#would anyone be interested in a tag list?

[have-you-been-here]

Not a submission, but an actual question to satisfy my curiosity:

Do you have a list of places you'd like to visit someday, and if so, has it grown longer because of this blog? Any notable examples? Since following, my list of destinations to visit has grown even more absurdly long, and I was wondering if that happened to anyone else.

I'd love to hear your personal answer to the question, but I would also be interested in hearing from your followers, if anyone is so inclined.

This blog is very fun; thank you for all the time and effort you put into it!

Hello! I don't *really* have a list of places I'd like to visit more than vague wishes of "it'd be nice to visit Italy one day!" Etc., buuuut this blog has definitely helped me make one! If you're curious to see where I might want to go one day, check out the "#to do list" tag on my main blog, @yupokaysuremhm. I reblog the places from here that I find especially cool. Mostly waterfalls and pretty cities!

If anyone else has a list of places they'd like to visit, you're more than welcome to mention them on this post :)

Thank you for enjoying the blog!! Knowing that people like it and want it to continue is a lot of what keeps it going!

[labellefleur-sauvage]

The Highland Fox and The English Rose

Summary:

Elain Archeron, the middle daughter of an enterprising English merchant, has been raised with one goal in mind: become the wife of a respectable Englishman. Everything else—her interests, her desires—didn’t matter. But when her father convinces her to enter into an arranged marriage with a brutal Scottish Laird to save their family from ruin, Elain is suddenly forced to reevaluate everything she thought she wanted in life.

As the newly appointed Laird of a derelict clan with a crumbling castle, marriage was the last thing on Lucien’s mind. His entire life is thrown into disarray when he is forced into a marriage contract he didn’t sign, to an Englishwoman he’d never met. 

But Lucien harbors a dark, ruinous secret that affects more than just himself, and he is determined to resolve the issue at hand. Together, the Highland Fox and the English Rose will go on a journey that will force Elain and Lucien together—or drive them apart.

Read on AO3. Masterlist.

XXX

Chapter 3: You Have Taken What is Before Me and What Is Behind Me

“Beg yer pardon, maam, but I doona’ think ‘helping out in the kitchen’ is somethin’ the Lady of the Hoose like yerself should be doin’, y’ken.”

Elain scowled, then turned and put on her most charming face for the head maid. “But Alis, surely going downstairs to conduct a thorough review of the kitchen and its staff is well within my duty as Lady of the House, correct?”

“Frankly ma'am, tis no’,” Alis replied shortly. “As head maid, it’s mah job to oversee the runnin’ of the castle, especially those areas tha’ the Laird and his wife should never haf tah see.”

“It’s not going to kill me to go downstairs and get my hands a bit dirty,” Elain shot back, hands on her hips.

“It verra well might!” Alis said, a hand on her chest, like the thought of Elain going into the kitchens gave her heart palpitations.

“Yes, death by oats, I’m sure we’d be the shame of Scotland if that were to happen!”

“Aye, tis it exactly!” Alis replied, triumph in her dark eyes.

Elain frowned. She needed to try a different tactic. “I know the castle has been without a Lady of the House for quite some time—“

“Aye—the old Laird was a confirmed bachelor. I’ve been managin’ this keep for well over fifty years!”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job,” Elain said placatingly. She was being somewhat serious—despite being slightly drafty, barren and missing a few stones here and there, the castle at least ran smoothly from what she had seen, all held together by the slight woman standing in front of Elain. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else helping you?”

“Aye, it would, but it won’t be ye,” Alis said with a finality that made Elain realize she lost this fight. “It’s no’ proper for the Lady of the Hoose to wander down to the kitchens, or, or, gallivant outside in the woods, or ask to dust, for goodness sake!”

“Well, perhaps I can—“

“No,” Alis said. “There are plenty of other things ye can do to occupy yer time, like reading, or sewing.”

“For twelve hours a day, though?” Elain cried.

“Ye’ll be much busier when ye and the Laird start having bairns,” Alis said shrewdly, and Elain’s stomach dropped. “If there’s any advice ye need on getting started…”

“Er, no, that’s quite alright,” Elain stammered, blushing wildly. “I think I do actually have a bonnet to sew, goodbye!”

Elain fled, Alis’s throaty chuckles fading behind her as she rushed down hallways and staircases, uncaring of where she was going. She found herself at the doors of the library and pushed them open, sighing with relief when she saw that Nesta had vacated the premises for a time.

Elain sat down wearily on a low couch. How embarrassing, for Alis to point out what surely everyone in the castle knew: that Elain and Lucien weren’t even resting in the same bed at night together, much less seeing enough of each other to make a child. 

The embarrassment she felt now still paled in comparison to her wedding night two weeks ago, when she brazenly dropped the bedsheet hiding her bare body from Lucien’s gaze. Elain had been a little tipsy, true, and wanted to be the brave and fierce woman she needed to be to thrive in Scotland… and apparently she thought showing her naked body to her new husband would accomplish that.

Not that Lucien had objected. She had watched him staring at her flesh, dumbstruck, as his eye slowly traveled down her body, his mouth gaping like a fish. Elain had observed him, too, particularly the bulge under his kilt that grew and grew the more he openly looked at her body. Rather than frighten her, as her aunts had warned her, the sight of his covered manhood had only excited her. 

She groaned. Elain hadn’t been able to even look Lucien in the face the next morning at a terse, private breakfast between the two of them, and she had excused herself at the first moment she was able. Since then, she and her husband had been playing a competitive game of cat and mouse, with the twist being neither one wanted to win. At this point, though, Elain wouldn’t object to running into Lucien, frustrated and embarrassed as she was, if only because it would give her something to do.

Elain absentmindedly grabbed a book laying on the table and flipped it open. She had been spending more time in the library here than she’d ever spent in one before, if only because it was somewhere different than her formal sitting room. There she could sew, or gaze out the window at the pretty loch with its brilliantly blue waters… and that was it. 

Now, she found herself looking at a map of the Scottish highlands, with major towns and monuments drawn in along the numerous clan lines. Her eyes darted over the page—there were the Vanserra clan lines, far to the southeast; to the east were the Norse-descended MacDonnells. There was a large port town called Adriata to the south, a bog not too far from here, a sprawling settlement in the northern mountains called Velaris, a lonely island off the northeast coast with a single monument called Sangravah—

There were a few knocks on the door. Elain closed the book and tossed it on the table—it was probably Nesta, coming to check on Elain for the hundredth time in the past two weeks. “Come in,” she called dully.

“Ye look like ye could do with some cheering up.”

Elain lifted her head. The beautiful, red-haired woman Lucien had looked so happy talking to at the wedding was peering around the door, taking in Elain all alone in the library. “Unless ye prefer the company of books over people.”

Elain stared, too shocked at the woman’s abrupt appearance to offer a greeting or ask her who she was. 

“You doona ken who I am, do ye?”

At Elain’s shaking head, the woman sighed deeply. “I hate to break it to ye, Elain, but yer husband is an eejit. Cannae even be bothered to let his poor wife know that company is coming. I’m Vassa Fraser, Laird of Clan Fraser.”

Elain was stunned. “Laird? Women can be lairds?”

Vassa shrugged, shutting the door behind her and walking towards Elain. “Me dad didna have anyone else to pass the title to.”

“And everyone just… accepted that?”

“Och, no,” Vassa said, smiling cruelly, “but I made it quite clear that if I wasna the next Laird of Clan Fraser, there would be no Clan Fraser at all.”

Elain swallowed, unnerved by this new Laird. “I apologize that I wasn’t here to greet you, Laird Fraser,” Elain said stiffly, resorting to the politeness that had been drilled into her at a young age.

“Tch, say nothing of it,” Vassa said, sitting down casually on a couch across from Elain. “It’s no’ yer fault yer fool of a husband cannae be bothered to notify his wife of visitors. I can give his ears a good clapping, if ye want me to.”

She spoke so plainly and intimately of Lucien. The jealousy that she’d felt at seeing Vassa and Lucien talking at their wedding flared inside her. “Do you know Lucien well, then?”

“Aye,” Vassa said cheerfully. “He helped me take the Clan’s title by force several years ago. He literally beat back the other contenders so I could claim the throne, so to speak. Lucien’s deadly with a sword when it comes down to it.”

There it was—more casual violence from these people. Elain wasn’t sure she’d ever fully get used to it. Still, the trepidation Elain felt towards Vassa was nothing compared to the envy she felt at this woman having some type of closing relationship with Lucien. “Is that the extent of your… relationship with Lucien?” she asked coldly. 

Vassa’s eyes widened slightly at Elain’s frosty tone. “Aye, it is,” she said, far more gently than Elain thought she’d respond. “We’re verra close friends and fellow lairds—nothing more.”

Elain exhaled. “I—good, thank you.”

“Besides,” Vassa smirked, “I already have my hands full with my own man. He’s English himself.”

Elain perked up. “Really? How did he come to be up here?” With you , went unspoken.

“Part of the English military sent to crush the, er, slight rebellion my own wee fight to take the Fraser title caused,” Vassa admitted with a wince. “He took one look at me and threw down his weapons right then and there.”

“I see. Sounds… exciting.”

“More exciting than sitting alone in a library in a cold castle,” Vassa noted. “How are ye getting on?”

Elain blinked, startled at the abrupt shift in topic. “All right. I’m settling in.”

“Has Lucien been showing ye around? Helping ye?”

“Er, well, he’s very busy, isn’t he?”

Vassa huffed an unimpressed laugh. “Aye, but ye should be his priority at the moment. Tell me plainly: how are ye doing?”

Elain took a moment to study Vassa. Her bright red was cut short, falling to her shoulders in slight waves. A pair of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen gazed back at her steadily, undeterred by the foreign English woman in front of her. Vassa was fierce and proud, a true Scotswoman. She remembered Eris’s advice from the night of the wedding: speak plainly and be direct. 

“I’m bored,” Elain began, sitting up straight. “I have nothing to do here. The staff won’t let me do anything they fear is unbecoming of my station—I can’t go outside the castle walls, nor do anything to help run the castle, even though I’m its new Lady.”

“Are ye surprised the staff at the castle are so similar to your English staff across the wall?”

Elain blushed. “Yes. I thought—“

“That we’d be boorish brutes eating out of our hands and sleeping on the ground?”

Elain scoffed. “Well now, I didn’t think it was quite that desperate up here.”

Vassa grinned. “That’s alright. The Highlands aren’t as fine as what yer accustomed to in England—”

“I’m not concerned about that,” Elain tsked. “I had few freedoms in England. I thought Scotland would be different, that as a married woman I’d have more allowances than before, but it’s been the opposite. I could at least take a stroll into the neighboring villages by myself back in England. It’s incredibly frustrating,” Elain ended bitterly. 

Vassa sighed. “Aye, most Scottish women aren’t too limited in their day to day lives but yer no’ a Scottish woman. I know, it’s no’ fair,” Vassa said when Elain tried to interject. “Some folks this far north… don’t care much for the English, and Lucien is a new Laird himself. Suddenly he has a foreign new wife, rather than marrying the daughter of one of his minor lords or land owners, to gain their favor? Until people can be trusted, ye may need to stay safe in the castle,” she ended delicately. 

"So I am to suffer alone until Lucien’s people decide they’re not going to harm me?”

“Well, ye have yer sisters for a time, don’t ye?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “My sisters are driving me insane with their constant worrying and nattering and complaining. My eldest Nesta does nothing but make snide remarks about the state of the castle and Lucien, and Feyre leaves in order to explore the countryside on her own, regardless of the consequences. They bicker about everything, then tut about how sorry they are that I’m stuck here for life.” Elain took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “It’s so annoying!”

Vassa chuckled. “I’ve no sisters but plenty of girl cousins—it’s the same everywhere. They’re always criticizing me and fussing over me in the same breath.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I ignore them,” Vassa said simply. “At the end of the day most of them are a bunch of daft bampots that are taking their frustrations out on me. And I have Jurian to talk to, relieve some… stress, y’ken.”

“Must be nice,” Elain muttered. 

Vassa arched an eyebrow. “Do ye not see Lucien enough?”

Elain held her tongue. Perhaps the worst indignity of her entire situation was that her new husband couldn’t even be bothered to check on her and make sure she was settling in alright. She knew Lucien was busy— running a clan was difficult—but Elain was apparently dead last on his list. The resentment towards Lucien that had slowly been growing ever since their wedding day threatened to bubble over, but Elain kept herself in line. 

“That’s something I can discuss with him the next time I see him, whenever that might be,” Elain said bitterly. 

Vassa swore and shook her head. “That fuckin’ doolally,” she muttered to herself. “Absolute roaster.” Vassa looked at Elain thoughtfully. “Do ye enjoy the gardens?”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “The flowers and trees, outside,” Vassa went on. “Do ye ken where it’s at?”

“Yes,” Elain said slowly, trying to figure out why Vassa changed the conversation so abruptly. 

“It’s particularly lovely at night, under the full moon, like tonight,” Vassa replied, looking at Elain pointedly. “It might be good for ye to be out there. Tonight especially.”

“Er, alright,” Elain said unsteadily. “Perhaps, after dinner—“

“No! Ye should definitely wait until much later. Midnight, or just before.”

Elain tilted her head. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Not at all, Elain,” Vassa said happily. “The garden is so lovely at night—“

“As you keep repeating.”

“That I think it would be verra good for ye to be out there tonight,” Vassa ended, looking far too pleased with herself. 

“Perhaps I shall take a midnight stroll in the garden then,” Elain said slowly. She didn’t think Vassa was trying to trick her or be cruel but it was a very peculiar insistence to ask of Elain.

“Good, good!” Vassa stood up. “Is there anything else on your mind?”

“Actually,” Elain began slowly, remembering something that had been bothering her since her wedding night, “how exactly are Lucien and Eris Vanserra related? Lucien said they were brothers but they have different surnames.”

“Ah.” For the first time, Vassa looked supremely uncomfortable. “They, ah, they’re blood brothers.”

“So Lucien was born a Vanserra?”

“Aye,” Vassa hesitantly agreed, looking anywhere but Elain’s face. 

“But he’s somehow Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“His mother was a Macpherson.”

“If Eris is older than Lucien, why wasn’t he chosen to become Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“Will ye look at the time,” Vassa said, looking around. “I have a meeting to attend—with Lucien, I’ll make sure to clap him around the ears for ye—so I’ll see you at dinner, aye?”

“Yes, but—oh! Goodbye!”

Vassa flitted away, her long tartan dress trailing after her. Elain was left with far more questions than answers.

Nesta came into the library shortly thereafter, and just like she had been doing the past two weeks, immediately began alternating between complaining about the castle and clucking after Elain. Feigning a headache, Elain rushed back to her bedroom and threw herself on her bed. 

She shouldn’t have set such lofty expectations for herself, Elain realized. She was only setting herself up for disappointment and heartache. It was clear Lucien wanted nothing to do with her, and while she had hoped for that on the way to Scotland, Elain at least thought he’d spend some time getting to know her, or that she wouldn’t be a prisoner in her new home.

Elain sighed and began getting ready for dinner. She’d go to the garden tonight, as Vassa had urged, and she’d begin the long and sad process of accepting that she was in a lonely marriage for the rest of her days. 

XXX

“So, how’s the pretty new English wife?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien grit his teeth. If one more person asked him how his marriage was going…

In truth, most days he forgot he was a married man. He and Elain slept in separate beds in separate rooms nowhere near each other, they never supped together, and they never exchanged more than a brief hello when they passed each other in the halls, and even that was rare.

And for what would be the best part of a marriage for any man, well… it was difficult to convince your wife to lay with you when she wouldn’t even look at you. Not that Lucien had even tried to convince Elain of the mutual benefits of a sexual relationship.

Was he tempted to risk everything he’d been planning for months on the chance to spend some time between his wife’s luscious thighs? God help him, he was. Whenever he thought of their disastrous wedding night, the only thing he could remember was a flushed and angry Elain proudly and unabashedly standing naked in front of him before his bed, her curvy body on full display. It was the most unexpected sight he’d ever witnessed, and Lucien thought that perhaps his English wife wasn’t quite the meek dormouse he had assumed she was. He had never gotten so hard just from seeing a bare woman before. His mind often wandered on its own, imagining what she tasted like, how she’d feel wrapped around his cock, what sounds would escape that pretty little mouth as he fucked her…

But he couldn’t get distracted. Between caring for his lands, the castle, managing his new trade routes and the fragile relationships he was cultivating with various lords and lairds of all of Scotland, and putting the finishing touches on his soon to be enacted plan, he had no time to spend any time with his wife, sexual or not. Lucien did feel a little guilty—he could imagine how frightened Elain must be, cooped up in a drafty castle with no one but her sisters to keep her company—but Lucien couldn’t think of that right now. At least, here in the castle, she was safe. 

“She’s fine,” Lucien answered eventually. Probably true. 

“Is she adjusting to Scotland well enough?”

“Er, aye, I believe so. Some of the food is a bit off putting for her, but she’ll get there.”

“It’s a shame her father left so soon. Perhaps that would have settled her down a bit.”

“Small mercies,” Lucien muttered. Mr. Archeron had hopped onto a departing wagon train the morning after the wedding, barely waiting to say goodbye to his daughters before he left to inspect the trade routes and roads to which he had bartered his daughter and forced Lucien into.

“Do ye see her much throughout the day?”

“Eh, not so much,” Lucien answered awkwardly. “We, uh, both appreciate our solitude.”

Tamlin nodded like he understood this perfectly. “All of the sisters appear to appreciate their own solitude.”

Lucien grunted noncommittally, too focused at the moment on balancing the estate’s ledger. They were only slightly in the red at the moment, rather than swimming in it like in previous months. 

“Nesta does spend a significant time alone in the library,” Lucien said. “And Elain…” What was Elain up to? He certainly never saw her enough to ask, and none of the staff bothered to keep him up to date on her comings and goings. “Elain is learning how to run the estate,” Lucien finished lamely.

“Feyre spends much of her time outdoors,” Tamlin supplied. He stood at the window, staring out over the wide forests that stretched beyond what their eyes could see. “She’s quite the huntress.”

“Interesting,” Lucien deadpanned, trying to look engrossed in his work so Tamlin would take the hint and leave. 

“Perhaps I will arrange a hunting party and ask her to come.”

“Sure.”

“And perhaps I’ll invite her to my lands when she and her sister depart, for a short stay,” Tamlin went on, eyeing Lucien from the side of his gaze.

“If it pleases ye,” Lucien said, making a show of rubbing his eye and fiddling with his eyepatch. 

Tamlin hummed. “I think I see Feyre in the courtyard now—perhaps I’ll see if she needs someone to accompany her.”

“Aye, aye, very good,” Lucien said, quickly standing up and escorting a thoughtful Tamlin out of his study with a few thumps on the back. “Feel free to borrow one of the horses—not Ajax, he’s a bit of a bastard, but one of the mares, like Daffodil.”

Finally Lucien was alone, but not for long. Three soft raps on his door, then Jurian quietly let himself into Lucien’s office.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“Said she needed to make a detour before our meeting. She'll be along when she’s ready. Is everything all packed? Food, clothes, maps, weapons?”

“Aye,” Lucien answered. “I’ve double checked everything, left plenty of notes without the exact details to Dougal, ye and Vassa and her men will patrol my borders while I’m gone—I think we’ve done everything we can.”

“What are you doing if the weather delays you?”

“Press on even at night,” Lucien answered, their practiced what-if scenarios fresh in his mind. “Trade Ajax for a fresh horse, if it comes to it.”

“And what if the roads aren’t as friendly as you expect?”

“Put my sword to good use,” Lucien said darkly. He didn’t want to have to kill anyone on his journey, but if it came between him and his goal…

“Not your pistol?”

“Only for emergencies. I doona have much ammunition, and it’s more for decoration than protection,” Lucien admitted, taking the heavy gun out from his desk. It was one of the few possessions he had taken from Clan Vanserra when he left, more as a final statement to Laird Vanserra than anything else. It was covered in bronze plating and delicate, black filigree along the barrel and chamber. “Lot of good this’ll do me on the road.”

They continued rehearsing the plan. A nervous weight settled in the bottom of Lucien’s stomach. So much was riding on him, and so much could go wrong at any one moment. 

The door to his study slammed open and Vassa strode in, her eyes blazing with fury. Both Lucien and Jurian shrunk back as she advanced on them.

“Ye, Lucien, are an ass!” she shrieked, swinging her arm back and punching his shoulder, then unsheathing her dirk and pressing it to his bare neck.

“What the hell are ye on about?” Lucien gasped, his shoulder aching and heart racing. He tried to lean away from the metal at his skin but Vassa only pressed it harder against him.

“Have ye been completely neglecting Elain for the past two weeks? She’s miserable and lonely! Have ye even uttered a friendly word to her at all?”

“I’ve been busy, as you well know!” Lucien snapped. “After this is taken care of—“

“Oh, ye were just casually going to go on yer way and come back months later and expect Elain to be waiting like a faithful pet? What’s wrong with ye, ye daft fuckin’ fool!”

Lucien flushed. “It’s safer for her this way!”

“Perhaps, but ye could have at least gotten to know her a bit, taken her for a damn walk, do the bare fuckin’ minimum a husband should do for his wife!” Vassa’s eyes were blazing and her hand was shaking with rage. Lucien winced as he felt the trembling dirk in her hand nick the soft skin of his neck.

“Vassa,” Jurian said sharply, “I doubt slashing Lucien’s neck would make Elain any happier.”

“I’m no’ sure about that,” she said darkly, withdrawing her blade and sheathing it. “She asked me what happened to ye that made ye take the name Macpherson.”

Lucien froze, his hand half-way to his throat. “And what did ye tell her?”

“That she’s better off asking ye directly. And ye will, I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucien relaxed. “Aye, I will. But if I tell her that, I’ll have to tell her everything.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“The less she knows, the safer she’ll be,” Lucien snapped. He brushed his hand over his throat; his thumb came back slightly bloody. “Ye know what some of those Lairds would do to someone like Elain if they turned their attention to her, just based on where she’s from. She’s so innocent and delicate—“

Vassa snorted. “I doona ken about that, based on what she had to say to me. But promise ye’ll talk to her before ye leave.”

“I promise,” Lucien said, his stomach tightening even further as he lied to his dearest friends. 

It was far too dangerous to trust Elain with this, to bring her into his closet circle so soon after meeting her. Afterwards, when everything had settled, he would woo Elain properly—she deserved that, and selfishly, Lucien didn’t plan on staying celebite for the rest of his life. 

To get to that point, he had this one final task in front of him. Unrolling a map, the three of them bent over his desk, making the final preparations for his journey.

XXX

Dinner that night was an awkward affair.

As there were numerous guests at the castle—Vassa and Jurian, and another Laird friend of Lucien’s, Tamlin Stewart, plus Nesta and Feyre—the staff had nicely done up the ornate wooden head table that hadn’t been used since Elain’s wedding night. A fine lace tablecloth was spreading over the table, and the most delicious scents and foods—mouthwatering roast chickens, the skin golden brown and crispy; individual rabbit pies, spiced and slightly sweet; potatoes basted in butter, slathered in salt and mustard; delicate and herby greens; and freshly baked loaves of yeasty bread—filled the hall.  

Elain sipped her wine. Perhaps Alis had a point—Elain would only be a nuisance in the kitchen for a feast like this. 

Nesta sat stiff in her chair, shooting small, distrustful glares at the Scots around her. Elain hadn’t told her much of what was—or wasn’t—happening between her and Lucien, feigning marital privacy, but it seems Nesta still found a reason to be angry with her hosts.

Feyre had no such qualms. Her and Tamlin—a hulking beast of a man, with wavy, shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes and a crooked nose from one too many fights—sat together at one end of the table conversing quietly with each other.

Elain paused and took a moment to study her youngest sister. She’d rarely seen Feyre around the castle in the past two weeks and had quickly stopped wondering where she’d gone off to each day when she showed up for dinner each night. Feyre had proven she could take care of herself; why should Elain bother worrying after her?

Elain thought she had an idea of how Feyre was occupying her time as she watched her younger sister giggle at something Tamlin muttered to her. Elain nearly dropped her potatoes at the sound. Feyre, giggling like a schoolgirl, at a man, no less. It was nearly as foreign to Elain as hearing the same sound from Lucien.

Speaking of her husband…

Lucien looked more tense than usual. Elain could see the tightness in his shoulders and jaw, and the way he gripped his utensils to eat. Elain stared, transfixed, as one of his large hands poured himself another ale, as the muscles in his forearms flexed, his golden brown skin seeming to glow despite the dim firelight in the room—

“And how was yer day Elain?”

Vassa was politely looking at Elain as if she didn’t know exactly how her day was. She pulled her gaze away from Lucien’s body.

“It was fine. At this rate I’ll have the entire contents of the library read this time next year.”

There was a thump and Lucien suddenly grunted. “And do ye enjoy reading?” he asked in a pained voice.

Elain furrowed her brows. Vassa was looking at her far too innocently. “It’s an acceptable way to pass the time.”

“Anything in particular caught yer eye?”

Elain paused. “I’ve enjoyed flipping through the books on Scottish history and the maps of the clans, so I can begin to better familiarize myself with the different Lairds.”

“Oh!” Lucien said, his eye widening. “That’s… aye, verra good.”

And dinner ended exactly like it had every night before: with awkward silence between her and Lucien. 

Elain wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders later that evening. There was a chill in the air. If she were back in England, this would be a perfect summer’s night.

But she might as well forget all about England and her family and everything from her old life, Elain thought miserably, sitting on a stone bench in the back of the garden. Her life was in Scotland now, and as a woman, that life now revolved around her husband.

What would her life be like if she had married Graysen, rather than Lucien? She’d actually know her husband, and would have had a choice in the matter. She’d be in a familiar setting around people she knew and understood.

But it would be the same monotony she’d spent her life up until now living. With Graysen in the militia, she would rarely see him, perhaps only a few weeks a month or less, if he were called away. She would spend her days reading or sewing or entertaining guests, would receive countless visits from her sisters, and would most likely have a child by the time of their one year anniversary. It would be the same sort of dreary existence that Elain found herself in now.

The only difference was that all the time and effort her mother put into raising Elain into the perfect Englishwoman wouldn’t have been wasted on some uncouth Scotsman. Though even that wasn’t fair. She’d seen enough from those working at the castle and Vassa to realize that the Scots weren’t the maniacal, faerie worshiping heathens the pamphlets made them out to be. It was just Lucien who couldn’t be bothered to be a decent husband.

Elain huffed a breath, standing up. This was stupid—Vassa was clearly playing a joke on her, getting some sort of sick amusement at the idea of an Englishwoman freezing herself at nothing but her own insistence. She stood up and made her way across the garden when a sudden movement caught her eye.

The light from the moon glanced upon a flash of red along the back wall. Elain wasn’t sure if she had imagined it until she heard a scraping sound come from the stone wall behind her.

“Vassa?” Elain asked, moving towards the sound. “Vassa, is that you?”

The sound stopped. Elain rounded a large bush and came face to face—or face to chest, rather—with Lucien.

“Oh!” she gasped, nearly falling down before Lucien caught her by her shoulders and steadied her. They looked at each other in shock. Elain could see Lucien’s remaining eye widen with surprise before he let go of Elain like he had been burned. “I—I didn’t know—“

“What are ye doing out here?” Lucien asked, frustration filling his voice. He hadn’t managed to relax since dinner; his shoulders and neck still looked tight. 

Elain’s eyes widened at Lucien’s tone. He seemed frustrated with her ? “Is this garden not part of my new home, and am I not allowed to wander the castle freely?” Elain snapped back.

“Aye, but no’ when it's night and pitch dark out! Why are ye out here?”

Elain considered telling him that Vassa told Elain to be out here, but decided Lucien didn’t need to know everything Elain did. “Perhaps I enjoy visiting the garden at night, when the light of the moon can… shine down on all the lovely plants.”

Lucien stared at her incredulously. “What sort of dumb English bollocks is that? Is this how ye spend yer nights, skulking about in the dark?”

She pursed her lips, a hand on her hip. “And what if it is?”

“It’s a bit odd and I’d prefer it if ye brought someone with ye when ye take yer midnight strolls,” he said, looking up at the bright moon anxiously. “Come on, I’ll get ye in—“

“No! I’m fine out here!” 

Lucien tsked. “I can see ye shivering. Stop being so stubborn, lass, and come inside with me.” He reached out a hand for her. 

Elain took a step away from him. “I don’t want to!” Elain was aware she sounded like a petulant child but Lucien’s tone of voice grated on her, her resentment towards him rising within her. How dare he try to tell her what to do, when he hadn’t spoken a word to her in days before tonight?

“And what were you doing out here? You’re also ‘skulking about’ in the dark, same as me.”

“I’m, er, conducting a sweep of the grounds,” Lucien replied, looking anywhere but at Elain. “We’ve reports of seeing foxes in the hen houses.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And you thought the middle of the night—in the garden, nowhere near the livestock—was the best time to conduct this search?” She looked him up and down. “And aren��t you a bit overdressed to look for a simple fox?”

Lucien avoided looking at her. He was wearing a kilt, the same green, dark blue and gray pattern he’s worn on their wedding day, knee length worn brown boots, a thick white shirt and a brown jacket. A dirk hung from his hips, and his back—

“Is that a crossbow?”

“It’s a verra wilely fox,” Lucien said evasively, looking at the moon again. “Let me get ye back inside.”

Elain glared at him. “First you compare me to a dog, then you ignore me for days, brazenly lie to me about what you’re doing, and attempt to coddle me like a child. What a fine husband you are!”

“Well, yer acting a bit like a bairn at the moment!” Lucien hissed, advancing towards her and reaching for her again. “Come along!”

“Ah, yes, are you afraid that the fox you’re hunting is going to attack me?” Elain sneered, dodging him again. “At least being attacked by a fox would be more exciting than how I spend my days now!”

For once, Lucien looked a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Elain,” he said quietly, grimacing slightly. “I ken the past few weeks have been difficult for ye. I’m a bit busy with… some things at the moment.”

Elain recognized that Lucien appeared sincere in his apology, but she was too worked up, too angry to accept his kindness and docility so easily. “Too busy that you couldn’t bother to come find me and talk to me at all in the past two weeks?” Elain goaded.

The guilt vanished from Lucien’s face, replaced with a look that reminded Elain of their wedding night. “Doors open from both sides, ye ken.” He looked at her fully, glancing down to gaze at her body before settling on her lips. Elain was suddenly aware that she was only wearing a thin shift and the shawl around her shoulders. “But now that ye have me here—“

Elain hadn’t realized she was backed against the garden wall until Lucien stalked towards her and Elain couldn’t back away. She gasped as Lucien towered over her, his strong arms bracketing her head. 

“Well, wife,” Lucien said huskily. “What do ye want to talk about?” 

This was completely unexpected coming from Lucien, given his frosty behavior before, but not entirely unwelcome. Elain mentally cursed herself for being so weak when it came to Lucien, that all it took was a heated glance to melt her, before she remembered her anger. “You—you’ve been ignoring me!”

“Aye, I have,” he said softly, lowering his head so he was barely inches from her face. This close to Lucien, Elain could make out a tiny scratch on his throat. “Though it pains me so.”

“Does it really?”

“Aye, it does.”

“You’ve a horrible way of showing it,” Elain snapped, fighting to resist Lucien’s charm as his warm lips brushed her temple. She gasped softly at the touch, and felt her knees start to shake. This close, she could smell him so clearly, his long hair dancing across her face: crackling wood from a fireplace on a cold, rainy day, a touch of sweetness like a freshly baked apple pie, and a deep, rich scent that reminded her of the ale they served at dinner. Elain closed her eyes to steady herself. “And I’ve been so lonely and bored here.”

“Verra unfortunate,” Lucien whispered, his lips barely landing over her full cheek and continuing their downward path. 

“You couldn’t bother to let me know that we had visitors today. It made me look–” Elain shuddered as one of his large hands settled on the indent of her waist, his long fingers spanning her body and tightening against her flesh– “very foolish as the new Lady of the House.”

Based on the shaky breath he let out, Elain knew Lucien was as taut as she was. “A tragedy of the highest order.”

“And, and,” Elain swallowed, losing her train of thought as Lucien kissed his way along her jaw. He stooped down to trail feather-light kisses down the column of her throat, and Elain couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped her lips, especially when his lips continued going down, down, down…  

She felt Lucien chuckle against the sensitive skin of her throat, his warm breath dancing across her skin like embers from a fire. “And what, Elain?”

“And you left me alone and naked on our wedding night.”

Lucien groaned, pressing his lips into her forehead. “Which I’ve sorely regretted. How would ye have me apologize to ye?”

Elain looked up at Lucien through her eyelashes. His face was half-cast in shadow; all she could see were the silver scars on his face and the rough eyepatch covering the space where one of his eyes should have been. He looked dangerous and feral, and Elain felt desire suddenly and swiftly course through her body like a raging river.

It made absolutely no sense. Elain shouldn’t desire him like she did right now, especially after the abominable way he had treated her and the rude things he had said to her, even if he had apologized. She had been raised to expect gentle civility and respectful kindness from her peers and eventual husband.

But Elain didn’t want gentle or kind from Lucien, at least not now. His lips lightly sucked the skin under her ear, and Elain couldn’t contain her moan. What Lucien was doing to her body with so little effort was unnatural, like a clever and dangerous fae trying to seduce and tempt her into running away with him, and she was powerless to resist. 

Elain had never seen or met such a wild and dangerous man as Lucien, a man who wore his mysteries like a cloak and for whom violence was like a second skin. 

Elain wanted him desperately. 

“You owe me a proper wedding kiss,” Elain breathed. 

He groaned softly, then barely brushed his warm lips against her cheek, a whisper of a promise of more to come. “Like that?”

“I thought the Scottish had more fire in them than that,” Elain shot back, breathing hard and keeping her sharp eyes on Lucien.

“Aye, we do,” Lucien growled, his eye ablaze. His hand skimmed down her waist to her hip and roughly squeezed her flesh, his touch branding her even through her nightgown as Lucien tugged her close to him. Elain gasped at his aggressive touch—it was exactly what she needed, a way to feel something and let out some of the frustration that had been growing inside her the past two weeks. Elain reached up and gripped his biceps as hard as she could, wanting Lucien to feel the same pain and yearning she felt for him.

Based on the groan he let out, Lucien understood her loud and clear. “It seems my wee English wife isn’t the quiet, demure lady I thought she was,” Lucien rasped. Quick as a hawk, his hand not gripping her hip cradled her jaw. Elain stopped breathing, the fire in his eye turning her to stone as his thumb rested on her full lips. 

Elain was truly ensnared under Lucien’s spell—that was the only explanation she had as her tongue darted out and barely stroked the pad of his calloused thumb. Just from that small touch, Elain got a taste of rich, loamy, soil, freshly washed linens, and an unknown, bitter aroma as they all wafted across her tongue. 

Lucien slowly dragged his thumb down her lips. “An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?” he asked thoughtfully, almost to himself. His hand stroked her jaw, his resolve hardening. “Damn e uile—bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh.”

Elain had no idea what Lucien was saying but she didn’t care, not when he was staring at her with more feeling and want in one eye than anyone with two eyes had ever looked at her. Elain couldn’t breathe, not when his gaze darted to her lips, not when he gently tilted her head back, not when he licked his own thick lips, and not when he slowly lowered his head towards her. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to feel Lucien’s lips against hers, and Elain knew, when his lips touched her own, his fire would start an inferno within her that neither of them would be able to put out—

Somewhere close by, a twig snapped loudly, followed by some loud jeers and laughter. Elain and Lucien froze as the sounds on the other side of the garden wall gradually dissipated away, the silence of the night overtaking them once again.

Elain glanced up at Lucien, who looked stricken, all traces of his desire gone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We—I shouldna’ have let it get that far.”

Her heart cracked a little. Her and Lucien had finally started forging a connection between the two of them, and he instantly regretted it when it was over. Elain pushed him away and righted herself, ignoring the throbbing between her legs. 

“You’re right,” Elain said angrily, tears burning the corner of her eyes. “God forbid you spend time getting to know your wife!”

“Elain, I didna mean—“

“I think you meant exactly what you said. Leave me.”

“I can walk ye back inside.”

“I don’t want you to!” Elain snapped, her vision blurry. “You ignore me, play with me, then say such hurtful things.” She balled her fists up, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she refused to cry. Elain looked Lucien straight in the eye. “I had very little say in this marriage, but I’m at least trying to make it work. You’re a horrible husband and I want you to leave now.”

Lucien looked devastated. “Elain—“

“Leave me!” she yelled, her resolve crumbling. “Just leave.”

Elain was aware of Lucien walking away but of little else. Sobbing, she made her way to a bench and sat down, letting all the frustration and anger and sadness leave her, wishing, with all her heart, that she had listened to Feyre and leapt from their carriage and gone back to England.

XXX

Translations:

An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?: Are you a witch, sent to ruin me?

Damn e uile - bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh: Damn it all-I will gladly be enchanted by you, my darling.

[normalest-of-knees]

I cannot fathom what the plot of V10 would even be if it really does become the final season.

Like, regardless if that's really what's gonna happen or not, IF V10 even happens, I'm just thinking hypothetically.

We just had an entire Volume of nothing of actual importance happen, and then.....????????

Sure, we saw some shit with Summer. But all that really did was provide more questions and kinda just stoke people's already ongoing theories and such.

Even learning about The Tree and the Gods and such was meaningless, and our characters didn't actually grow in any meaningful way.

So it really boils down to: V8 had all Hell break loose, the main cast and 1 cockroach fall into the void, Salem got 2 relics, and an entire Kingdom and then some got dumped onto another in the middle of a sandstorm.

Then the characters from the Void just show up to continue the plot.

So I'm really struggling to see what could possibly get resolved in any meaningful way...

Cuz we still have:

Tyrian & Mercury already at Vacuo

The relic from Beacon still not found

No idea how to actually beat Salem

The possible merging of Oscar & Oz

Winter being a Maiden

The summer Maiden still not heard of or seen

Summer Rose and whatever the fuck happened there

Raven, as she is still a Maiden and a charceter that SHOULD have relevance, especially now with the news of the Summer Secret

Silver Eyes to actually be relevant to the plot

SEWs being made into Grimm

Where is Pietro & Maria

Penny's death & Jaune's part in it actually being addressed (saying "they talked about it off screen" doesn't count)

Neo's whole thing

And just so much more.... like SO much more!

There's 2 main ways (that may just kinda merge into 1) the heros could win as things stand: The villains keep screwing themselves over or switching sides and end up helping (intentionally or not) to defeat Salem, or, they toss Salem into a portal that sends her directly to the Tree in Ever After and she's forced to Ascend 😑

Awful bonus points if it's Jaune that pushes her.

Like...... even with a whole Volume of content, I really don't see a satisfying conclusion or one that even really makes sense.

I'm kinda hoping they don't even try to make a finale. If it dies here and now, it'd be a mercy

[white-nolse]

Aight! Because I love being salty (I know the other poll hasn't ended but the majority said yes, so...):

I don't think there's one for part 6? I don't like Anasui but the fandom didn't have anything to do with it akkdkssk

Love how there's almost one for each part (haven't read part 7 or 8 yet)

As always, reblogs are appreciated to get a bigger sample!

[carsickcrow]

just watched the evil dead (1981) 👍 didn’t like it quite as much as i expected but it was pretty fun i love practical effects and men covered in blood so. good movie for that. the stop motion (?) at the end was soooo rad. now i’m watching beetlejuice (for the first time can you believe it! i was into the musical for years and years and never watched the movie)

[flower-sniffing-friend]

i have this thing with dc where there are many characters & ships i find...interesting without really liking them. not even in a "it compels me" way. just like. i end up thinking about it more than i normally would even though i'm entirely neutral or even dislike it.

like i mentioned birdflash before and i'm just not interested at all but i almost *want* to be interested in it because i can see where there are interesting elements to it

and there are so many characters i feel like that about and it's just odd how i've really only had this happen with dc and it's happened a *lot*

idk where i'm going with this. just thoughts i thought i'd share. does anyone else get this?

[wheelsupin-five]

Let yourself in (I've got you)

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, this is kinda 6x07 spec ig, bucks in his breakdown era, Getting Together, this is the ending of the sperm donor subplot

Summary: In which Buck tells Eddie he was going to be a sperm donor

WC: 2.4k  |  Read on ao3

It’s empty. The walls around him he’s supposed to call home echo nothing but the quiet buzz of the fridge and the ringing in his ears. His feet are rooted to the spot, their words still running through his head over and over and over and over. ‘We’ve decided not to use you as our donor’. 

They thanked him and he left with the promise to stay in contact. He doesn’t remember getting in the jeep, walking in the front door, or how long he’s been standing here. Everything that was burning beneath his skin has now settled, cold and heavy. 

The gym bag he’d dropped by the kitchen counter two days ago catches his eye. It’s still packed from the movie night with Eddie and Chris, everything he needs to escape it all for the night. His fingers itch. He tears himself from his place in the middle of the room, throws the bag over his shoulder, and snatches his keys from the counter. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going when he starts the car, he just goes.

It has really been the same story from the moment he was born. 

Defective parts. Not enough. Unwanted. 

Running, always running.

What is he worth if he can’t even help the people who need him? The people he cares about? What does he have to offer when every time he tries to help it’s never good enough; he’s always broken, too late, and never the first choice. 

His chest is hollow and heavy.

The roads are quiet. He lets his speed creep up. He breathes a little easier.

Continue reading on ao3

[rystonlentil]

Tagged by @stressfulsloth - my first ever tag game heehee thanks!

A song for every letter of my username:

R: Restless - Petrol Girls

Y: Yvette - Jason Isbell

S: so long - The Garages

T: Tertium Non Datur - Propagandhi

O: Odin - The Mechanisms

N: Night Guard - Stan Rogers

L: Love as a Construct - Aperture Science Psychoacoustic Laboratories

E: Everybody Loves Raymond - Lemon Demon

N: No Glory in the West - Orville Peck

T: The House That Dripped Blood - the Mountain Goats

I: I Got No Time - The Living Tombstone

L: Looking Glass Girl - The Glove

I tag @army-of-bee-assassins @inosfe @galacticlamps @ratscanada @technofantasia @its-short-for-jackalope just if you want to!

[writerfae]

What would the water spirit say to… Talon

Everyone who wants to get the crown needs to withstand the water spirit’s. She will try to hurt you with her words.

I posted a writing piece where Aiden stands against her, but I also started to wonder what she’d tell my other ocs. Which brought us here.

This is a tiny series and it’s starting with Talon (I’m so sorry my poor boy)

“Do you think you are better than them, son of Hawks? What do you have to your name?

You are nothing but the replacement of a brother whose reputation in your father’s head is higher than yours will ever be. And that just because he died before he could grow up to disappoint him the way you do.

Do you think he regrets it? You try so hard to live up to his expectations, but it’s not enough. It never will be.

You should stop trying to be something you’re not. But that’s not so easy, is it? Because if you do, what would be left of you?

After all, you don’t even know who you are when you’re not playing your father’s little heir. You’re not what he wants, nor are you who you want to be, so what are you if not a ghost.

Not truly known by anyone, not even by yourself. A product of grief, that of your parents and your own, mourning what is lost or wasn’t found in the first place.

You know that. And you hide behind thick walls like the scared child that you are to hide it all away, so no one can see that you are nothing but an empty shell.

You’ll never be enough. You’ll never be known. But I know how much you want to be, even when you fear it. Oh, you want it so bad.

So why don’t you come with me and I’ll help you to stop the bleeding of your heart.

Go on ahead. Let us drown out your sorrows.”

*

@deadlycupid (I’m sorry)

[autumnalwalker]

Last Line Tag / Heads Up 7 Up Tag

Thank you for the tag, @on-noon. And you as well for your tag, @ceph-the-ghost-writer. Going to combine those two with the open tag from @cljordan-imperium as an excuse to post more than seven lines.

Passing the tag to @fearofahumanplanet, @space-cadead, @writingpotato07, @theprissythumbelina, @blind-the-winds, @oh-no-another-idea, @sleepyowlwrites, and the usual open tag for anyone else who wishes to join in.

Going to put the excerpt from an upcoming Empty Names chapter under the "Keep reading" line this time with a content warning regarding it being a depiction of a character struggling with trying not to have an anxiety/panic attack.

She’s pacing again.  When did that start back up?  She touches a hand to her head and yanks it away as soon as she realizes she’s doing it again.  What does she even think she’s checking?  That she still has a headache?  Yes, she does.  She doesn’t need to keep poking her temple until it bruises to verify that.  And if RevaTech has a way of remotely detecting that she broke her nondisclosure and noncompete contracts and doing her in for it then it’s not like touching her head over and over again is going to help or give her warning so why does she keep doing it of all the stupid stupid useless nervous tics and nervous tics isn’t even the right term and why does her body do these things and have these reactions even when she knows there’s nothing wrong she’s just the stu-

She stops.

Takes a deep breath.

Lets it out.

It’s not the first time she’s done this.  It won’t be the last.  She consciously syncs her breathing with that of the laptop.  It’s a nice paratech bio model, all squishy on the inside beneath the metal and plastic shell.  It respirates instead of using a fan.  Respirate.  That’s a nice word, respirate.  Yes, just like that, in and out, slow and even.  Not thinking of much of anything at the moment.

Calmer, Lacuna opens her eyes, only now realizing that she’d closed them.  She’s not dying, and neither is anyone else.

[white-cat-of-doom]

I posted 2,327 times in 2022

827 posts created (36%)

1,500 posts reblogged (64%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@the-cat-at-the-theatre-door

@munku-collar

@white-cat-of-doom

@sillybub

@cassandra-has-moonlit-eyes

I tagged 2,321 of my posts in 2022

#cats the musical - 2,288 posts

#cats musical - 2,287 posts

#cats us tour 6 - 356 posts

#jellylorum - 262 posts

#victoria - 260 posts

#demeter - 253 posts

#bombalurina - 247 posts

#cats rccl cast 12 - 244 posts

#cats uk tour 2022 - 232 posts

#cats international tour 2022 - 230 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#part of me wants to change my avatar to one of these pieces but i cannot bring myself to take away the 2019 rumple i have had for two years

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Today is the day! The Il Sistina production of CATS opens tonight (07 December 2022) in Rome!

Below are some more specific character photos, outside of larger group photos.

Jacopo Pelliccia as Gatto Giò (Bustopher Jones, a separate character in this production).

Photos taken by Gianluca Sarago.

Gaia Soprano as Cassandra.

See the full post

133 notes - Posted December 7, 2022

#4

Everyone generally knows what the Rumpus Cat looks like in traditional productions, right? A bit silly, with funky hair and red eyes.

Meanwhile in Japan, the modern Rumpus Cat looks like this:

The hero we never knew we needed.

(Fukuoka 2021, January 2022; Kenshin Mori as Rumpus Cat, Miki Okudaira as Jellylorum, Eiko Kataoka as Rumpleteazer, Yuki Takahashi as Old Deuteronomy, Taijun Kanemoto as Munkustrap, and Yurie Sato as Bombalurina. Almost fully hidden is Haruaki Tamai as Mungojerrie.)

141 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

#3

Rehearsals have started for the production of CATS at Teatro Sistina in Italy, starting 07 December 2022, an officially licensed non-replica from RUG.

The designs are interesting in that they have reference sheets for both the makeup and costume.

See the full post

149 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

#2

The promotional pictures for the UK/International Tour 2022 have been posted!

See the full post

181 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I never uploaded these pictures last year, so I figured now would be a fun time to celebrate Pride Month again. Who better than with my favourite cast of Cats in Vienna?

See the full post

192 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

does anyone have any suggestions for good places to sell small merch items? (stickers, mainly?) they're already made up, so redbubble isn't an option and I'd really like to use somewhere that makes international purchasing/shipping as simple as possible (and I'd really like to look at options other than etsy)

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ���perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

[finniestoncrane]

Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way.  Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl…  good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

[annwrites]

sons & daughters. part five.

— pairing: cregan stark x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: your heart is broken multiple times in one day & just when you feel at the end of your rope—unable to take anymore—your heart is mended by another's loving, steady hands.

— word count: 7,815

— a/n: sorry not sorry, but i fuckin' love angst.

pls ignore the scene from the image i chose & pretend it is instead a scene that takes place during this chapter lol.

the song lost by kris allen is what made me come up with all the angsty bits at the beginning of this installment. listened to it on repeat while writing this chapter, too. just thought it was worth mentioning, incase anyone wants to listen while reading!

— tagging list: @beebeechaos @crypticlxrsh @amindfullofmonsters @yeolsbubbles @icefrye19 (more tagged in comments bc tumblr is dumb & won't let me tag you all here)

When you wake the next morning, it is with a sense of belonging. For the first time in all your life.

A contended smile spreads across your lips as you snuggle further into your furs.

Furs which still smell of him.

Last night, you had begun to drift off in Cregan’s arms, your body feeling light and warm, so he had picked you up and carried you over to your bed, so you might rest.

He’d bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then brushing one over your lips, and as soon as he made to step away, you’d reached out for him, grabbing his fingertips, and asked him to stay.

He’d not refused. Instead, he had laid down next to you, wrapping you in his arms once more as the two of you continued to share soft kisses and gentle touches before you closed yours eyes for the night.

After breaking your fast, even if you had felt too excited to eat, Alia helps you dress. Afterward, you hug her with joy, to which she is quite taken aback, but she only laughs and tells you that you are welcome and she then leaves you.

You begin to open the door to your room, wishing desperately to seek Cregan out, just to be near him. Wherever he goes today—whatever he does—you only want to be beside him during.

And that is when you hear the news.

Your door is open no more than a crack—barely, at that—and you watch in silence at two older men go walking by.

“Yes, Lord Stark is most certainly considering a betrothal to the Lady Blackwood. It would do well to have such an arrangement in the possible wars to come. Their forces joined with ours would add volume to our ranks.”

The second man hums. “He has ruminated on the offer for some time. I believe it bodes well, however, that he has not rejected it outright. He is, instead, as always, acting with caution and measured thought. The loss of the Lady Arra was keenly felt by all, but it is time.”

You softly shut your door, pressing your forehead to it as your stomach twists so painfully it makes you wince—your bowels turning to water.

You’d trusted him. How…how could you have done such a thing?

Why did you not listen to Jace instead? He's a young man himself, and thus knows their ways of thinking.

Lord Stark had played you quite well, like that of a game of Cyvasse.

He’d slowly drawn you in by bestowing you with his attentions—pretending that he cared—and then had given you small touches and suggestive comments to preen your interest, showering you with gifts and compliments, until your head was spinning and you couldn’t think straight. Or, until all you could think of was love.

You had been raised in King's Landing of all places. What, then? Had you truly—in a matter of only a handful of days—forgotten how to read someone when they are lying to you?

And he had spoken of honor.

Mayhaps he has it, but not when it comes to you.

No. Never you.

And you'd let him into your bed. Nothing had happened—not yet—but now… Now you understood why he had asked for ‘more time’. More time to wrap you round his finger until he was able to finally claim what he desired from you, only to then marry another.

No one will ever want you for love.

You should’ve never started believing otherwise. Not for a day, or a moment.

Coming here had been a great mistake. You regret ever having met him now.

Tears sting your eyes and bile rises in your throat as you think of last night. You, seated in his lap as you allowed his hands to wander.

Whore.

That is what you are.

First, you had permitted Aemond to touch you in such ways—had let him to whisper and insinuate vile things toward you—and just allowed it—because you had actually enjoyed it.

You are not a princess who possesses self-respect. You are instead… You are your mother’s daughter. A mother who has now bedded how many men? You have her disposition.

Don’t you?

Harlot.

You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling to breathe. The room is too cramped. Too crowded. You feel like you are suffocating.

You wrench your door open, needing to be outside. You’ll go to the Godswood. You want to be alone. You begin to mentally pray that he stays away from you.

You need think on how best to word to Jace that you wish to go home now. You won’t tell him anything about Lord Stark because, no matter what has transpired between the two of you, you all need the northern army.

You will tell him that you are not faring well in this northern weather. That you have changed your mind. Going to the Wall would be—at least for you—ill-advised. A foolish thing to consider in the first place, as it is not a place for women. You will thus not intrude.

You nearly slip going down the stairs which lead into the Great Hall, but catch yourself, choking back a sob, your heart having jumped into your throat.

You walk briskly toward the doors which lead outside, and then with bleary eyes, step out. You lower your head, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

Alone.

You want to be left alone.

You wrap your arms round yourself, having forgotten your cloak.

You do not want the one he purchased for you now, knowing it is a lie. Same as the items he’d procured for you yesterday.

You will leave them behind when you go. You want nothing more from him.

It is just as you are about to pass the stables that you hear a young man calling for you. “Princess Y/N!”

You quickly wipe hot tears from your cheeks before turning back to him, refusing to meet his eyes.

“A raven came for you,” he states, holding a scroll toward you.

You gingerly take it from him with a slight nod. “Thank you.”

When Cregan emerges into the yard, a broad smile crosses his lips just at the mere sight of you.

Gods, how good it had felt to have you in his arms the night last.

You, curled into his side, tucked close with furs all around you as you dreamt—one of your soft, dainty hands resting over his heart, which now belongs wholly to you.

He had laid there for awhile—a long while (So long, in fact, that he had nearly fallen asleep beside of you, but refused to, even if he'd desperately wished for as much. He would not risk a servant, or even your brother—his new close friend—finding him with you in such a state, ruining your reputation; it means far too much to him. You do.)—imagining each night for the rest of his days being that way.

To have you lain bare beside him as he runs his rough hands along your soft body, telling you how beautiful and dear you are to him—that he will spend the rest of his days caring for and protecting you—he can imagine no finer fate.

The Gods blessed him by sending you to him.

You are meant to be together as one.

Now and always.

He had worried for so long after Arra passed that his grief would never cease, until it eventually turned to numbness. But when he set eyes upon you that first day as you looked around you in wonder at his home, his body awakened once more. After that, he could do naught else but think of you.

The morning he sparred with Jace, his irritation had partially been due to finding out you mayhaps loved another, yes, but also due to his advisors. If he heard the name 'Black Aly' one more time, he'd been sure he would fly into a black rage.

And he nearly had.

He didn't wish for her. He wished for genteelness. And there you were before him at last.

Cregan only manages not even a handful of steps in your direction before he stops, his brows furrowing as he watches your disposition suddenly change.

You stare down at a piece of parchment within your hands, looking at it in disbelief—near-agony—before turning your face upward, staring into the sky as if you're looking for...explanation. For something.

He needs to know what has happened.

And then you nod softly, looking forward again, a final look of resignation crossing your features as you quickly wipe tears angrily from your cheeks, a scowl settling onto your lips as you head toward the training yard.

Jace's smile quickly fades as he sees you heading toward him looking...not yourself. Pale, angry, utterly upset.

"Sister, what is—"

You hold out the missive toward him and he takes it with furrowed brows, waiting for you to say something—anything—but you instead remain silent, staring at him, waiting for him to read.

And so he does, his expression morphing into incredulity and then horrification. He begins to shake his head rapidly, his eyes meeting your own once again.

"This—this cannot be."

"It is."

"You cannot mean to—"

"I do."

He steps closer to you. "Dalton Greyjoy is a mad-man—a bloodthirsty beast. He already has over two score wives!"

You snatch the piece of parchment from him, quickly rolling it up and clutching it in a tight grip. "And now he will have yet one more."

You clench your jaw before continuing. "He has promised to make me his rock wife—his one true bride."

"They—they call him the Red Kraken, do you not know why?!"

"Because he is a fierce warrior of the Iron Islands. We will need men like him in the wars to come."

"You are better than this," he tries to insist.

And it is then that you snap. "This is what I am!" You shout, shaking the correspondence held tightly within your fist.

You force yourself to quiet, now that curious eyes are looking your way.

"He has a fleet of ships and fearless reavers. They will do us well against the Greens."

"We have a fleet through Lord Corlys," he snaps back.

"And now we shall have a larger one. As of this moment, I consider myself Lord Greyjoy's betrothed. He desires a princess, so a princess he shall have."

He shakes his head, grabbing your arm, desperate to talk you out of this.

You are not thinking clearly.

"You will be miserable there. You...you will waste away at Pyke as—as lonely and—"

You take a step back, yanking your arm from his grip. "As you said, he has a great many wives. Plenty to share in my misery. We shall do so together."

"What of Cregan? I had thought that the two of you...that something more was developing."

Your eyes turn hard, hateful. "We have nothing. He is our ally. That is all. I cannot wait for a proposal that will never come. I have one here and now, and I must take it before another claims him as their Lord Husband instead."

He scoffs, shocked at your flippant attitude toward a man he had been sure he had seen you only a day past looking at with love.

"I need you to promise me that come first light tomorrow you will return me to Dragonstone to inform mother that I have accepted and must be delivered at once to Pyke."

Tears sting his eyes. His sister. His twin. He...he can't just let you do this.

"Sister, please—"

"Promise me, Jace, or I will make arrangements myself."

There is a terse silence, and then he nods in surrender.

You turn to walk away then, unable to discuss it any further.

It is done.

"I had merely hoped for better prospects for you," he calls softly from behind you.

You stand with your back to him for just a moment as you quickly reply. "Better isn't coming, Jace. War is. And we must all play our part."

You continue on, mumbling, with a sneer, "Including me."

Cregan stumbles back at your words, hiding himself in the armory, eavesdropping through a window as you renounce yourself—your future—to one where you will be tore to a thousand pieces until not a single whole one remains.

All in the name of what? Your family winning a sea-faring battle or two?

You had said the two of you had nothing. Why...why would you think such a thing? Mayhaps because he had asked for time, and in this moment, you filled with doubt toward him.

No one will ever want me for love.

He has now made you think of him as just one more man who sees you as only what you are, instead of who. All the touches and suggestive looks...

Oh Gods, what has he fucking done?

He's about to lose you.

The future which he had envisioned, between waking fantasies and sleeping dreams now rests upon a precipice. One you are about to step over the edge of, never to return to him.

The thought of you there in one of those towering castles over the sea, staring out the window, empty and hopeless and heartbroken with not a single soul to save you from not just him, but yourself—a nightmarish fate—he can't bear the thought.

He clutches his chest, coughing, his heart squeezing painfully. An all-too familiar feeling he'd thought he'd long moved past some time after Arra's passing, but it returns to him now at the thought of you walking away from him. From the North.

It's your home now. It's meant to be. You are supposed to remain here where you most belong. The Gods themselves had ordained it.

He looks down to the scroll protruding from his pocket, meant to be flown to your mother to ask her for your hand, and he knows: his time to do things right by you has already run out in an instant.

There will be no asking her now, but instead you.

Your wishes are all that matter in this moment.

He has to save you. He...he has to keep you where you are loved and wanted and safe.

He steps out, heading back inside, knowing what he must now do.

Once you have returned to your chambers, you lock the door and step swiftly over to your wardrobe, ripping gowns from the hangers—you hear one tear, but care not—and begin stuffing them into the bag you had brought with you.

You angrily wipe gathering tears from your bleary eyes as you grab your shoes from beneath your bed and pack them away as well.

And then you spot it. The cloak he had gifted you.

You swipe it from the back of the settee and make to throw it into the fire, but pause, your fist hovering just before the flames, the black material softly swaying.

You then cry out in frustration and toss it into a corner.

No one will ever want you for love.

You throw your bag so hard against a chair that it scoots a few inches across the floor.

You then bury your face in the mattress and scream, clutching the sheets, the furs, losing yourself.

You gasp for air, hand settling over your abdomen as you try to calm it, fearing you may be sick.

No one will ever want you for love.

You tear at the back of your gown, you rip the sleeves off, as well as the neckline and it finally pools at your feet. You crawl into bed then and cry yourself back to sleep.

No one will ever marry you for love.

Your brows furrow.

You...you're not meant to be here. You don't want to be. Why have you returned to the Red Keep?

You step closer to a window. Snow...in the south and during the summer. Something isn't right.

Mama.

You turn down one hall and then another, until you finally reach your royal apartments.

When you step inside, she's there, but so is Daemon, the two of them twined around one another, their grasping hands dripping with blood.

"M-Mama?"

Her expression is that of indifference when she looks upon you.

Daemon smirks as he glances across the room. "You may call me father now instead."

You follow his line-of-sight and gasp, stumbling backwards, knocking something over.

A charred body lies half-inside the room's hearth, and not but a few feet from it, a golden cloak with a pile of ashes atop it.

Laenor. Harwin.

No.

No.

Not them.

Please not them.

You begin to wildly shake your head as you turn, yanking against the door's handle and when you emerge back into the hall, it has changed.

You're...you're in Winterfell, aren't you?

Dark wooden walls, braziers flickering softly, the howl of a wolf in the distant night.

"Cregan," you whisper to yourself.

He will help you.

You begin racing down the halls, heart beating wildly, unable to get that horrid sight out of your head.

And then you come to his door and you know you are safe.

You knock softly, and you hear feet padding toward you.

It opens.

"What is she doing here?" You hear a woman call from behind him as he stares down at you in irritation.

"I don't want you here," he says through clenched teeth.

You whimper in fear, tears stinging your eyes. "But—"

A lithe young woman comes around the side of him, raven-black curls falling over her shoulders, her form completely naked.

She glances to you with disinterest and then to Cregan. "Come back to bed. Forget about her."

He smiles, cupping her cheek, and nodding as he slams the door in your face.

You choke back a terrified sob, having no idea where else to now go.

No one wants you.

No one.

No one will ever want you for love.

You need to steal a horse and ride south.

To King's Landing.

Aemond.

Aemond wants you.

You will go to him. He loves you. Doesn't he?

Then perhaps we steal away in the dark of night, married in secret by a septon, you hear whispered in your ear from an indeterminable location.

Let us finally be free of our gilded cages, beloved niece. Together, he continues; you feeling familiar hands then holding you safely.

Yes.

Free.

You will be. Together. Just like he said.

"Sister, you must wake."

You go to swat Jace's hand away from your shoulder. "Leave me be, Jace. I wish to rest."

You shove your face into the pillow, exhausted.

"Lord Cregan has summoned us both to his solar."

"Whatever it is does not require me, I'm sure. Please, Jace, just go."

He sighs. "He has demanded us both be present. He says it's of utmost importance and cannot wait."

Your eyes slowly open, your stomach beginning to twist again. You don't want to see or be near him. Do not wish to so much as hear his voice.

The morrow cannot come soon enough.

You sit up, feeling dizzy. "Has word come from home? Has something happened?"

He shrugs. "He wouldn't say. It is why you must come at once."

You finally stand, grabbing the cloak which you rode in with and turn to him, not even bothering with shoes or proper clothing.

Jace thinks to tell you to put on a suitable dress, but when he looks into your eyes and see they are naught but void, he holds his tongue.

He wraps his arm round your shoulders as he leads you out and into the hall, and toward the awaiting Lord Cregan.

When the two of you enter the private meeting room, you merely stare at the floor as you take a seat beside Jace.

Cregan notes with dejection how you refuse to so much as look at him. How you look unkempt—your hair in tangles, only a thin cloak covering your frame, your complexion wan, and eyes puffy and red from crying.

Oh, his sweet girl.

But your pain will soon be soothed and all will be right once more.

You stare numbly out the open window to the right, drowning out whatever Lord Stark and Jace discuss. You do not much care. About anything.

Not anymore.

The full moon emerges from behind clouds, the evening sky gradually growing dark as night begins to fall.

Looking at the moon does not bring them back to you now. Nothing will.

They're gone.

Dead.

And then you wonder if Aemond can see it, too. If he is looking at it thinking of you as well. Would it be night in King's Landing? You doubt it, but when it is, perhaps he will share the sight with you.

The last time you saw him was the last, wasn't it? There would be no returning.

You hope he lets go of you and does not waste his days awaiting a girl who is now lost to him.

A tear slips down your cheek and your chin wobbles, your heart cleaving in two.

Jace is fortunate to have Baela, and Luke Rhaena. At least they will all have fondness in their marriages, if nothing else. What will you have, you wonder? A man who comes to you in the dark of night stinking of death and slick with blood as he claims what will then rightfully belong to him, even if you do not wish it.

What you want doesn't matter.

Mayhaps it never did.

A pawn to be moved about the board. That is all you are.

Mayhaps...you are not really here.

Another tear slips free and you sniffle.

Jace finally turns to you with an elated look upon his face. "What say you, then, sister?"

You slowly turn your head to look at him, your expression blank.

You blink once before standing, both men doing so as well.

You hold your cloak tightly around your trembling form. "Please, forgive me, Lord Stark, Jace. I do not feel well and wish to retire to my chambers to rest. I have a long journey tomorrow and will need it."

You go to step away, Cregan's heart beginning to break, but Jace grabs your arm. "Did you not hear what Lord Stark said?" He asks, his tone panicked.

You slip your arm from his grip. "Whatever is the matter, Jace, I am confident you and Lord Stark will resolve it together. My presence here is unnecessary."

You walk toward the door, your heart in your throat. You need to get out, need to get away from him.

No one will ever want you for love.

"Sister!" Jace calls.

"Princess. Y/N!" Cregan says, coming closer toward you.

Your twin spins you round to him, your back now pressed to the door.

You can't breathe. You just want them to let you go. You can't be here.

"Please, Jace, let me go!" You shout through blinding tears.

"Just—Y/N, listen—" he starts, but you step to the side.

"I don't feel well, please!" You choke out through violent sobs.

Gods, what is happening to you?

Finally, Cregan has had enough and lightly pushes Jace aside as he takes your face between his hands, even as you shove against his chest.

The feel of him...you do not want it. Why is he doing this?

"I have asked your brother for your hand in marriage."

You blink up at him, hiccuping, a long pause of silence.

"W-what?"

He brushes hot tears from your soft cheeks, his heart breaking at the sight of you being this distant to him.

"I would take you for my Lady Wife. Tonight."

"Why?" You ask with furrowed brows, mind spinning.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Because of your beauty, your grace, and your genteelness. Your strength and resolve to do what needs be done in the name of your family, even to your own detriment. You are loyal. And you love whom you love fiercely."

He runs his knuckles gently along your cheek. "I will admit that since the passing of my late Lady Wife that I have received a considerable amount of offers of marriage. None have yet tempted me. Until I set eyes upon you. I was captivated body and soul. The thought of relinquishing you to another who would not appreciate you..."

He shakes his head. "Who would not protect nor value you? Would not treat you as tenderly as I might? It grieves me to consider such a thing."

He takes a step closer. "So, let us prevent it: our mutual agony of losing what can so easily be ours. Agree. Take my hand. And remain in the North where you belong. By my side, where you belong. You said once that the North felt like home to you. Princess—Y/N—you feel like home to me. So do not take yourself from me in the name of a fleet of ships or a small army. I beg of you."

He leans down, kissing you, caring not for what Jace may think. "I will give you the might of the North—and you, the title of Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. I can think of no one more deserving."

You stare up at him, in disbelief, sure you are imagining this. Not hearing him correctly.

You break then, sobbing, unable to catch your breath as you drown in a sea of tears.

Cregan merely pulls you into his chest, his large hand cradling the back of your head as his other arm wraps round you to keep you close.

You don't see, but he gives Jace a silent look, asking him to leave the two of you alone for a moment.

He replies with a solemn nod, silently slipping out of the room.

Cregan presses his lips to the top of your head, your body continuing to quiver in fear.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "For allowing you to feel for even a moment that I do not love you."

You cling to him, your cries eventually quieting as a feeling of weariness instead overtakes you.

“What about Lady Blackwood?” You ask quietly.

He pulls back, continuing to hold you to him, cupping your cheek once more.

His brows furrow. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I…this morn, when I was about to leave my room I heard men in the halls. Passing by. They spoke of a betrothal to her. Rather, that you were seriously considering one…”

He understands then. You’d thought he’d been playing you like a wolf with its prey all this time, while another waited for him to take the hand of.

Gods, his poor, sweet girl.

Your eyes fill with tears again.

He tenderly tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “For some time now my advisors have tried to encourage a union between us—between me and any highborn lady, in truth—so I might produce further heirs. I waited, however. I had married once for love and…”

He sighs. “If I had to marry again out of duty, I would have. But then you came to me, and the moment I set eyes upon you, something within me shifted. It was as if I had become alive once more. The thought of losing that feeling again—losing you?”

He presses an achingly soft kiss to your lips. “It would drive me to the brink of madness.”

He lowers himself to one knee then, holding your hand. “Y/N, I beg of you, in the name of the Gods—Old and New—be my bride this night. Be my wife. My Lady. Be…mine. Let me care for and love and cherish you for the rest of my days. Rather, our days. Do not take yourself from me only to hand yourself over to a monster. I’ll do anything just to make you say yes. So, please—”

“Yes.”

He stops, relief filling his very soul. “You will?”

You nod gently. “Yes.”

He stands on two feet again, pulling you back to his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You nod, your eyes fluttering closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as your heart finally calms.

“I don’t have a wedding gown,” you say quietly.

He nods. “I have something that may suit you. If it does not, wear whatever you wish. All that matters to me is that we become one this night.”

He wraps his cloak around you which hangs from his shoulders, for warmth, you enveloped in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You then stand on tiptoes, reaching for him and he leans down to meet your lips.

“And I you,” you reply, tears shimmering in your eyes.

Jace had been waiting outside as you and Cregan spoke and had been beyond pleased when your betrothed informed him of the good news—that you were to be wed this very night, because you had graciously accepted his proposal.

He could’ve nearly cried from the relief of it all.

His good friend settled—he could tell the young lord was desolate; raising his son all alone with no one of his own to love—and his sister, his twin, to be married to a strong and warm and honorable man.

He could not have imagined a better match.

He is only beyond grateful that a far worse one will now never come about.

So, Cregan had asked your brother to deliver you back to your chambers while he procured for you a gown.

And when he delivered it unto you, it took your breath away.

“It was my mother’s,” he’d stated, settling it into your arms.

Your eyes met his then, filling yet again with tears. “It’s beautiful.”

He had ran his fingers gently along your cheek. “She would have adored you just as I do. I think she would be…quite proud for you to be wearing her dress.”

You’d looked behind you, to your room, then back to him. “I truly hope it will fit.”

He'd nodded. “If it doesn’t, it is still yours to keep.”

Your smile had wobbled as you swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

As Alia readied you for the ceremony, Cregan readied his household. He had promised you that tonight, things would be quiet and intimate. No grand gathering. That, if you wished for one, it would come later.

This evening was about the two of you and no one else.

You had told him vowing to be bound together for life was more than enough for you. Festivities were not necessary.  

The dress is a bit snug, but fits well enough, and it is beautiful. Lace trim, soft gossamer and silk, a long, flowing skirt, with a bodice in the shape of a heart, and the sleeves shimmer against firelight.

You’re grateful to Cregan for allowing you to not only wear, but have this dress. You suppose, in a way, it makes you feel closer to her: his mother. She must have been a lovely woman to raise such a man.

Your hair is long and flowing, with a crown of small white roses adorning your brow, pearls scattered throughout your curls. And you wear the necklace he gifted you of a small silver snowflake.

The final touch is a soft brown fur wrap—made of rabbit—which Alia lays over your shoulders before nodding her head. “I think that should do it, Princess. You look perfect.”

You take her hands in yours. “Y/N, please. This…this is going to be my home now. I would like…I’d very much like for us to be friends. Would you?”

She nods, smiling. “I would.”

Jace’s breath is taken away by your beauty. How you look every inch a northerner. How quickly you were able to transform into one… He wonders, now, if this place has not been awaiting your arrival all this time. Or, you it.

He offers you his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it, nodding. “Don’t let me fall.”

He presses a kiss to your hair, careful not to mess so much as a strand. “Never.”

“Father, Mother, Maiden, Smith, Warrior, Crone, Stranger. I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

The Septon speaks, finalizing the ceremony. “Let all bear witness to the union of Lord Cregan of House Stark, and Princess Y/N of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, being now bound together as one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be they who should seek to tear them asunder.”

A solitary tear slips down your cheek, and over your lips, which mingles between yours and Cregan’s as he takes your face between his hands, and kisses you long and deep. And passionately.

All cheer and laugh and smile, including Jace and Alia—your brother standing as Cregan’s best man, and Alia as your maid-of-honor.

And you know then, it was always meant to be him.

From the beginning, the Godswood in the Red Keep had been the place you went to for refuge and peace. Northern tales had always been your favorite as a child. And snowfall was something you’d desired to one day see—feel upon your skin—for as long as you could recall.

Even just a few days past, Cregan had wrapped you in his cloak before this very same tree. The Gods had known, even if the two of you hadn’t.

They always had.

Dinner is celebratory, but not exactly a grand affair. There is music and drink and hearty foods to be had, while a fire roars in the great hearth.

As the servants had been given short notice, in place of a cake, biscuits with jam and honey are served, which you and your new Lord Husband serve to one another, kissing each other’s face’s clean with many laughs and smiles.

A few journey into Winter Town to visit late-open shops and return with small wedding gifts: fine materials for you and colorful threads, books, and collections of decorative candles. You take all graciously and with a great many thanks, promising they will all be put to use. You even place a few of the candles atop the hearth’s mantle, their wicks flickering as people dance and converse.

For Cregan, he is gifted a couple small ornate daggers, and a pelt, along with a new whetstone. His insistence that he wants for nothing is ignored.

Once things begin to wind down, he turns to you, his hand sliding along your back, to then grip your hip and pull you close as he whispers into your ear “it is time for us to retire, my love”.

You merely lick your lips and nod.

You’ve never been in Cregan’s chambers before tonight. You suppose now they are also yours.

Your chambers.

And the first thing you notice is just how very organized he is. Unusual for a man, you deem. Unless, of course, that is in thanks to the servants having readied the room while the two of you were celebrating.

The door stands behind you and to your right is a large desk, with stacks of parchment, a collection of quills and an inkpot that you’re sure must be the size of your palm.

To the left is a row of hooks mounted to the stone wall, which holds cloaks and furs.

The mantle above the hearth has a long row of well-loved books placed atop it, with worn metal bookends in the shape of howling direwolves.

The same as your room, there is a large settee before the hearth, with brown and dark blue blankets lain across the back.

To the right of it, in the corner, is a wardrobe.

The opposite wall has a set of double-doors, the top portion of which are stained-glass windows that are the sigil of his house, painted in white and black and light blue, small, sheer curtains hanging over them. Beside those doors, a small square table for eating, with stuffed chairs on either side.

And finally, there is a large, four-post bed, turned down, with plenty of blankets and pillows and yes, more furs. On either side are wooden end-tables, and at the foot of the bed, a chest with cushions atop it.

You step over to the hearth and look at the large sword which is mounted on brass hooks atop it.

“Ice,” Cregan states, coming to stand behind you. “The ancestral sword of our house.”

Our house. It warms you to hear him say it.

You lean back against him, smiling softly as his arms wrap around you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…content before,” you remark.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, before gently turning you around in his arms to face him.

He removes the flower crown from your brow, tossing it back onto the settee—perhaps you will press it into a book tomorrow for safe-keeping—before brushing a kiss over your lips. “I’ve not for a very long time now.”

He cups the back of your head, bringing his lips down to your own, his mouth moving slowly against yours, tongue tasting you as his fingers move to the back of your dress, unlacing it.

He kisses down your cheek and your jaw, coming back up to your ear. “Let us bind ourselves as one in this final way, my love.”

A pulse forms between your legs and you nod, your eyes fluttering closed as you push his cloak from his shoulders and it falls to the floor with a soft thud.

He brings his lips back to your own as he tugs your gown down, down, down, until it, too, has pooled at your feet.

You pull away for only a moment, gently folding it before placing it delicately upon the lounge.

He slips his fingers beneath the straps of your shift, and he grips either side in his hands and pulls it down your body.

He dips his head, kissing the tops of each of your breasts and your fingers tangle in his hair, a sigh escaping your lips.

His hands then slide lower, slipping your smallclothes from your waist, and once you have toed off your shoes, all that is left are your thigh-high stockings.

You reach down, gripping the tops of them, until you feel his finger under your chin.

“Leave them.”

With that, he cradles your body in his arms, carrying you over to the bed and he lies you back on fresh sheets as he stands at the foot of it.

You feel as if every nerve ending is exposed as you lie back on your forearms, your legs spread as you watch him undress himself.

He removes his jerkin, then reaches behind him, gripping his shirt back and tugging it over his head, his eyes returning to yours, watching how you lick your lips as he begins to unlace his breeches.

He had, admittedly, once wondered what the hair covering that most delicate part of you would be like in color. He is pleased to find it matches perfectly that which is atop your head.

He toes off his boots, then shoves down his trousers, along with his socks, leaving himself naked before you.

Your eyes widen as he takes his long, thick member in-hand and begins to stroke it.

Your eyes flit back to his, heat pooling between your thighs. Gods, you want him to touch you again.

Yours. All yours.

He takes a step forward, his thighs hitting the edge of the bed. “I don’t want for you to be afraid. I promise you that I’ll be as gentle as I can be.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not,” you reply breathlessly.

He nods, then climbs atop you, pressing his lips to yours and kisses you so achingly slow, removing his hand from himself and instead trailing it down your sensitive skin, your body jerking at the touch, a sigh escaping your lips as he moves to your neck, his fingers coming to explore your hot, wet core.

You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck, the ends of his hair tickling your breasts as he moves his mouth lower, taking a peaked nipple inside of it, rolling it gently between his teeth.

Your back arches, his other hand slipping beneath it, holding you closely as his dextrous fingers spread your labia, gently massaging.

Your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh, Gods,” you whisper.

You’ve touched yourself before. Many a time. But for another to do it—for him? You fear you may be reluctant to ever leave this bed—at the very least this room—after tonight.

He presses a hot, wet kiss between your breasts, then your stomach, his hands gripping your hips before he playfully peppers kisses on your cheeks and chin and nose, earning him a bubbly giggle from your lips.

He is glad to hear it. He doesn’t want you tensed up and anxious this night. He wants you to enjoy yourself. To experience just how pleasurable and intimate lovemaking can be.

His eyes gaze into your own, warm and full of love. “Are you ready, my darling?”

You nod, lifting your hips to meet his. “Yes.”

He presses his lips to yours, begins to rub the tip of himself against your dripping entrance—pleased to find you so ready for him—and he eases inside, breaking through your maidenhead.

You gasp against his lips, tears stinging your eyes.

He presses his forehead to your own. “Breathe, my love. Lift your hips for me again, darling.”

You do, and he sinks deeper, the pain quickly turning into something wholly different as he fills you.

“Gods,” he whispers in your ear as you clench around him for the first time.

He moves one hand into your curls, the other sliding down your thigh, lifting your leg onto his back as he begins to rock his hips against yours, a low moan emitting from the back of his throat at the feel of you.

You coat the length of him, the sound of your arousal meeting his ears as he eases out and then back in so, so slowly.

You lie your head back against the mountain of pillows behind you, soft furs lie beneath your sensitive, naked skin, the fire warming every inch of you.

You feel…somehow euphoric. The two of you joined together as one—literally—causes a small sob to escape your lips.

His head jerks up and he stares down at your tear-streaked cheeks. “Are you in pain? Should I stop—”

You shake your head vigorously. “I’m happy.”

He smiles before pressing his lips back to your own, easing back inside of you.

He then begins to lean up, gripping your waist and settling you into his lap, your bodies chest-to-chest as his hands tug against your hips, encouraging you to find your own pace.

You begin to undulate beneath his instructive hands, your body quivering as his callused palms rub against your back. He lies his head against your breasts and you run your fingers through the tangled strands of his hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head.

“I love you,” you whisper, your heart filled to the brim.

His lips come to hover over your own. “And I you.”

“I regret making arrangements for us three to travel to the Wall tomorrow with our retinue,” Cregan states, his fingertips ghosting across the soft skin of your back.

You lift your head, removing your hand from his chest and instead cupping his cheek.

He continues as he turns more toward you. “For I do not wish to allow you out of this bed for at least a sennight.”

He presses yet another kiss to your already swollen lips with a cheeky grin.

You smile, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs where he has already spilled his seed thrice—once with your legs thrown over his shoulders as he pounded away relentlessly inside of you. That position… You’d been able to form naught more than garbled words and cries of pleasure during.

“Nor do I.”

You slide a leg between both of his. “Mayhaps we could reschedule our visit?”

“Wish that we could, but I already sent a raven, which may have already reached them. At the very least, will be shortly.”

He cups your cheek. “You should know that is why I wished to wait to propose to you. This morn, I had intended to send a request to your mother for your hand. And then I heard that you…intended to take another to husband. I merely wished to do things the right way. Not just because it is—right—but because I know how much your family means to you.”

You flush. “About that…”

He leans over you with furrowed brows, and you cup his cheek with a nervous smile. “I hope you do not find it presumptuous, but just before Jace and I took to flight atop Vermax, my mother told me that…due to your young age, and knowing that you are a widower…”

Your eyes flit from his chest, then back to his own. “She told me if love were to grow—if you asked for my hand and I felt it right; I desired it, then I was to give you both our blessing. So you already had it.”

His lip twitches. “All that upset due to naught more than misunderstandings on both sides.”

He takes your hand in his, brushing a kiss over your fingers. “I will forever regret that for even a moment you doubted the love which I now hold for you.”

You shake your head, curling your fingers against his stubbled cheek. “When did you know?”

“When I saw you with Rickon. That morn, I had gone to the Godswood to pray, asking for the Gods to give me a sign—any—if it was meant to be. For I wished for you—to have you. To claim you as mine own. Desperately. The conversation we had in Winter Town made me doubtful, if for a moment. It is…why I changed tactics,” he states with a raised brow.

“I wanted you assured that I was a man who chased after that which he desires most—that I do not relent easily—and that was you. But it was also a matter of whether you wished to be chased. Seeing you with my son, I knew that was at an end, and commitment was to be what remained. That we belonged together. As one.”

He presses a kiss to your warm forehead. “And when I heard you telling Jace…heard you ready to resign yourself to such a horrifying future, I knew the time I thought I had, had then run out.”

He brushes his lips over yours. “It shattered my heart to see you so…heartbroken tonight. You could not even stand my touch. To think I nearly lost you—”

You crush your lips to his. “I am yours.”

You climb into his lap, straddling him, easing him back inside of you.

He grips your hips firmly. “You are mine.”

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Dating the Slytherin boys (+ Harry) - HEADCANONS

Requested: No

Characters: Mattheo Riddle, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Regulus Black, Harry Potter (+ y/n)

Warnings: NSFW mentions, English is not my first language

A/N: I'm not sure I like this but here we go. However I have to say I like Regulus' one so I might turn his version into a one shot one day (when uni won't be killing me slowly). This will include also the pre-dating/flirting stage as well. SORRY FOR THE TYPOS. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Enjoy! ^^

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @anawritez-posts @pumpkinchee @alwayslatetothefandoms

Mattheo Riddle:

His feelings for you probably confused him at first 

If he falls first, he either won’t let you know or will do everything to get your attention (‘Hey, y/n, come sit here, the seat is free!”, “y/n, do you mind helping me with homework for Snape? I can’t bloody do it”, “How about we go to Hogsmeade, just you and me?”, “you look beautiful, y/n”)

Your love for him always calms him when he gets anxious or when he’s upset, especially after his father comes back

Will tell you things he never told anyone

Would rather spend time with you than with his friends

Is terrified something will happen to you because of his father 

VERY jealous, but trusts you

Despite easily getting angry, he can’t get mad at you. Even during arguments 

LOVES sleeping in your arms or when you just hold him

He's crazy about your body

Loves showering with you, and we both know how it often ends

HOT, passionate sex

Will randomly eat you out without expecting anything in return (doesn't mind if you return the favor, though)

100% calls you "baby" or "love" all the time

Doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him as long as you love him

Your love makes him feel lighter and stronger

You're his whole world

Feels bad when he hears someone criticize you for dating him 

Always makes sure you don’t overwork yourself, and makes sure you get enough sleep, water and food, and comforts you when you're anxious

Holds your hands when he's anxious or stressed

Will listen to anything you have to say 

Crazy about your perfume

Theodore Nott:

Struggles to express his love or feelings in general, at least in the beginning 

Has never done serious relationships before, and it may cause some trouble in your relationship, as you end up believing he doesn’t care about you

It causes many fights, and the last one will be the first time he says ‘I love you’

Always goes to you for comfort 

Loves sleeping with you in his arms/on his laps, or cuddling, and with time he can’t sleep without you

Loves watching you sleep 

Loves having you on his lap

Always gets you great gifts (even randomly)

“Well, it thought it was pretty, and…it reminded me of you.”

Will fight any guy who is rude to you or acts like a creep 

Very jealous (trusts you, doesn’t trust others)

Doesn’t mind PDA at all, will gladly hold your hand or kiss you in public

Always has a hand on your waist or around your shoulders 

Very supportive in everything you do, even when he doesn’t understand it/isn’t really interested in it

Isn’t very good with comforting people (mostly because he's not used to it), but will hold you and listen to you as long as you need, can even give you advice/reassurance 

Every compliment/'I love you' you say melts his heart and means much more to him than he shows, same goes for anything you do for him

Loves doing fun things, even if it’s just throwing snowballs at each other during winter (which ends in loving kisses, just savouring the joy of being together)  

Love getting in a pool with you and playing "childish" games during summer

Any form of intimacy means A LOT to him 

He's used to hooks up and "fucking" but it takes him a bit of time to have sex with you (despite being crazy about you and your body) because you mean everything to him and with you it's really making love instead of just "fucking"

The first time is loving and slow yet passionnate (eye contact at all times, hands holding, desperate kisses from him), and it gets a bit rougher and passionate the next times (but aftercare, which he isn't used to, is always on point and keeps getting better)

Is secretly very insecure, and is terrified you will leave him (especially for another “better” guy) 

Craves your touch and your love but won’t admit it

His boggart is probably you being dead alongside his mother

Will tell you sweets things in Italian

Very clingy in private - and also in public with time

With you he learns to be happier and discovers a happier side of himself he didn't know he had

Loves you much more than he actually shows at first 

Will often say you're all he has (and means it)

But with time, you have no reason to doubt his love and he’s the perfect boyfriend

Blaise Zabini:

Probably will court you like the gentleman he is

He doesn’t trust people easily and might be a little distant (while always polite and kind) in the early stages of your relationship 

But with time he becomes very warm and smiles a lot

Always kisses the top of your hand or your forehead 

Doesn’t do much PDA except for holding hands and kisses on your forehead

However in private he’ll 100% cuddle you and hold you

Dates in parks or restaurants  

Get you flowers at least once a month

Will always defend you against others 

One of his love languages is acts of service

Lorenzo Berkshire:

You either were friends before dating or he fell in love with you at first sight, there is no in between

Takes you on fun dates (arcade, funfair, theme parks) 

Can be shy at the beginning, which will make it a bit hard for him to talk about how he feels about you

Movie nights where you two eats lots of snacks and sweets while cuddling 

Always smiles when you enter a room

So supportive 

Loves when you're on his lap

He has no problem with PDA

Quickly willing to meet your family if you agree

He’s a great listener and mostly gives good advices 

Loves taking naps with you 

Always makes you sure you get enough sleep, water and food

Won’t let you get yourself into dangerous situations

Loves to go anywhere with you, no matter the activity and even if he just follows you around 

Many pet names

If you're Muggleborn or grew up among Muggles, he will totally ask you questions about the muggle world

Passionnate sex, will get rough if he hasn't seen you in a long time or if it's angry sex after he got jealous

His aftercare is the best, and he's always thankful you trust him enough to have that form of intimacy with him

Draco Malfoy:

Won’t flirt at first with you but keeps wanting your attention

Tries to seduce you with expensive gifts, and is a bit taken aback when you say he doesn’t work

Continues to get you gifts, but will make sure they match your interests/tastes, and keeps expensive gifts for your birthdays and Christmas (even though he’d like to get them all year for you) 

At first he doesn't show any weakness in your presence

With you he’ll learn patience and to focus of more positive things, and also to stand up to his father

Takes you on dates every chance he gets

Will ditch his friends to spend time with you

Probably makes Crabbe and Goyle carry your bags or do things for you

So proud to be dating you, it might even make him more arrogant

Gets grumpy when jealous but after a kiss on the cheek he’s back to his normal self 

Will invite you to his home and write you nearly everyday during holidays

Hates it when Harry or any Gryffindor boy tries to talk to you

Surprisingly has no problem with PDA

Loves when you come to see him play during Quidditch matches

Tom Riddle:

Oh boy

It started with him admiring/watching you from afar, for a reason he can’t understand

SUPER confused by what he feels for you and why

Will probably try to get closer to you through homework or through books if he sees you read one

Will know everything about you, and will secretly follow you, saving you if you’re in danger with you never knowing who saved you

Crazy about your perfume, so much so that it makes him steal one of your clothes just to be able to smell it anytime he wants

After a while, he’ll spend most of his time with you without ever admitting he likes it

Will probably let you know his feelings for you after he cast a spell on a guy for being a creep with you 

Won’t let another man touch you

Will ask Mattheo for advice to be better or to make you fall in love with him

Will do your homework without hesitation, even if he pretends that he hates it, and will leave explanations so you understand his answers/his work

No PDA except for holding hands or your hand under his arm, but will make sure to stay close to you at all times 

Is a surprisingly good listener 

VERY jealous, but surprisingly isn’t mad or suspicious at you

“Did you enjoy having his attention? Do you wish for me to show you how my attention is better?” 

He doesn't stress over homework or stuff like that, so he finds it ridiculous when you do (learns with time to be more understanding)

Will let flowers in your room with a note on it

Pretends to not care about the gifts you get him for his birthday or Christmas but it actually means so much to him as no one ever got him any gifts before 

Nothing the others say about him gets to him, but he gets angry when he hears someone say that you deserve better than him

Is secretly insecure about his background and the fact that he’s poor, and thinks you deserve better 

As Voldemort: Might be torn between continuing his goals for power or spending a simple life with you; is aware you’ll leave him if he gets on a darker path 

As Voldemort’s son: would do everything to protect you from his father, and if he’s forced to get the Dark Mark, he will makes sure you don’t know 

Possessive kisses 

Would hurt anyone who does you wrong

Borrows money from Draco to take you on dates or to get you gifts, as he feels like you deserve the nicest things, even though you keep telling him his mere presence is enough

May feel a little bit guilty that he can’t properly show you his love like “normal” boyfriends do 

Won’t admit it but considers you the only good thing in his life, and if he ever lost you he’d get on a dark path

Won’t cuddle at first, but if you wake up first you’ll find him sleeping close to you, with at least one of his hands touching you

Always notices when you don’t eat, sleep or drink enough

You’re the first (and only) person he will feel romantic love for

He has a bit of sexual experience before, but with you it's completely different - once you guys have sex for the first time, he becomes obsessed with your body and how it makes him feel

Loves fingering you

"You like it, dove?"

Even if you guys don’t work out, he won’t ever be with somebody else 

Would ask your parents for you hand in marriage, but honestly it's just out of politeness, the only answer that matters to him is yours

Regulus Black:

Like Blaise, he was raised the old fashioned way

Acts coldly towards everyone except you, his tone and eyes gets warmer and kinder when talking/looking at you, and you’re the only person he’ll smile at

You were his best (and only) friend and he has been in love with you for years

He hides his feelings very well, but one day you start dating someone else (thinking Regulus doesn’t share your feelings) but he can’t bear it and confesses his feelings

Always defends you

He’ll take you on restaurants or picnics dates, always bringing flowers

Mostly fine with PDA (holding hands, hands on your waist)

Thinks he’s very lucky to have you

Probably already starts thinking of marrying you during your last year at Hogwarts 

A bit jealous, but can’t stand it when Sirius tries to talk to you

Will gladly do your homework with/for you

Loves it when you sleep in each other’s arms, loves feeling you close

Loves it when you call him “Reggie” (only you is allowed to)

Will literally do everything you ask him to

You’re everything to him

Can’t stay away from you for long

Will get worried if you’re five minutes late

Always calls you “sweetheart” or “love”/”my love” 

Slow, romantic sex most of the time but sometimes he needs to be rougher

Thanks to you he’ll feel lighter and he will become kinder

You’ll even make him change his views on blood purity and stand up to his parents, and with time he gets closer to Sirius thanks to that (and you) 

If that doesn’t change and he still joins Voldemort, he’ll leave you a letter before going to the cavern, saying how much he loves you and how much you mean to him

Harry Potter:

Don’t expect any pet names from him, but he might create a nickname with your name (like he calls Ginny ‘Gin’ in the Cursed Child) 

His love languages are fierce protectiveness, loyalty and a patience he didn’t knew he had

Has no problem with PDA because he doesn’t care about what other people think  

Loves cuddles

Rarely gets mad at you, and feels guilty when he does

Mostly gets mad at you when you hurt yourself (for example during Quidditch) but it's also because he was scared for you

Hot kisses in private

Will be jealous if he sees you with another guy 

He’s passionate in a lot of things he does, and it includes you and everything you do

Will fiercely defend you again anyone, can even throw hands

Gets FURIOUS when Umbridge hurts you during detention, and will cuddle you for hours and do everything he can to make the pain disappear

Knows people are mean to you during fifth year because you're dating him and he hates it

During that year the only peace he feels is when he's holding you or when you sleep in his arms (it's also the only time he doesn't get nightmares)

Very supportive 

Loves getting you gifts 

You make him feel SO happy, he’ll just keep smiling for no reason 

Gets more and more clingy with time

Always write to you during the holidays (you always invite him to come to your house)

I'm not sure about sex while you guys are at Hogwarts but he 100% feels lust for you, there will definitely be hot making sessions when you guys are alone in a dark corner of the castle and it often ends up with you against the wall with your legs around his waist while he kisses your neck and caresses your legs

However sometimes he just can't stop himself and will eat you out (even maybe finger you at the same time), and will be proud when you come

Any act of service you do for him means a lot

You're always worried about him when he's at the Dursleys but he reassures you that he's fine

Comes to you in the middle of the night if he has a nightmare and generally comes to you for comfort or to rant 

Needs you more than ever after Voldemort comes back and after Sirius’ death 

Misses you like crazy during his quest for Horcruxes, and he can’t bear the thought of something happening to you 

Might struggle to show it, but he knows and is thankful of how patient and comprehensive you are with him, and that makes him want to be the best boyfriend he can be

Terrified Voldemort might hurt/kill you

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