By the time you and Sebastian emerged from the Forbidden Forest, the snow was falling thickly, transforming the grounds into a glistening winter wonderland. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, its windows glowing with warm light, promising refuge from the biting cold.

The trek back to the castle was quieter, your steps synchronized as you trudged up the hill. Sebastian’s jacket still hung around your shoulders, its warmth and his faint scent grounding you in the aftermath of your encounter with the Acromantula.

“Not bad for an evening’s work,” Sebastian said as you approached the castle doors, cradling the bundle of Fanged Geraniums you’d managed to collect. “And not a single detention. That’s got to be a record.”

“Yet,” you corrected, raising a brow. “We’re not in the clear until Professor Weasley sees us sneaking in.”

He chuckled, holding the heavy door open for you. The rush of warm air from the Entrance Hall was a welcome relief. You stepped inside, snowflakes melting instantly in the castle’s glow.

The walk back to the Slytherin Common Room was uneventful, the quiet halls amplifying the soft crackle of distant fireplaces and the murmur of students preparing for bed. When you finally reached the Common Room, the emerald flames in the hearth illuminated the green and silver decor, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.

Sebastian flopped onto one of the plush armchairs, his usual swagger returning as he stretched out lazily. “If that’s not the most heroic flower-picking mission anyone’s ever attempted, I don’t know what is.”

“Heroic?” you echoed, placing the bundle of Geraniums on a nearby table. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” he quipped, motioning to the jacket still draped around you. “Cozy in my jacket, enjoying my company.”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corners of your lips twitched into a smile. You slid the jacket off and held it out to him. “Thank you, by the way. For this. And for everything else tonight.”

Sebastian didn’t take the jacket right away. Instead, he stood and stepped closer, his usual smirk softening into something quieter, more sincere. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice low. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Your breath caught, the playful banter fading into an unfamiliar tension. He was close now, his amber eyes locking onto yours, and for once, he didn’t seem to have another clever remark ready.

“You’ve got snow in your hair,” he murmured, reaching up to brush a stray flake from your temple. His fingers lingered a moment too long, warm against your skin.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words never came. Instead, you felt yourself leaning in, drawn by the quiet intensity in his gaze.

Sebastian didn’t move away. If anything, he stepped closer, his hand falling to your shoulder as his other fingers lightly tilted your chin. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the warmth of the Common Room forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled softly, his usual confidence tempered by something gentler. “Can you blame me?”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both tentative and full of unspoken feelings. It was soft and slow, a moment stolen from the chaos of your usual adventures.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder, his smirk returned—but it was softer now, almost shy.

“Well,” he said, his voice a touch unsteady, “that was… unexpected.”

“Was it?” you asked, your own smile breaking through.

Sebastian chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Maybe not entirely. I’ve been meaning to do that for a while now.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed how much the admission meant to you. “Took you long enough.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he teased, reaching out to take his jacket from your hands. But before you could let it go, he slipped it back around your shoulders.

“Keep it for the night,” he said, his grin returning. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t argue. “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice softer now. As you turned to head to your dormitory, you felt his gaze lingering, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

It had been a night full of danger, snow, and sharp-toothed flowers, but as you curled up under your blankets with his jacket still draped over you, all you could think about was the warmth of his touch and the way his kiss had chased away the cold.

[darkficlord69]

Fire & Ice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Jacaerys Velaryon

Warning: tastefully depicted smut (18+)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When fire meets ice, the very walls of Winterfell seem to tremble. But is the wolf a worthy match for the dragon?

Jacaerys Velaryon sat beneath the sprawling canopy of the godswood, a single white flower caught between his slender fingers. He plucked its petals one by one, watching them drift down to the withered grass like fallen snow. A sigh escaped his lips, soft as the summer breeze, and his fingers, adorned with silver rings fashioned in the shape of dragons' scaly tails, stilled when a bee landed upon his pink nipple. He dared not move, resembling a statue of marble, all sharp curves and delicate lines, carved by a true master’s hand. He held his breath until the bee took flight, then allowed a small smile to break across his face as he prepared to rise.

But then, a shadow fell over him, long and imposing, blotting out the sun. Jacaerys looked up, squinting against the sudden darkness.

"Good day, my prince," came a husky voice, roughened by the chill of the North.

"You too, Cregan," Jacaerys replied mildly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he feared to break the stillness of the godswood.

"The lords of the war council request your presence in the solar," Cregan Stark said. "I had hoped you would care to join us."

Jacaerys let his gaze wander over Stark’s solid frame, taking in the man’s sturdy build. Those legs, long and strong beneath plain woolen breeches; that broad heavy chest hidden beneath layers of soft furs and leather; his hair, brown as autumn leaves, and his hard eyes, grey as winter’s ice—eyes that could thaw even the heart of a dragonlord.

He was lost in girlish thoughts, caught up in the rugged beauty of the Stark, when a soft throaty cough brought him back to himself. Cregan extended a gloved hand.

"Of course, my lord," Jacaerys said, taking the offered hand and letting Cregan pull him to his feet. "Anything you need."

***

The great hall of Winterfell rang with voices of discontent. Lord Umber’s booming shout rose above the rest, his face as red as his hair. “Straining our armies will only increase the risk of wildling attacks!” The room responded with a chorus of grunts and murmurs of approval. “Southron skirmishes are no concern of ours, I say!”

Lord Manderly, heavyset and lounging in his chair, responded in a bored drawl. “The South is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the North. Sooner or later, one king or queen will force us to choose a side.”

“The Iron Throne will not look kindly upon our allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Lord Hornwood intoned. Cregan Stark, seated at the head of the long oak table, had listened to enough prattle to make his head throb in annoyance. With a resounding thud, he slammed his large hands on the oak table, sending goblets rattling and silencing his bannermen. A sombre heaviness fell over the room, thick as the northern snows. The Warden of the North took a breath, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

“We pledged our support to King Viserys’s heir long ago,” he said, his voice stern. “Never has a Stark broken his word, and I do not intend to be the first. Remember where your loyalties lie, my lords.”

With those words, dark and final as the grave, Cregan rose from the table, his wolfskin cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. Jacaerys Velaryon followed, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Once they were alone in the dim corridor of the Great Keep, Jacaerys’s mask of composure slipped, revealing the warmth beneath. “Cregan,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, “thank you.” The support of the North meant that his mother would be one step closer to claiming her birthright.

Cregan gave a curt nod, intent on heading to his chambers. But before he could take another step, he felt a firm yet gentle push, his back pressing against the cold stone of a column.

“Now let me show you how a dragon expresses his gratitude,” the prince murmured, a teasing grin curling his full, pouty lips. The words hung in the cold, still air, filled with a heat that made Cregan's blood pulse faster. Jacaerys moved with a lithe grace, every step a promise, every movement a dance of seduction.

Slowly, Jacaerys knelt before the Stark lord, his hands gliding up Cregan’s strong thighs. His touch was featherlight, just a whisper of fingers trailing over thick wool and leather, but it was enough to make Cregan’s breath catch in his throat. The prince’s eyes were dark, glimmering with mischief and desire, his expression one of pure intent as he let his fingers dance along the inside of Cregan's legs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch.

Cregan’s heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, insistent rhythm that matched the stirring in his loins. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to pull Jacaerys up, to crush their mouths together in a desperate kiss. But he held back, held still, mesmerized by the sight of the prince at his knees, those nimble hands tracing patterns on his skin.

Jacaerys’s fingers found the edge of Cregan’s tunic, slipping beneath it, brushing against warm hair-covered flesh. The touch sent a shiver up Cregan’s spine, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Jacaerys looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted slightly, his breath warm against Cregan’s thigh.

The prince leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Cregan’s leg, just above the knee. Cregan’s muscles tensed beneath the tender touch, his fingers twitching with the need to reach out, to bury them in the dark waves of Jacaerys’s hair. He watched, entranced, as Jacaerys continued his slow, torturous journey, his lips brushing lightly up the inside of Cregan’s thigh, each kiss a spark, each touch a flame.

The wolf stirred within Cregan, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he felt the heat of Jacaerys’s mouth moving higher. His desire, coiled tight like a spring, grew with every brush of those lips, every teasing touch. He felt himself harden, the ache of want becoming almost unbearable.

Jacaerys’s smirk widened as he felt the evidence of Cregan’s arousal beneath his hands. He looked up again, his eyes meeting Cregan’s, holding his gaze as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Cregan’s hip. Cregan’s breath came out in a harsh exhale, his control slipping, his need overtaking him.

With a growl, Cregan reached down, his hands tangling in Jacaerys’s hair, pulling the prince up with a rough urgency. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a frantic dance. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long, finally unleashed.

Jacaerys responded with equal fervor, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. The prince’s lips were soft but insistent, demanding and giving all at once. Cregan could taste the heat of him, could feel the fire that burned beneath his skin, and he met it with his own cold fury, his own wild, untamed desire.

Their mouths moved together, each kiss deeper, more intense than the last, as if they were trying to consume each other, to fuse together through sheer will. Cregan’s hands moved down, grasping Jacaerys’s waist, pulling him closer still, until there was no space between them, until they were one, bound together by the force of their need.

His lips left Cregan’s mouth, trailing down his jaw, his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat. Cregan tipped his head back, a groan rumbling in his chest as Jacaerys found a sensitive spot, sucking gently, teeth grazing over skin.

The prince’s hands moved lower, finding hard planes of muscle, scars that marked his furry skin. He traced them with his fingertips, memorizing the shape of them, the feel of them, each one a testament to the man before him, to the strength and the honor that he embodied.

Cregan’s hands moved to Jacaerys’s waist, fingers digging into the prince’s hips as he pulled him impossibly closer, grinding against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through the layers of fabric. Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through him, his body arching into Cregan’s touch.

They moved together, lips meeting again in a fierce kiss, hands exploring, claiming, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The wolf and the dragon, fire and ice, together in the dark, bound by a passion that neither could deny. And in that moment, they were lost to the world, to the weight of their titles and the burdens of their duties, lost to everything but each other.Jacaerys gasped, his fingers tangling in Cregan’s thick, dark hair as he pressed ever closer, his body melting against the northerner’s like ice before a flame. Cregan’s lips moved to Jacaerys’s neck, finding the pulse there and biting down just hard enough to make the prince hiss in pleasure.

“More,” Jacaerys demanded, his voice breathless, his eyes half-lidded with desire. “Show me how fierce the wolf can be.”

Cregan needed no further invitation. He lifted Jacaerys effortlessly, the prince’s legs wrapping around his waist as it was Cregan’s turn to press him against the wall. The cold stone was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, but neither of them noticed. Their world had narrowed to this moment, to the taste of each other’s mouths and the feel of their skin.

They were fire and ice, light and shadow, opposites drawn together by a force neither of them could fully understand but neither wanted to fight. Here, in the shadows of the keep, they were free of the burdens of their titles and the weight of their responsibilities. Here, they were just two dandy men, lost in the madness of each other.

Cregan’s hands found the laces of Jacaerys’s lacy smallclothes and pulled, the fabric sliding down the prince’s hips and pooling at his feet. Jacaerys shivered at the sensation, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders as the northern lord knelt before him.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Cregan looked up, his eyes meeting Jacaerys’s, asking a question without words. Jacaerys nodded, a silent answer, a trust given and accepted.

“Stay still now, woman,” Stark commanded and Jace whimpered at the order.

Then, Cregan’s lips were on him, hot and wet and hungry, and Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back against the stone. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the heat of Cregan’s mouth and the rough scrape of his beard against sensitive skin.

Jacaerys’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in Cregan’s hair as pleasure coursed through him, building and building until he thought he might shatter from it. And then, with a cry that echoed off the walls of Winterfell, he did, his body tensing, his back arching, and then collapsing against the stone, boneless and sated.

Cregan rose, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as he pulled Jace into his arms, holding him close as the prince caught his breath. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the only sound their breathing, the only warmth the heat of their bodies.

Finally, Jacaerys pulled back, his eyes bright, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “Well, Lord Stark,” he murmured, “I must say, your loyalty has its rewards.”

Cregan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through Jacaerys’s already sated body. “And you, Prince Jacaerys, are a demanding wench.”

Jacaerys leaned in, his lips brushing against Cregan’s ear as he whispered, “Only because I know you can handle me, oh Wolf of Winterfell.”

Cregan’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with promise. “Then you’ll have to show me again, you feisty dragonling,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Jacaerys laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the corridor. “Oh, I intend to, Cregan Stark. Many times over.”

And with that, they slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of their laughter and the lingering warmth of their passion behind them.

End.

Hi! Hope you liked it 🥰 Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated! 🫶

[sheafrotherdon]

Joe cannot say what will grab his heart and squeeze it at any particular moment—which ordinary action, word, or thought will trip him into happiness, into renewed appreciation for the object of his love.

Today it is the way Nicky pulls on his dark grey woolen gloves as they leave the supermarket, wriggling his fingers as though  to test the fit for perhaps the sixth or seventh time that day. The gesture is staggeringly ordinary, a habit more than a choice, and yet the dance of Nicky’s fingers causes affection to flare in Joe’s chest, and for him to grab one of Nicky’s hands in his.

“Are your hands cold?” asks Nicky. “You should have brought gloves.”

Joe shakes his head with a smile. “Must I have cold hands to want to hold yours?”

The corner of Nicky’s mouth lifts.  “No.”

“Good.”  Joe squeezes Nicky’s hand, the wool soft against his palm, and grins when Nicky squeezes back.  “I am very in love with you,” he says casually.

“Oh?” says Nicky.  

“Yes,” Joe repiles. “Sickeningly so.”

Nicky huffs a breath of laughter. “Well, I love you too.”

“Excellent,” Joe says, beaming.  “We are well matched.”

Nicky squeezes his hand again and leans to brush a kiss to Joe’s cheek. “It seems so.”

Joe feels his heart fill even further and his cheeks ache from the breadth of his smile.

[nightunite]

slides u twenty dollars can we consider jealous johnny if he sees reader is only that avoidant with him and no one else… i don’t want to rush ahead in case you have something else planned but like, johnny hearing that there are rumors one of the baron’s newest maids is pregnant and the timing just lines up a little too well 😵‍💫😵‍💫

-noona bc tumblr refuses to let me send asks from sideblogs

Hiiiiiiiii Noona 💖

Thank you for the twenty, I'm gonna spend in on blind boxes, it's not an addiction, I can stop anytime I want. Spoilers concerning reader's pregnancy under the read more:

Gonna answer only the first part of this and save the second half because I don't wanna give away too much just yet. I will say that at the point this piece of the story takes place, our dear reader is indeed aware she's pregnant and has informed Konig, who insists on her having someone with her when she goes out into town. Anything could happen, and he fears the idea of her falling and harming herself or the baby, or having to do so much heavy lifting. They're just on friendly-ish terms though for now, as this isn't by the time reader has started showing, so no rumors have started flying yet. Also, curious how one section of this will be interpreted. Johnny exhaled as he stepped out of the shop, breath a thick fog in front of him as the winter chill set to work stinging his cheeks. Snow had fallen last night and stayed, keeping the roads slick. The thick woolen cap he wore snug around his head crushed down his signature hairstyle, but he'd rather have flat hair than a raw scalp. He rubbed his gloved hands along his wrists to fend off the shivers, the door behind him shutting with a clatter and the ring of bells as he moved along the walkway towards his next stop a few streets over. Four stores in, and he had yet to find what he was looking for. He wasn't entirely sure what that was, mind you, only that whatever it was remained elusive. It let him move about town all the same to get out of his house which had felt odd these past few weeks. Too loud, too quiet, achingly lonely yet also too many people nearby setting his nerves on edge. Impossible to get anything done, his irritation grew erratic like his thoughts. All he wanted was a moment of peace, a chance for his ever-restless thoughts to let him breathe lest he take it out on his staff.

Try as he might to deny it to himself, he knew why this happened. She wasn't there anymore. Packed up and left in the wee hours of the morn, when the fog was thick and the duchy silent as a graveyard. Didn't bother to inform him, merely the head maid whom had given him a look that said he was a fool. Shortly thereafter, word had gotten back to him that she had taken up a position in the Baron's home. He'd had to take a swift walk to handle that knotted up wad of string wrapped tightly in his gut.

If he were an honest man, he would say she hadn't truly been there even longer. It made his throat close up, the way she seemingly wasted away in his halls, sunken in on herself like a sunflower wilting in the frost. Like a cold snap at the start of winter, suddenly she had no time for him. Always quick to pull away from him, to find some task to do that kept her preoccupied from the start of the day until well past it. Hesitation whenever he asked her what was wrong, a momentary pause before she would tell him nothing was the matter, addressing him as 'my lord', as though the name she had permission to use would not escape her mouth.

Eyes always downcast, fixed on the floorboards or over his shoulder when she would bring herself to pretend to look him in the eye. Truth be told, he preferred it in some ways, the relief of not having that direct connection. At least then he didn't feel the weight of his inadequacy of caring for her, like a verdict cast down upon him. This way he could pretend that he was the man he was supposed to be. He stopped attempting to touch her in any way when he caught how she tensed, braced herself for contact. The kissing followed shortly thereafter, her strained smiles and broken laughter making him feel worse, like he never should have even tried. Anything further wasn't even on the table, and the thought of even broaching the subject made his insides churn. And so, he stopped. Filled his time with the other maids, though that never lasted long either. They weren't right; laughter too loud or high pitched, smile too far to one side, hair the wrong thickness between his fingers. It left him feeling further unease, as though he kept going down the wrong hallways in a maze that he had no chance of escaping. Like a picture set at the wrong angle, or shoes that are a size too small. It pinches him, makes something inside him pace like a beast in a cage, keeps him up at night. He knows what felt right, what kept him sated and content in his days. Eyes that gazed at him like he was her salvation, her sun, always turning towards him with a smile that made his own lips turn up. Soft hands even after hard work, rubbing over the calluses of his palms and stroking over any scars, pressing gentle kisses to them. Laughs and squeals that made his heart race like a schoolboy, cheeks flooded red with the desire to keep her that way, keep all of her attention on him. Even now as he turns the corner, he feels a small smile coming up from those memories, only to freeze awkwardly on his face.

Across the street there she walked, a small box wrapped in her free palm. He hadn't anticipated her being out, assuming she had remained indoors lest the chill finally do her in. He felt his breath leave his lungs at the sight while his blood raced at a fever pitch, heart beginning to hammer. She looked beautiful, the way she had before whatever had occurred at the duchy. Cheeks fuller than he had seen since this past fall, eyes bright and a small smile on her face, she looked radiant to him. Some piece of him, deep in his soul perhaps, relaxed in relief at the sight of her hale and hearty. Another part of him, a part of who he is as a man, feels the stirrings of bitterness at the fact she seems to flourish again once out of his reach. But he couldn't help the way he wanted to grit his teeth and snarl at who stood at her side. Baron Konig, the man who had poached her from him. Still draped in his silly shroud, he was covered head to toe, a thick peacoat covering him and sturdy boots making contact with the ground, clicks following. Even with the coat in the way, Johnny's eyes narrowed at the way her hand was tucked into the crook of his arm. Why does that bastard have the right to touch her? He must have said something under that hood, for she looked up at the Baron and let out a chuckle, breath pluming out for a moment before she responded with something that he nodded in return to. In his free arm he held several packages, looking for all the world as though they weighed nothing. To a man of that size, they probably didn't.

Johnny felt the acidic tendrils of jealousy lance through him, searing him from the inside out while he fought the need to bare his teeth and tear into the man. He couldn't help it, truly he couldn't. That should have been him with her, guiding her down the street while she looks up at him and laughs at whatever he tells her. Actually no, he thought, she shouldn't be out here at all. She should have been back in the duchy with him, playfully seated on his desk, fire roaring and keeping them both toasty while he pretended to work. He would reach out and cup her face, stroking the apple of her cheek, while she would lean in and reward him with a kiss for his hard work that day. A game they had played before, the two of them wrapped up against the bitter outside world, a secret shared between their hearts.

Why does she not look at him that way? What did he do to harm her? What must he do to have her return to him? Just look at him again, please. Even just a passing glance, something to show that she still recalls who he is, who he can be to her.

Words of adoration and touches that feel like absolution dissipate from his eyes, Johnny swallowing a small noise behind his teeth when he sees how she leans into the Baron so she can stretch slightly higher and say something in his ear. Never before has Johnny wished to be lesser in society so as to step forward and take her hand and pull her home, show everyone who she is meant for. Unable to bear the sight any longer he hunches his head into the collar of his coat and swiftly turns around. His attempts at finding peace have only led him to further turmoil.

As he heads back to his carriage, his thoughts circle over and over, ruminating and digging furrows into his sanity.

He doesn't deserve this, none of this. Not with a woman like that, not with her. When he returns to the house, he has letters to write.

[itsabouttimex2]

How Can We Use Y/N?

So I’ve been watching Delicious in Dungeon, and… thinking about Beastman!Y/N. Or, rather- how the party consumes them.

Maybe outright eating them is off-limits, because, you know, Y/N is still a person, and cannibalism tends to bring about some pretty nasty stuff. Marcille is hard on that stance. She’s opened up to a lot of different foods, sure, that’s true- but she’s not eating a person! The potential for diseases and sickness is too high, no matter how you prepare the food, after all.

But eating isn’t the only way for someone or something to be consumed! Time is consumed! Energy is consumed! Labor is consumed! Products are consumed!

So what can we make out of Y/N?

Maybe you’ve been fused with the soul of something like a Firefly Squid, shifting your flesh to bear a pleasing bioluminescence- and if sometimes a tentacle falls off or is chopped clean in combat? Well, Laios doesn’t really see the issue in skinning the rubbery tendril to make glow-in-the-dark hilt wraps and canteens… even if his friends think that it’s a little gross.

Or maybe you’re some form of Cervidae, bearing a soft, short pelt and a pair of antlers to boot, which means… you’ll end up shedding at the end of the year, and the team now has a fresh set to utilize! The keratin is good for carving, especially if you’re making arrowheads or figurines. If nothing creative comes to mind, they’re at least good for trading to orcs or kobolds.

But I’d like to think that you’re a cute little Valais Blacknose, who hasn’t quite learned to trim your own fur, so it’s up to the Touden Party to take up the shears and chop those woolen locks! Chilchuck is a little estranged from his family, admittedly, but he’s still a father of three, and has learned a bit about haircare in the process. Expect lots of reminders to “hold still, dammit!” and maybe a few “oh, shit”s along the way, but the Half-Foot will get you fixed up.

Once he’s trimmed you into a presentably adorable little lamb, it’s finally possible to walk around without tripping over your own fluff, and see without a collage of thick headbands pinned in place to hold back a storm of woolen locks… and the team is left with several pounds of fluffy wool.

And team Touden does not waste resources- especially if those supplies are coming from their precious little Y/N!

So the team scrambles to find a way to use all of the floof, each one taking a portion to use in some way, at least.

Laios knows that winding his cooking ware with spun wool will only make them harder to clean, especially if blood or fat soak into the threads, and he really doesn’t want to waste such a soft part of his dear Y/N by having to throw them out over something like a minor spill… which also rules out his sword’s grip, because, again, wool holds nasty fluids really well. Probably he’ll settle for something extremely practical that can be used many times over, like a pair of socks or gloves. It’s not impossible for the monster enthusiast to keep a handful of unprocessed fluff in his pocket, just so he has something to grab and squish during stressful or boring trips… or so he can “prove” to nearby parties/“friends” how soft you are. (Shuro and Kabru are on the receiving end of more than a few rants.)

Ever practical, Senshi probably makes cheesecloth from your threads, albeit over the course of several days spent knitting the yarn together. If he doesn’t have that sort of time, or maybe just not the motivation, he’ll bind himself up a washcloth or two- perfect for sopping up cooking spills, or scrubbing the inside of a pan. And, now that you can actually see without constantly peeling pounds of fluff from your eyes, expect to given more tasks during cooking. Anything to keep you close and safe. It’s also very probable that he’ll have you on a “Beastman-friendly” diet comprised heavily of leafy meals and chopped veggies. Maybe he’ll even scrounge up some hay, or cut and bind up some grass to have on hand for you as a snack. He won’t even consider this strange- to Senshi, it’s just the proper way to take care of someone that he obsesses over the safety of cares for.

Happy to have “monster” supplies that she doesn’t have to eat, Marcille binds a few of the finer threads into a set of little ribbon for her hair. I also imagine that she’d be primarily responsible for taking caring if your hair after the cut, so she’ll make a few extra in order to style yours like she styles hers. If there’s plenty extra when everyone else is done taking their share, the elf girl just might make herself a little plushy version of you to sleep with… and one of Falin, too.

Divorced father of three, deft of hand Chilchuck has learned his way around a needle… mostly. It’s not above him to maybe weave something nice up for his daughters, like matching bracelets. He’ll want six in total, one for him and his ex, three for his daughters, and one for you- just so everyone in the “family” has a common thread to bind them. A particularly young Y/N will most likely be adopted by the Tims family at the end of their journey, providing a safe and happy (if viciously protective and smothering) space for them to grow. His daughters receive letters every now and then, each one waiting anxiously to meet the individual who is; unbeknownst to them, being propositioned as a brand new family member. Even his ex is mildly excited at the thought of someone brand new to raise, given that all her daughters are grown and moving on in the world. Maybe it’s what they need to get back together… or maybe that’s just the possessiveness talking.

And for Izutsumi… she wants a new scarf. Not that she knows how to knit, or has any interest in learning, but still. The cat girl will scrounge up a hefty handful of wool and toss it into Marcille’s lap with a huff, demanding a properly knit scarf to add to her arsenal. And although she’s not exactly above whining or making threats to get her way, there’s no need- the mage is totally on board to have every member of the party decked out in the softest parts of their collective favorite member. So, Izutsumi gets her scarf, and then everyone finally has a part of Y/N to keep close and hold dear.

Not that anyone is going to start ignoring the real thing, unfortunately for you.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 4

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 5k

warning; /

notes; heyy, I hope that all of you are doing fine ! Here is part 4, pretty calm chapter but I think that you will like it ;))) To be honest I'm already done writing the story, I might change some details because I'm still not really happy about some parts but the overall storyline is finished. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment or ask to be on the tag list ;)) I'm always super happy to see your feedbacks and comments on the story. See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 3 or part 5

---

Wrapped in the warmth of a thick, fur-lined cape, you made your way through the vast and unforgiving landscape that led to the Winter Court. The journey had been long, the cold biting at your skin despite the layers of wool and leather beneath your armor. Your boots crunched through the snow with every step, the sound a constant reminder of the icy terrain you traversed. The fur trim of your cape brushed against your face, shielding you from the harsh winds that howled through the mountains.

Your outfit was designed for both warmth and practicality—leather pants tucked into sturdy boots, a long-sleeved woolen tunic layered under a thick, high-collared vest, and over it all, the heavy cape that provided not just warmth, but protection from the elements. The fur-lined hood of the cape was pulled low over your brow, keeping the icy wind from nipping at your face. Gloves made of soft, supple leather protected your hands, though your fingers itched for the familiar feel of your weapons.

The landscape around you was breathtakingly beautiful, despite its harshness. The snow-covered mountains rose like jagged teeth against the clear, cold sky, their peaks piercing the heavens. The ground beneath your feet was a blanket of pristine white, unmarked by any sign of life save for the occasional tracks of a snow hare or a fox. The air was crisp and clean, filling your lungs with a chill that was both invigorating and biting.

As you neared the Winter Court, the terrain began to change subtly. The trees, tall and ancient, were dusted with snow, their branches heavy with the weight of winter. The air grew colder, the wind sharper, as you approached the heart of Kallias’s domain. The palace, when it came into view, was a marvel of ice and stone, a structure that seemed to rise organically from the frozen earth itself. Its spires glistened in the weak sunlight, the walls shimmering as if carved from a single massive block of ice. It was both awe-inspiring and foreboding, a testament to the power of the High Lord who ruled within.

As you entered the grand hall, the cold air seemed to intensify, but you were prepared for it. Your breath misted before you as you walked, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the ice-encrusted walls. The interior of the palace was no less magnificent than its exterior—glittering chandeliers of ice hung from the ceiling, casting a cool, ethereal light across the room. The floors were a mosaic of frosted tiles, and the walls were adorned with intricate carvings that depicted the history and power of the Winter Court.

Kallias awaited you at the far end of the hall, his tall, imposing figure clad in robes of pure white, trimmed with silver. His eyes, as cold and sharp as the winter wind, met yours as you approached, and he offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice as icy as his surroundings. "I trust your journey was without incident?"

You inclined your head in respect. "It was, High Lord. The Winter Court is as beautiful as ever."

Kallias’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "It is. And I am eager to see the weapon you have forged for me."

With a practiced motion, you unclasped the leather strap that secured the long, narrow case at your side. Carefully, you lifted the lid, revealing the weapon within—a glaive, forged from the finest steel, its blade gleaming with an icy blue sheen that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was intricately designed, resembling the ancient, snow-laden trees of the Winter Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length. At the base of the hilt, a crystal embedded in the pommel caught the light, glittering like freshly fallen snow.

Kallias’s eyes gleamed with appreciation as he took in the sight of the weapon. He stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching out to grasp the hilt. The glaive fit perfectly in his hand, its weight balanced, its craftsmanship flawless. He swung it once, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp, crisp sound that resonated through the hall.

"It’s exquisite," Kallias said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N."

You bowed your head slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m glad it meets your expectations, High Lord. It was an honor to craft something for the Winter Court."

Kallias’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment longer before he turned his icy eyes back to you. "It more than meets my expectations. It surpasses them. You have a gift, Y/N, and I’m fortunate to have been able to commission such a weapon from you."

There was a moment of silence as Kallias continued to study the glaive, the air between you filled with the mutual respect of two artisans—one of ice, one of steel. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly.

"You must be tired from your journey," Kallias said, his tone shifting to something more cordial. "Please, stay as my guest. You are welcome in the Winter Court as long as you wish."

You inclined your head again, appreciating the offer. "Thank you, High Lord. I may take you up on that, but I must return to the Night Court soon. There are other matters that require my attention."

Kallias nodded in understanding. "Of course. But for now, rest. My stewards will see to your needs."

With that, he handed the glaive back to you, and you secured it once more in its case. As you followed the steward who had been summoned to lead you to your quarters, you couldn’t help but marvel at the power and grace of the Winter Court—its beauty, its cold, unyielding strength. The journey had been long, but the successful delivery of such a finely crafted weapon made it all worthwhile.

As you were led to your quarters, you wondered what the days ahead would bring, knowing that whatever challenges lay before you, you were more than prepared to face them.

After a much-needed rest in the luxurious quarters provided by Kallias, you found yourself summoned to dinner with the High Lord and his wife, Viviane. The invitation was delivered with the same formality and grace that characterized the Winter Court, and you dressed accordingly, choosing an outfit that was both practical for the cold and respectful of the occasion. You opted for a tailored, high-collared tunic in deep blue, paired with fitted leather pants and sturdy boots designed for both warmth and movement. Over the tunic, you wore a vest of finely stitched leather, its dark hue matching the rich blue of your tunic, and lined with fur for added warmth. A thick, fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders, adding the final touch of protection against the biting cold.

The dining hall itself was as magnificent as the rest of the palace, with walls of ice that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. A grand table made of polished, dark wood stood at the center, set with fine crystal and silverware that sparkled under the light. Kallias and Viviane were already seated when you arrived, their regal presence filling the room with an aura of quiet power.

Viviane greeted you with a warm smile, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness. “Y/N, it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Please, sit. I hope the accommodations were to your liking?”

You returned her smile, inclining your head respectfully as you took the seat offered to you. “Thank you, Lady Viviane. The accommodations were perfect—your hospitality is most generous.”

Kallias nodded in agreement, his expression calm and composed. “We are glad to hear that. You’ve traveled far, and your work has been extraordinary. You deserve the best.”

As the first course was served—a delicate soup made with winter vegetables and fragrant herbs—you found yourself relaxing into the atmosphere. The warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth, combined with the rich scents of the food, created a sense of comfort that was almost surprising in the cold grandeur of the palace.

As the meal progressed, Kallias leaned back slightly, regarding you with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me, Y/N,” he began, his voice casual but laced with curiosity, “are you finally settling down? It’s not often we hear of someone as skilled as you staying in one place for long.”

You smiled softly, nodding as you set down your spoon. “Yes, I’ve returned to my roots. I’ve settled back in the Night Court, where I grew up. It feels right to be back home, even after all the years of traveling.”

Kallias’s eyes sharpened with interest, though he remained composed. “The Night Court, you say? And how has that been? Is it… a unique place, from what I’ve heard.”

You nodded again, careful with your words. “It’s been a good experience, returning to the Night Court. It has its own charm, and I’ve found a certain peace there that I didn’t realize I was missing.”

Viviane, ever the gracious hostess, leaned forward slightly, her gaze warm. “It must be wonderful to return to your roots after so long. I can imagine it offers a sense of stability, something to hold onto.”

“It does,” you agreed. “After years of traveling and crafting for different courts, it’s good to have a place to call home again.”

Kallias seemed to consider this for a moment before his expression shifted slightly, a more contemplative look in his eyes. “Y/N, do you see yourself as a blacksmith for the rest of your life?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to the craft. It’s something I’m deeply passionate about. But… I’ve also wondered if there’s more I could do, especially now that I’m settled in one place.”

Kallias nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing something in his mind. “With your skills and the relationships you’ve built across the courts, have you ever considered becoming an emissary? You already have a good rapport with most of the High Lords, and your experience is invaluable.”

You blinked in surprise, the idea not one you had expected to hear. “An emissary?” you repeated, trying to imagine the shift from blacksmith to diplomat. “It’s not something I’ve considered before… but I suppose it could be an interesting path.”

Kallias was about to continue when he seemed to catch himself, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course, that’s a matter for Rhysand to consider. While our relations with the Night Court are… decent, I’m not one to aid in growing another court’s power.”

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. “I understand, High Lord. And I appreciate the suggestion, though. It’s something I’ll have to think about.”

Viviane reached out, placing a gentle hand on Kallias’s arm. “Don’t mind him, Y/N. He’s always thinking three steps ahead, even during a simple dinner.”

Kallias chuckled softly, inclining his head. “Indeed, but it’s worth considering. Your talents shouldn’t be confined to one craft alone, no matter how extraordinary it may be.”

The conversation continued in a more relaxed manner as the evening wore on, the three of you discussing everything from the beauty of the Winter Court to tales of your travels. Despite the formality of the setting, there was an ease to the dinner that you hadn’t anticipated—a warmth that contrasted pleasantly with the cold elegance of the palace.

As the dinner came to an end, you felt a sense of satisfaction not just from the meal, but from the knowledge that you were appreciated here in the Winter Court. The suggestion of becoming an emissary lingered in your mind, a seed planted by Kallias that you knew would take root in the days to come.

For now, though, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, grateful for the hospitality of the Winter Court and the new possibilities that lay ahead.

Later that evening, after the dinner with Kallias and Viviane, you found yourself back in the comfort of your room. The luxurious quarters were warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as you settled into a plush chair by the window. The view outside was breathtaking—a serene expanse of snow-covered mountains under a clear, starlit sky. The quiet beauty of the Winter Court seemed almost surreal after the intense conversations of the day.

As you stared out at the snow-draped landscape, your thoughts began to drift back to the events that had transpired before your journey here—specifically, the night with Cassian. The memory of his broken wings and the dark curse that had infested his body sent a shiver down your spine. You had dealt with injuries before, but nothing quite like that. The sight of Cassian in such a vulnerable state, combined with the pressure of having to save him, had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You couldn’t help but wonder how Cassian was doing now. Madja was a skilled healer, but the curse had been something different—something darker and more insidious. You hoped that your efforts, combined with Madja’s expertise, would be enough to see him fully recovered.

But your thoughts didn’t linger on Cassian for long. Instead, they wandered to Azriel—his overprotective reaction when you mentioned your journey to the Winter Court. You had been taken aback by the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice had tightened with worry when he insisted that you couldn’t go alone. It was unlike him, or at least unlike the composed, stoic Azriel you had come to know.

A small blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the way he had draped his jacket over your shoulders before flying you home. The warmth of the leather, combined with his proximity, had stirred something in you—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. Azriel was undeniably attractive, with his dark, brooding looks and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to see right through you. But more than that, he was one of the most skilled warriors in Prythian, a member of the Inner Circle, and someone who carried a weight of responsibility that few could comprehend.

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mixture of admiration and frustration. Azriel was everything you weren’t—an elite warrior, trusted confidant of the High Lord, and part of a circle that wielded immense power and influence. What were you, in comparison? A blacksmith, skilled in your craft, but still just someone who worked with metal and fire. You had traveled far and gained respect across the courts, but it was hard to shake the feeling that Azriel was somehow out of your league.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, though. Every time you thought of him—his calm presence, his quiet strength—it sent your heart fluttering in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. But you reminded yourself that someone like Azriel wouldn’t be interested in you, not in that way. He was dedicated to his duties, and you… you were just a blacksmith. 

Still, the memory of his protective concern lingered, the way his eyes had softened slightly when he insisted on flying you home. It was a gesture that spoke of something deeper, something that made your heart ache with longing.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It was foolish to dwell on such things. Azriel was a friend, and that was enough. There was no sense in imagining something that could never be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the small, wistful smile that tugged at your lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Azriel’s concern than simple duty. Perhaps there was a connection there, one that went beyond the roles you both played.

With a sigh, you stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the endless expanse of snow and stars. The Winter Court was beautiful, but your mind was already drifting back to Velaris, to the Night Court, and to the people who had become an unexpected but welcome part of your life.

And as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—for you and perhaps most of all, for Azriel.

—— 

Back in Velaris, the shop was quieter than usual. Without the rhythmic clang of metal on metal or the hum of the forge, the space felt almost too still, the usual lively energy dampened by your absence. But that didn’t stop Alex from doing his best to keep things running smoothly. He was darting between customers, expertly answering questions and showcasing various weapons with the kind of enthusiasm that belied his young age. Stellan, your faithful direwolf, was sprawled out near the counter, watching the activity with an expression that could only be described as long-suffering patience.

A particularly persistent client had been lingering in the shop for the better part of an hour, his eyes darting around as if expecting to spot you at any moment. He was a tall, lanky man with a nervous energy, and he had been pestering Alex incessantly.

“Are you sure she’s not here?” the man asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his tone edging on desperation. “I need to speak with Y/N directly.”

Alex, who had been maintaining his polite demeanor with admirable restraint, forced a smile that was beginning to strain at the edges. “As I’ve already mentioned, sir, Y/N is currently away on business. She won’t be back until next week.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if Alex were trying to trick him. “But I really need to speak with her. Can’t you just call her? Or maybe she’s in the back?”

Alex’s forced smile twitched, and he muttered under his breath, “On the name of the goddamn Mother, I’m going to hit him.” He forced his voice back to a more polite tone as he said, “I’ve already checked, sir. She’s definitely not in the back. And no, I can’t call her—she’s in the Winter Court. They don’t exactly have a postal service for emergencies.”

The client frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. “But this is important! Can’t you at least take a message?”

“Sir,” Alex said, his voice straining to maintain its politeness, “I’ve taken five messages from you already. I promise I’ll give them all to Y/N when she returns. But for now, there’s really nothing more I can do.”

The man didn’t seem convinced and opened his mouth to argue again, but Alex had reached his limit. He could feel his frustration bubbling up, and he was just about ready to scream when the shop door swung open with a loud creak.

In walked Cassian and Azriel, both of them cutting imposing figures as they strode into the shop. Cassian’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, and Azriel’s intense gaze swept over the scene, quickly taking in the situation.

The persistent client froze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the two warriors. Cassian’s expression was one of barely concealed amusement, while Azriel’s was much cooler, a silent but clear warning to the man that he was pushing his luck.

“Is there a problem here?” Azriel asked, his voice light but with an edge that sent a shiver down the man’s spine.

The client swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Azriel’s presence. “N-No, no problem at all,” he stammered, his previous determination evaporating. “I was just… uh… I’ll come back later.”

With that, the man all but bolted for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave the shop. The door slammed shut behind him, and the shop was suddenly filled with silence, save for the faint crackling of the forge in the background.

Alex let out a long, relieved sigh and leaned against the counter, wiping a hand across his brow. “Thank the Mother for that,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, walking over to ruffle Alex’s hair. “You handled that well, kid. He was lucky he didn’t push you any further—looked like you were about to go feral.”

Alex grinned up at him, his earlier frustration melting away. “I was close, really close. But thanks for the help! Can I interest either of you in a fine sword? Or perhaps a dagger? We’ve got some new arrivals that are really top-notch.”

Azriel, who had been leaning casually against the counter, let out a soft chuckle. “Not today, Alex. We’re not here to shop.”

Cassian, still grinning, shook his head. “Yeah, as tempting as it is, we’re actually here to see if Y/N’s back yet. We wanted to check in and see how things are going.”

Alex’s face brightened at the mention of your name. “Oh! No, she’s not back yet. She should be here by tomorrow, though. I haven’t heard anything from her, but she always keeps her word.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good to hear. We’ve been worried about her, especially after everything that happened before she left.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of recent events, but he remained quiet, his gaze drifting around the shop as if lost in thought.

Alex, ever the perceptive one, caught the shift in Azriel’s demeanor and quickly changed the subject. “But hey, if you want, I can show you some of the stuff she’s been working on! I know she’s got some special orders that are almost ready. You might even find something you like.”

Cassian laughed, clearly charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm. “Maybe another time, Alex. We’ll just wait for her to get back. But thanks for the offer.”

Alex nodded, a little disappointed that he couldn’t make a sale but still pleased that the two warriors had stopped by. “No problem! I’ll let her know you were here as soon as she gets back.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Cassian said, giving the boy another affectionate ruffle of his hair before turning to leave. Azriel followed, but not before giving Alex a small, almost imperceptible nod of appreciation.

As they walked out the door, Alex watched them go, a satisfied grin on his face. Stellan, who had been observing the entire exchange with his usual calm, gave a soft huff as if to say, “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Alex glanced down at the wolf, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I know, boy. It’s never boring around here, is it?”

Stellan’s only response was to close his eyes and settle back down, clearly content now that the shop had returned to its usual, slightly chaotic but always interesting, routine.

As Cassian and Azriel stepped out of your shop and into the bustling streets of Velaris, the evening air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the scents of the city—freshly baked bread, the distant aroma of spiced meats, and the crisp tang of the Sidra River. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the cobblestone streets and the elegantly curved buildings.

Cassian glanced over at Azriel, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you didn’t have to scare the poor guy so much back there. He practically ran out of the shop.”

Azriel shrugged, his expression unreadable as usual, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He was being persistent. Alexander was close to losing his patience.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “True, true. That kid’s got more fire in him than most people twice his age. But I have to admit, it was fun watching you in action. You’ve always had a knack for that brooding intimidation.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to make sure the shop was running smoothly while Y/N is away.”

Cassian’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of Y/N… you’ve been pretty protective of her lately, haven’t you?”

Azriel’s step faltered for just a moment, but he quickly recovered, keeping his gaze focused ahead. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. I’m just making sure she’s safe.”

Cassian chuckled, clearly enjoying this line of questioning. “Come on, Az. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been watching out for her. And don’t think Rhys didn’t told me the way you reacted when she mentioned going to the Winter Court alone.”

Azriel’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s my job to protect the people in this court, Cassian. You know that.”

“Sure, sure,” Cassian replied, waving a hand dismissively. “But this feels a little more personal, don’t you think? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Azriel remained silent, his gaze focused straight ahead as they continued walking. The streets of Velaris were alive with activity—couples strolling hand in hand, children playing, vendors calling out their wares—but the conversation between the two warriors seemed to create a bubble of quiet tension around them. Cassian, always one to lighten the mood, decided to press a little further.

“You know, Az,” Cassian started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “it’s not like that little kiss she gave me means you’re out of the running.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t a kiss, Cassian. She was removing a curse. You know that.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re worried about competition, don’t be. That ‘kiss’ doesn’t mean you’ve lost your chance.”

Azriel shook his head, resuming his walk. "It's not about that. Y/N deserves someone... better.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically, catching up to Azriel with a few quick strides. "Oh, here we go. The 'I'm not good enough' spiel. Az, you’re one of the most honorable males I know. You're brave, loyal, and let's not forget, you have that brooding mysterious thing going on that females seem to love."

Azriel shot him a skeptical look. "Being 'brooding and mysterious' isn't exactly a selling point."

"Maybe not for you," Cassian quipped, "but trust me, it's working. Besides, Y/N isn't the type to be swayed by titles or power. She values character, integrity, and someone who sees her for who she truly is."

Azriel sighed, his gaze distant. "Even so, with everything in my past, the things I've done... I don't want to burden her with that."

Cassian placed a firm hand on Azriel's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Listen to me. We all have our demons, our shadows. Y/N included. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve happiness. You can't keep punishing yourself forever.”

"She is… different. She’s strong, independent. She’s been through so much, yet she doesn’t let it define her. I admire that.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She is all of those things. And she’s got a good heart. But, Az, you know it’s okay to feel something more. You don’t have to keep everything locked away.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might brush off the conversation entirely. But then he sighed, a sound that was barely audible but heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Cass. She’s… well, she’s remarkable. But she’s also tied to things I don’t fully understand. And after everything… I’m not sure it’s right to complicate things further.”

Cassian looked at him, his expression serious for once. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes, it’s okay to just… let things happen. If there’s something there, you’ll figure it out. And if there’s not, well, at least you won’t have any regrets.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but Cassian could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, Azriel murmured, “I don’t want to be a distraction for her. She’s got enough to deal with, especially after what happened.”

Cassian grinned, though there was a note of understanding in his voice. “You’re not a distraction, Az. If anything, you’re probably one of the few people who can help her with whatever she’s dealing with. And, just so you know, she’s not out of your league, no matter what you think.”

Azriel remained silent, the internal battle evident in his eyes. The bustling sounds of Velaris seemed to fade as the two friends stood in the midst of the crowd, locked in a moment of understanding.

After a beat, Cassian grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. "And besides, if you don't make a move, I might just have to swoop in. You know, for the sake of not letting such a wonderful female go unappreciated."

Azriel snorted, a rare genuine laugh escaping his lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Cassian winked, clapping Azriel on the back. "That's the spirit! Now, how about we head to Rita's and grab a drink? Maybe by the time Y/N returns, you'll have mustered up the courage to tell her how you feel."

Azriel smirked, his shadows swirling playfully around him. "Only if you're buying."

"Deal," Cassian replied, leading the way with a swagger in his step. "But remember, the next round's on you, especially if it gives you the liquid courage you clearly need."

As they made their way towards the river, laughter and camaraderie enveloped them. Yet, beneath the teasing and banter, the seeds of self-reflection had been sown in Azriel's heart, leaving him to ponder the possibilities that awaited with your impending return. 

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[missaengg]

A Heartfelt Gift

Day 1 of Ikemen Advent: Woolen Clothes Made for Ikemen Advent hosted by @queengiuliettafirstlady and @candied-boys Featuring: Ikemen Villains Jude Jazza x f!reader Tags: Fluff and humor Word Count: 1308

“Jude,” you called out, stepping into the parlor, a wrapped present clutched against your chest.

Jude lounged in the bay window with a heavy book propped open on his knees. The flame of the lantern flickered across his face while the soft glow of the moon shone iridescently on his hair. For a moment, you forgot to breathe because he looked breathtakingly beautiful…

At least until he spoke.

“What?” Jude snapped, tearing his sharp, amethyst eyes away from his book, but they softened when they landed on your approaching form, a languid smirk forming on the corner of his lips. “Oh, if it ain’t the carefree princess.”

Jude closed his book, shifting to the side to make space for you to sit. You nestled into his side facing him, and Jude’s arm snaked around your waist, stroking your lower back in circles. 

A giant smile overtaking your face, you beamed at your boyfriend. “I have something for you.”

“Do ya now?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow in response.

You thrust the gift into his chest, knocking it into his torso with more force than you intended in your excitement. “Merry Christmas!” 

“Hah?” Jude’s brows creased, but reached for the gift you were squishing against him.

You felt your throat close as you watched him turn the gift around in his hands and take in the lumpy, wrinkled wrapping and the listless silver ribbon holding it together. It wasn’t quite the picture you had in your head when you wrapped it, but it didn’t matter how it was wrapped, what mattered was what it contained inside, right?

Jude’s long, slender fingers pulled on the silver ribbon and then very gently and very methodically unwrapped the paper.

Your eye twitched. Had Jude always been so careful unwrapping gifts? You always assumed he’d be the type to tear the wrapping paper based on how he had a penchant for carelessly tearing off your clothes…

The paper parted, and you held your breath watching Jude slowly reveal the wool clothes that lay inside. You bit your lip, carefully observing him for his reaction.

This was your first Christmas with Jude as a couple, and you had wanted to give him something special, something memorable, something he couldn’t buy or source on his own, but… what does one gift a man who could buy anything he wanted?

You had racked your brain for days trying to think of something unique and personal.

Until one day while working at Raven Company, you watched Jude step outside into the cold for a cigarette and noticed how his shoulders hunched together and how his free hand was shoved in his pocket.

The answer hit you like a barreling freight train out of control. You could knit him a matching set of wool gloves and a wool scarf – black and purple in color to match his overcoat. Not only would he stay warm in the cold, he’d have no choice, but to think of you everytime he wore your handmade gift.

Quivering, you leaned forward, watching as he held the items up in the air, one in each hand. Would he like it? Would he receive your message of love and adoration? Would he feel special and appreciated?

Jude tilted his head to one side, his eyes narrowed. “Oi.” He flicked his eyes to you. “What is this?”

The expression akin to a frown on his face was so intense your smile wavered for a second, but you recovered quickly, puffing out your chest. “A scarf and a pair of gloves,” you twinkled. “I was wondering—”

“Didja say scarf?”

You faltered, the words tumbling out of your mouth screeching to an abrupt halt. “Y–yes?” you stammered, your eyes flickering from Jude’s to the wool items pinched between his fingers.

Then you saw it, the reason why Jude seemed unimpressed.

One end of the scarf was wider than the other. The scarf pattern you meticulously chose was warped and twisted from the mix of inconsistent stitches pulling on one another with no rhyme or reason.

You felt your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. In your glee to present Jude with a gift you had made, you didn’t notice how wretched the scarf had looked when you wrapped it, but here, in Jude’s fingers, you could clearly see just how much of a mess your gift must look to him.

“I made it,” you mumbled, casting your gaze down to your lap. “I didn’t know what to get you for our first Christmas together, and—”

“Ya made it?” 

You nodded, your gaze still averted down, blinking back the sting of tears in your eyes. You felt Jude shift from beside you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

After a brief pause, Jude asked, “Is this… why ya kept sneakin’ off?”

You nodded again, swallowing thickly. Just moments ago, you had felt so proud to give him his Christmas gift, but now… Now you felt ashamed at how unsatisfactory your gift turned out to be. 

And angry. At yourself. At him.

It might not be the most perfect scarf in the world, but you had spent hours knitting it thinking of him, and… if he didn’t appreciate it, then maybe he didn’t deserve it.

“If you don’t want it, give it back,” you grumbled, reaching for the clothing in his hands. He snatched them away before you could grasp them, and you glared at your boyfriend, no longer hiding your disappointment. “Jude.”

Jude scowled back, his amethyst eyes glittering with something dangerous you couldn’t quite identify. “Never said I didn’t want ‘em, princess.” 

He defiantly wrapped the scarf around his neck and shoved the gloves onto his hands. The gloves were comically large on his hands, and wrapping the scarf around his neck did absolutely nothing to hide how misshapen it was.

You felt your cheeks burn, and you pouted, holding out your hand and gesturing for Jude to return your embarrassing present. “Jude, just give them back.”

“No,” Jude glowered. “Ya said it was fer me. Ya don’t just get to take it back.”

“Fine,” you snapped, standing to hurry out of the parlor before Jude could see you cry.

Jude caught you by the wrist, pulling you back towards him and catching you in his embrace when you stumbled forward. The coarse wool of his gloves scratched you where he gripped your wrist. Pushing against him, you struggled to pull away, but Jude held fast, refusing to let you go.

“Let go, Jude.”

“No.”

You let out an exasperated sigh ready to give him a piece of your mind, but whatever you wanted to hurl at him died in your throat when you met his eyes staring down at you. His amethyst eyes burned with a dark heat, one that held you captive.

“Jude,” you breathed.

“Never said I didn’t like ‘em,” Jude husked and then pressed his lips to yours.

You melted into his arms, your head spinning as Jude claimed you with kiss after demanding kiss, so overcome, you barely noticed the wool scarf around his neck rubbing the skin on your neck raw.

By the time Jude pulled away, your mind was so muddled with giddiness you couldn’t help, but giggle from where you lay on top of him.

“So you liked my present?” “Tch, whattaya think?”

Humming, you snuggled into Jude’s chest, his fingers combing through your hair. “I think yes.”

After that night in the parlor, every time Jude stepped out for a smoke, he made sure to wear the gloves and scarf you made him, even if they made him look ridiculous, and if anyone even dared to make an unsavory comment about his new clothes, a fierce glare from Jude was enough to shut them up.

But… you didn’t think he looked ridiculous at all.

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 2

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,899 of 5,084 Prev | Next

AO3 Link

The Markets of Oz are normally packed during the daytime, ladies coming and going to get groceries and maybe a new dress or two, but they are flooded during the night markets of Lurlinemas. If you have the chance to look without getting swallowed in the waves of the crowd, you can see green lights strung from brick building to brick building (the bricks painted green for lack of renovation funds), newly built stalls in the main square that sold roasted quail for a quarter, and a great Spruce that had been brought in from Winkie Country, its top cresting just past the meager buildings that boxed in the square. Emily tugs me along as I admire the great golden star that was perched atop it, emeralds chiseled into the shape of snowflakes adorning each tip.

"If we move any slower they're going to run out of hot chocolate," she says, pulling me by my elbow.

The hot chocolate in the night market is one of a kind, spiced with warm cinnamon and sweetened to the point that it hurts your teeth. If I could have it year-round, I think I would like that very much, even if I did eventually get sick of it. I follow after her in our immediate quest, trying to shoulder oblivious men and women out of the way.

"How many presents do you need to get?" I ask as we get in line for the cocoa.

Emily pulls her green-gloved hands out of her pocket, silently ticking off her checklist on her fingers. "Six," she says.

I try not to drop my jaw at the idea of such wastefulness. I'm not sure there are six people that I could call friends, much less that I would be willing to spend my wages on for silly presents. In truth, there was one, but she would chastise me if I tried to get her anything. Still, I couldn't help but wish for something to get her.

We order our hot chocolate and sip it as we stroll through the sea, dipping and dodging any particularly rude costume choices. We had stuck to our uniforms, hiding them under the woolen pine-colored peacoats that were standard issue for when we had to lend an extra hand in shoveling off any balconies that got covered in snow during the wintertime. There was no option for us to have extra extra wide-brimmed hats or wired puffy sleeves that were the size of small dogs. Even if we had the option, I don't think that I would have done it on a regular market day, much less in the nights leading up to Lurlinemas.

Emily stops at an ornament seller and takes her time browsing the brilliant sun catchers and rhinestone-encrusted baubles. The glass and “sodering” (I’m sure it’s silver-colored glue) look far too flimsy, so I tell her I'm going to the next booth to look at ribbons and laces. The price of laces haven't gotten any better (in fact they had gone up by 6 cents) but I look at them anyway.

Most clothing could be mended, but there was only so much to be done about laces as they became more and more unraveled. If you had a friend in the mailroom, you could persuade them to let you borrow some rubber cement to stick the frays back together. If you didn't, you had to dip the tips of your laces in the wax of your candle at night. The wax didn't last nearly as long as the cement, usually cracking off within a day or two. I wasn’t friendly with anyone in the mail room, so I had slowly been shortening and dipping my laces until they just barely tied in a regular knot.

My eyes flicked over the shades of olive and forest and moss, until they had reached the box of ribbons. There is a skip in my heart as I remember how the Wizard had tied the ribbon in my hair just days ago. If I close my eyes, I can feel his hands guiding the ribbon up from the nape of my neck and the warmth that radiated from them as he tied the bow in place. If it is true or not, in my mind he has a smile when he looks at me after. I wonder if these ribbons would make him smile like the one I still have in my hair, if they would make him...

I have to look away from the ribbons for a brief moment. The thoughts I had of him since that day have not been pure and kind. They are selfish. I know that they will lead me down a path of trouble if I linger on them. I have my sister to think about and it would not do if I were to lose my job at the palace. I could not save her from the children's home, but they still let me visit her and send her things. I don't send her much, most of it disappears within a few days, but I bring her sweets if I have time to swing by the bakery after I am no longer needed for the day.

Looking back at the ribbons, I can't help but wish I could get one for her. I want her to feel as pretty as I did that day in the Wizard's bedroom. The kids would have a harder time taking the ribbon from her if I braided it into her hair, away from their jealous hands. My eyes flick up to the price card that is held in a coily golden wire stand. 200 cents! It's more than double the price of the laces.

I bite my lip, but my mind is already made up. I look at the shop lady, but she has her back turned attending to the till and adding pennies to it from a green paper sleeve. I snatch a pistachio-colored satin ribbon and shove it into the pocket of my peacoat. Quickly, I slip back out into the crowd of people, heading back to Emily in the ornament booth.

I'm jerked back, my forearm locked in an iron grip as it is hoisted high, so high above my head that I'm afraid my shoulder will dislocate.

"Hey!" I shout.

"There is zero tolerance for stealing in the Emerald City," The man says. I scrape my tiptoes against the ground to get a better look at him and realize that I've been detained by one of the Emerald City's Royal Guards. The green coat with gold trim and accents is unmistakable, accompanied by a sharp green officer's cap.

"I didn't steal," I lie.

He fishes into my coat pocket and pulls out the ribbon that I had stashed in there. "Is that so?" he says. My shoulder burns as he drags me back to the lace and ribbon booth, chucking the spooled-up ribbon back to the shop lady. "Sorry about that, Hazel. Street rat."

I can't help it as the words come flying out of my mouth, “I am not a street rat! I work at the palace!"

"Good," he says. "Then I know where to take you. Lets me get off my shift earlier at least."

He lowers my arm, only to twist it up behind my back, his other gloved hand grabbing hold of the collar of my coat. I shout at Emily, trying to fight against him as he marches us past the ornament booth, but I'm not sure she heard me. She has a confused look on her face as I'm dragged off, but she doesn't do anything to interfere. We may share a bed in this cold weather, but she's never been the type to stick her neck out for anyone, no matter how big or small the injustice. I wouldn't expect her to start with me.

By the time we get to the palace the hand behind my back is numb from the position and the cold air. The shame and fight has long since left my body, my mind trying to focus on how I will provide for my sister and me, or even if I will be allowed to see her again. Do they let criminals into the children's home? Would they even let me stay in the Emerald City? I try to remember what happened to criminals that were detained in the palace. There had been a boy in the kitchen who had been caught with a whole ham hock in his bag when the kitchen staff was closing up one night this past summer. It had been such a scandal -- it was all the staff could talk about for two whole weeks straight -- but in the end, I could not remember what had become of him, only his original crime that had been passed on by those who had been in the kitchen when the joint had been discovered.

We don't go through the main doors, neither the servant's entrance, but rather a side door that I had never seen before. It must have been for guard use only. They crawl the castle like an infestation of ants, so it only seems natural that they, like ants, would have cracks and crevices to aid their coming and going. It's dark, but soon I see that we are in the main entryway. If I can remember correctly, the guards' barracks and offices occupy the left wing from the audience room (convenience for removing unruly guests from the days of King Pastoria, I suppose). Most in the Wizard's personal service have no reason to go there.

The Wizard. There's a sort of heavy disappointment that sits like an oversized and cold jewel on my chest, deep beneath the layers of wool and scarves and uniform. It's not the disappointment that a child might feel under the disapproving eye of a parent, no. It is something entirely unfamiliar: an anger at myself that I might never see him again, that my last impression on him will be one of a thief. But wasn't that what I was? I had stolen the ribbon, no intention of paying.

The guard marches me up through the darkened emerald halls, passing the large pillars, the walls carved with their sharp geometric designs. I take in the sight of all of it knowing that it will be my last time seeing any of it. We're crossing the audience room, the heart of the entire palace, and nearly to the other side when I see him.

He's in a deep green almost black suit. The lapels of the jacket are peaked giving him the appearance of being even taller than he already is. He's talking to a stocky man, at least two heads shorter than him and twice as wide, wearing the uniform of the palace guards with a few additional golden cords strung over his chest that my jailer doesn't have.

I try walking faster, dragging the guard who had my arm pinned behind my back. I don't want him to see me like this. Better to just have all of my stuff gathered and thrown out the back door with me than to disgrace myself even further.

"Uh…Guard," a voice calls. I know it's his. I hate that I know that it's his.

My captor stops in his tracks, spinning us around to address the two men. "Captain," he says, giving a nod to the shorter man.

The Wizard has a confused if not irritated look on his face. I can tell that I've made him upset. How poorly must this reflect on the palace if members of his staff are getting arrested in the street? He says, "Are you going somewhere?"

The guard looks to the stocky man who gives him a subtle nod of the head. "Street rat," my captor says. "I caught her stealing in the market. I'm taking her to booking and calling the head of staff for the palace. She said she works here."

"Well, yeah," the Wizard says. "I can see that. Anyone can see that." He approaches me and pinches the thick wool of one of my coat lapels in between his thumb and forefinger. I try not to look too hard at the gold ring on his thumb as he drags it back and forth lazily against the material, stroking it as if to assess the warmth of the garment. "She's wearing a palace coat. Initials on it and everything."

My captor seems tongue-tied by this, I can hear his mouth open, a gasp for air as if to say something but nothing comes out. I dare to look up and see that the Wizard has his eyes locked on him. The way he's looking at him with those amber eyes reminds me of grade school, when we learned about the flora and fauna of Oz in biology. When talking of tigers, our teacher had told us that if you could see their eyes through the grass it was already too late. You had been stalked for hours before even noticing and they never got close enough for you to notice until you couldn't get away even if you tried. Foolishly, he tries, saying, "I need to take her to booking. She is a stain on the image of the palace."

The wizard drops my lapel and walks back to the officer that is now resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It makes me nervous, but I'm not sure for who. Would they execute me right here in the audience chamber? I wouldn't be the first. The Wizard bends down and whispers something to the officer. I watch his eyes tick back and forth as he processes the secret.

"Guard," the officer says, "Leave her to me. I am sure you are wanted back in the square. Where there is one thief there is sure to be more."

I can't see his face, but I know that my captor is annoyed. He'd been hoping to clock out early and now he had to walk all the way back down to the market square. That brings a smile to my face as I hear the hesitant click of his boots and feel all the blood start rushing back into my arm as he lets me go.

We stand there, the three of us, until we hear the loud echo of the door shutting. The short man salutes the Wizard and makes his exit. The smile drops from my face as I realize what little law and witnesses there were had just walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tiger.

"Stealing?" he says, cocking his head to the side. Immediately, he sets to pacing around me.

"It was just a ribbon, Your Wonderfulness," I say. My shoes have become infinitely more interesting to me, noticing the way even the stitching of the leather to the soles was starting to fray near the toes.

He laughs and it is quiet and deep, sending a prickling from my shoulders down my spine. "Did you like the first one that much? You could have asked for another."

"It wasn't for me," I say.

I can feel him tug on the braids that wrap my head. I had woven the ribbon into them earlier today. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't worn his ribbon since I got it. It was risky, and eventually Emily or someone else would catch on, but I didn't want to leave it in my nightstand and come back to find it missing, pilfered by someone's sticky fingers. So I had woven it into my hair where no one could take it, where the Wizard was now tracing its crooked and dashed path against my scalp.

"You are a terrible liar, missy" he says. "What are we going to do with you?"

Let me go? Kick me out of the palace? In truth, I wanted things to just go back to the way they were, no ribbon, no staff suspicions, just me and my chores and the shared bed with Emily. My voice quavers as I feel his finger stray from the twisted path of the ribbon, wandering onto the pulse of my bare neck, stopping underneath the corner of my jaw. "I won't do it again," I choke out.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," he says. "But you can't be trusted. To have a thief in my staff... well, it would just cause too many problems. First ribbons, next other things..." He completes his circle around me and I find myself facing him again.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

He smiles, revealing to me a flash of hungry white teeth. Too late. He says, "Do you want me to?"

I shake my head, my lips stitched together in case any wrong words should fall from them.

"Such a fascinating creature," he says, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? I have... things to arrange."

He leaves me there in the audience chamber, shaking. If you see them, it is too late. I am standing there, head still on my shoulders, and yet I know that I haven't escaped. If you see them, it is too late.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"YOU ARE NOT THE EXCEPTION"

Another story with Kraven AKA Sergei Kravinoff

I hope you like it! 💛

Tags: @weepingnightmarezombie

Artis adjusted the scope of her long-range rifle again so that it pointed at the entrance to her target's cabin/house.

Her bosses had ordered her to hunt the hunter, paradoxically enough. She always did her duty and never asked questions about it, so she investigated him.

She couldn't find much about him, of course. In theory, everyone believed that the hunter was a myth, a legend, a story that mothers told their children at night to make them good.

“You have to be good or else the hunter will write your name on his list, and you don't want that, do you?” the mothers said, before giving their children a kiss on the forehead.

She had never seen him in person. She didn't know what he looked like or what he was like physically. All she knew was that he spoke several languages ​​other than his father's tongue: Russian. After making a couple of calls to high-security prisons in Russia, she discovered that one of the prisoners had escaped, killing ten officers in the process.

His name was Sergei Kravinoff, of the Kravinoff clan.

Artis thought it had to be him, she was ninety percent sure, but she had to check it out with her own eyes, so she traced the map of Russia inch by inch (which took her days) until she found a mound hidden between several trees.

The app wouldn't let her zoom in, but from what she could see it looked like a house. That's how she had ended up in Russia in the middle of winter, in front of the supposed hunter's house.

She pulled her woolen hat over her head. Her teeth were chattering from the cold. Despite her fur coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, she felt her limbs slowly freezing. She shook her head trying to focus despite everything.

She looked at the house again through the peephole, and checked that she had loaded the correct bullets for the third time. It was clear that a normal bullet was not going to kill this man, so she decided to create a special type of ammunition, which when it penetrated the skin would inject Asian wasp venom, a very potent type of poison and deadly for most people.

“We'll see if it works with him” she thought, trying to cheer herself up a bit

At that moment her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The metal hinges resonated against the hinges as it did so. She quickly looked through the peephole.

Nothing. There was no one there. But the door was open, which could only mean one thing…

The Hunter was on the loose. She slowly began to put away the rifle and take out a hunting knife from inside her shoulder bag. She squinted when the reflection of the blade blinded her. She was putting the bullets into the gun, when she felt a strong presence behind her back.

She quickly turned around with the knife raised, ready to attack. A hand stopped her movement, placing her arm at chest level. She raised her head, the amber eyes of a dark-haired man with long hair staring back at her.

They looked at each other for a few moments, moments in which Artis struggled with him, trying to stab him with the blade, or at least graze him. He didn't succeed. He hit her wrist causing the knife to fall on the snow. Before she had time to bend down, he took out his own and placed it under her chin, dangerously close to her neck.

-I wouldn't like to stain the snow with your blood, dorogoy - he said in a chaste Russian - speak, or I will make you do it

-Please don't kill me - she said trembling due to the fear and the cold she felt - please

-Your princess in trouble acts are useless with me - he said making her get up from the ground - Who are you?

Given the situation the young woman found herself in, she only saw two possible options: tell him or end up with a knife to the jugular.

She chose the first option.

-My name is Artis - she said under his watchful gaze - I just… wanted to know if the stories my mother told me about the hunter were true - she lied -

The man's blue gaze rested on her face for a moment.

-You lie -he answered, tilting his head towards the bag where he kept his weapons- you are a hunter -he explained- no one but ours knows how to use a rifle like the one you had pointed at the entrance of my house

-It is not possible that you saw me -she muttered, going over in her head the distance between her house and the hill where she was stationed- I made sure to hide well…

-Not enough -he growled, as if he were scolding her for not doing it as it had to be-

He took a step towards her, his expressive clear eyes made her stop feeling the cold that emanated from freezing her from the outside in.

-No one can hide from me -another step, for each one he took forward, she took another back- no matter how hard they try, I will always find them

Artis's back hit something hard. "The trunk of a tree" she thought as she noticed the bark digging into her spine.

-And you are not the exception," he finished, as he put his knife back in the sheath around his waist.

He watched her for a moment before speaking again.

"You can go back to where you came from and tell your bosses that The Hunter is real, and that if they're not careful, I'll write their names on my list," he murmured. Artis nodded.

"I can't do that," he whispered, making Artis frown.

"Repeat that," he asked. Artis shook her head negatively.

"My mission is to kill you," he confessed under her watchful gaze. "I can't go back and tell all the people who trusted me for this job that I haven't been able to do it."

"You can do it," he said. "But you'd be dead before you could get your gun out." He tilted his head. "You decide."

"Okay," Artis sighed. "I'll go back and tell them what you told me." He snorted. "I'll lose my job because of you. Do you realize that?"

-Better to lose your job than your life, don't you think? - he asked with a crooked smile - have a good trip home, printsessa

He began to walk through the snow back to his house. The young woman noticed that he was barefoot. Before he went any further she stopped him with a question.

-Wait! - she asked, he turned back to her - What is your name, hunter?

His blue eyes shone a deep yellow when he said:

-Kraven

Then he disappeared from her sight as quickly as he had arrived.