#yet this one was surprisingly hard to write!

[robosexualunderground]

Keyla Detmer/Joann Owosekun, Mature, ~4.5k words

Keyla Detmer and Joann Owosekun enjoy the success of a mission, celebrate a wedding, and navigate their new relationship.

Cheers! 🥂 Here's my dish for this year's @startrekpotluck. Thank you so much for letting a less experienced chef experiment in the kitchen - I've had so much fun participating this year!

[neriyon]

Gotta ask for 15 and 20 for the pre-dawntrail wol questions! 😌

Pre-Dawntrail WoL questions

15. What would your wol be if they weren't the wol? What would they do as a job or career? Would they be happier?

Hawu'li would be some sort of travelling healer! Slowly going around from village to village, focusing on helping places that might not have their own resident healer. So technically not that different from now haha - just with a lot less god-killing and world saving, and more focus on individual cases.

As for how happy he would be: he'd defenitely like that and could not think of a better career, but he'd never meet even half of the people he meets now and I feel like that'd be a huge loss for him. Not to mention his separation anxiety would probably always stay around the ARR/HW levels (bad), since he might not have companions he'd slowly grow to trust to be there even when he can't see them at that exact moment.

20. What is your wol's best quality? What's the thing that they do that really gets stuff done of makes people like them? Hard mode: their own perception vs. a friend or partner's perception.

Hmm, I was first gonna say kindness, but maybe his very social nature? He's not afraid to start conversations and seems to naturally get along with people he meets. Like every time Scions arrive to a new location and start the "time to do some chores to get friends", chances are Hawu'li's already chatting up some random passerby. Leave him at it for a hour or so and he'll most likely return with 5 new friends ready to answer questions.

[hlvrai-stuck-together]

...You're really sure they both forgive me for what happened? Cuz I fucked up really badly this time.

I'm sure. It wasn't your fault, Bubby.

...

Well then, I forgive Gordon for stealing my chips that one time too, then. And the dip. And for leaving crumbs all over the couch. And for not washing his damn hands before touching the remote.

I'm surprised you even remember all that, but umm? Thanks?

You're welcome, fucking nasty little sewage boy.

Hey!

*(The fire continues to shrink in size, becoming a much smaller version of what it was before.)*

I have the blanket! Apologies for the holdup, I had forgotten that we had taken the large one with us upstairs last night and had spent a rather lengthy amount of time looking for it down here! Hopefully this can help!

...I may have overestimated the size of the fire. Do you still need the blanket?

Yes, please. Thank you.

*(The large blanket is thrown over the stovetop. Without the fire in the way, the dials behind it become clear- they're all turned off. Dr. Coomer is able to hold onto the blanket with his limb enhancers, and keeps it in place for a moment while they wait.)*

Thank you, Harold. Sorry about the mess.

It's no trouble.

Just maybe let me do the cooking for a little while.

Fine, I can do that.

*(Dr. Coomer lifts the blanket. The fire is gone.)*

[journeyofthemoonprophet]

It has been a full week since you arrived in Wep’keer, and Yawa says you’re recovering well. Your shallower scrapes have already healed away, and the wounds that remain bandaged, while tender, are all but closed up by now. Most are a pink that promises to fade, but a few have become locked into the telltale texture of scarring. You know you'll probably have a handful more yet when this is all over.

Kuki is still in the loft. You haven’t exactly seen her since she gave you her warning, and while Yawa and Akemi have both gone up at least once, she has yet to come down. Your curiosity is starting to eat at you, but both of them are determined to keep her work a secret.

"Is this goddess of yours so impatient that now you can’t wait?” Yawa playfully smacks your arm--then instantly apologizes when she’s hit a spot that’s still sore. “Patience, Waka,” she murmurs, gently tending to the bruise, “she’ll be ready by the time you are.”

"Oooor,” you offer through clenched teeth, “this is all a scheme to get me to stay longer. Despite what Moshiri said.” You prop your chin against the other fist, before raising an eyebrow at her. “Did Akemi put you two up to this? I won’t tell her if you tell me.”

Yawa studies you for a moment, then chuckles softly to herself. “It’s good to see your personality emerge after all of this.” She then leans over and bops you square on the forehead. “Even if you’re proving to be a bit of a handful.”

.

Despite her scolding (or maybe resulting from it?) Yawa does give you free reign of the village without her supervision. Not that you’d really know where you’d go, but she figures it’s better than being cooped up in the last few days of your recovery. She all but shoos you out the door, insisting you stretch your legs and take in the fresh air before it snows again.

You’re starting to wonder if Yawa forgot you don’t exactly live here, or really know anyone well enough to warrant a visit. (Couldn’t she have at least sent Akemi with you?) At least you had enough mind to grab Pillow Talk before she all but shoved you out the door; you do know a good place to sit and play for a while...

"It’s been colder than usual ever since the demons came, I swear,” murmur a passing couple as you trek down the pathway. “I don’t know what we’re going to do in the darker months...”

A gust of wind forces you to shield your eyes, but when you lower your arm you’re somewhere else. The shapes of twin peaks are barely visible through the blizzard, and owl hooting reverberates in your core. A voice is chanting behind you over the howling wind, though you don’t know what it’s saying. You don’t need to.

You blink just as the mountains erupt into fire, and suddenly you’re back in the village. Everything about the storm has vanished... except for the very familiar sensation settling in the back of your mind like a nesting bird.

“Hey, are you alright?” Something tugs at your sleeve, and you realize a girl is holding your arm, and seeming very relieved when you glance back at her. “Gods be good, you looked like you left your body for a flash. You’re the man staying with Granny Yawa, right? Do we need to fetch her?”

Quite the opposite. You actually know exactly who you need to talk to this time.

You know how you’ll be repaying Wep’keer.

[arolesbianism]

If I ever do get properly into dst character modding I like have to make an oni character mod at some point, but the issue is Id want it to be an Olivia mod so bad but also Nails is as far as I'm aware the only legal character name wise and as such it feels like it has to be them, y'know for the bit. But also I have already written too much Olivia dst dialogue and I need an excuse to use it damnit

[tonycries]

Golden Boy - G.S.

Synopsis. Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends/lovers to enemies to lovers, oral (fem receiving), facesítting, creampíe, slight Gojo x Reader, running away from it, Suguru is so SOOO in love still, unprotected, spítting, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort, mentions of bIood and kníves, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. I was listening to fantasmas while writing this so take that how you will LMAO.

The difficult part, surprisingly, wasn’t infiltrating Geto Suguru’s Time Vessel Association. No, a few faux tears, a decoy curse, and you were in - stepping through his grandiose hideout. The difficult part was convincing yourself that you were here to kill him. 

Something that utterly foolish little part of yourself still had trouble believing - even when you had a knife to his throat. 

“Any last words?” you spit, muffled through your mask, thankful for the way it covers up just how much your voice shakes. Maybe because of the way his lips curl into a familiar smile, maybe from his cool dagger pressing against the back of your neck.

Seconds away from a bloodbath. 

You don’t know if you’re breathing - or if he is either. Eyes locked on the way Sugur- your target only raises his hand up, up, up - getting ready to strike. To kill. Only you’d get him first and-

Snip!

You’re not dead. But you might as well have been, because your mask falls onto the tatami mat with a deafening clatter. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

It’s hard not to remember. 

“You don’t have any right to say that.” your knees tighten around where you had him straddled to the ground. Your hand pinning one of his down, blade digging deeper into Suguru’s pale neck - eyeing the slow, steady drop of blood that beads down it. “Didn’t think you’d remember me, either.”

With your mask now no longer on your face, you could traitorously take in that relaxed grin - as if your life wasn’t in his hands right now. As if he didn’t care. 

Suguru’s hair was much longer now, splayed out across the floor inkily. Circling around his broad shoulders, around the eyes that were just a bit harder than they were ten years ago. And yet, you catch the way they flicker briefly with something so raw as he whispers gently, “How could I ever forget my first love?”

So quiet that you could’ve blamed it on your imagination - and you wish you did. 

It’s so unfair. 

Unfair how you let out a gasp, despite yourself. Unfair how you were the best sword wielder that Jujutsu had to offer, yet your fingers tremble on your knife. Heart stuttering at the mere sight of the way his eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile. Pleading, like all he could see was you from what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 

Those golden years. Back when rare Susanoomon cards were what you’d fight over, and the only stains he’d wipe off were from the grassy grounds of Jujutsu High, still faint underneath the encrusted blood on that uniform nestled away deep in his wardrobe.

You manage to grit out, “Shut up. You left me- us.”

“I did.”

Like it was all he wanted to see. 

“You never loved me.”

“I do.”

Your voice is shrill at this point, words stumbling over each other. “You’ve massacred more people than you’ve saved.”

Suguru wastes no time denying - or in any niceties. Looking right into your absolutely crazed eyes as he answers, “I have.” And his answer rings so hollow and emotionless in your ears, cold-blooded. Absolutely nothing like the boy you remembered. The one that would laugh and steal you away to take you around campus on his bicycle, all because the next class was “too far”.

“I- fuck.” You place both hands on the hilt of your blade, distantly registering the way that Suguru lets his own drop onto the floor. “I should kill you- I should kill you right now.”

Just one flick of your wrist. Fast and simple. 

In and out - exactly like you’d been ordered to. 

“And to die by your hand would be a death that someone like me doesn’t deserve.”

You both jolt when your knife hits the ground - as if neither of you were expecting it. And before you can stop yourself, you’re fisting his thick robes, pulling Suguru’s face up closer to yours. Mere inches away. 

“Then- then I’ll-” you choke, a hand coming up to dig into the sides of his milky neck, leaving neat, red indents on his skin. “I’ll kill you with my own hands, Suguru.”

And he’s known you for years - would never admit it, but was by your side for only half as long as he’d watched over you. 

Saw - only from a distance -  those big fat tears you cried at graduation, the curve of your lips as you pulled a very reluctant Nanami into a hug outside his new office building. The steely look in your eyes meeting Satoru’s much softer one, telling him first how you’re going into teaching. And the smile on your face when you thought of who else might have, too. If he’d gotten the chance.

Always hidden.

Never so close to this frenzied glint in your gaze, a tiny sob threatening to escape your lips. Never like this - and yet, he never thinks you’ve looked so beautiful. 

But what would someone like him know about beauty, anyway?

You flinch as Suguru reaches a hand up to thumb away the furrow between your brows, catching on the single, stray tear sitting at your cheekbone. Whispering - so low that you involuntarily crane your head closer to hear - “Still such a crybaby.”

“And you’re still going to be the death of me.”

Soft - Suguru’s lips are as soft as you imagined. And it’s not exactly the tender, picture-perfectly romantic first kiss his teenage self dreamt up with you, but fuck if he wasn’t going to remember this like it was. 

Perfect. 

Pretty lips smothering yours, all slow and sensual. Drinking in those deliciously breathless gasps of yours as he sucks on your candied lips. 

You gasp, “Suguru.” and it comes out teary. Making you finally register the wetness rolling down your cheeks, glistening against the dim lighting. You tighten your grip around his neck, “This won’t fix-”

“I know.” Fuck, does he know better than anyone else. 

A hand slides up your forearm, the other cupping your face to pull you closer. He’s running his hot tongue along your cheek, pooling your salty tears on his lips. “But let me make you forget - if just for tonight. Please.”

The only answer Suguru gets is your fingers leaving his neck, dancing feather-light across his sculpted shoulders to slide under his robe. Feeling the smooth plane of his pecs underneath your palm, that traitorously thundering heartbeat he wishes he could slow down. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck.” he pants into your open mouth. The sight of your glossy, slightly puffy lips having him surge forward to reattach his with yours with a pained grunt. “God- jus’ a bit more, my love.”

Again. And again and again- like he was addicted. 

He’d always been, with you, anyway.

You let out a sinful sound of his name when Suguru kisses down your neck, lips slotting over your racing pulse. Throbbing and so real under his lips, remembering how he used to feel this song under his arms long before. 

“Oh- shit.” you moan, when his now rougher - larger - hands sneak underneath your crumpled shirt, deftly unbuttoning. Unbuckling. Impatient. “Sugu-”

A hoarse groan leaves him, only spurring him to all but rip the rest of your uniform off your body faster. 

And at the first sight of you clad in nothing but your panties, Suguru’s kiss-bitten lips are falling slack. Brows shooting up into the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead now, “Been missing out, hm?” He’s dipping a hand down to run the back of his index along your clothed, puffy folds. Up and down. “Really been-” Heart clenching when he remembers the way Satoru now looks at you with a familiar glint. One he knew all too well. “-missing out, my love.”

You’re only trailing your fingers along his cheek - his neck, grazing over that little mark from your blade. He groans - maybe from your touch, probably from the way you’re dragging your cunt across that massive bulge underneath you. “Please, Suguru. Wan’ you.” 

And if Geto Suguru has spent ten years denying himself, surely he could sacrifice it for the way he lifts your stuttering, sloppy hips up so easily. All the way up until they were hovering over his mouth, hot breath hitting your clothed cunt. 

“Wanna taste you.” he groans, spying on the way your slick beads through your panties. “Wan’ see if you’re as hah- sweet as I imagined. Please.”

And he’s obsessed with the way you’re sinking yourself down so gently, cock jumping at the thought of you afraid you’d suffocate him - as if you didn’t have your blade at his throat just minutes ago.

“Fuuuck, don’t worry, pretty.” he groans, soft darting to lick at the juices smeared across your inner thighs. “Some more now. Put it all on me, I can take it- fuck-”

Your syrupy sweet cunt has Geto losing whatever’s left of his fucking restraint, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head because you were so sweet. So pretty looking down at him with your glassy eyes. So addictive. He moans, chest heaving as he breathes in your essence. “What happened to that feist from earlier? Gonna hafta do a lil’ more than that now.”

“B-but-”

It’s at this moment you realize that at any given moment Suguru could’ve easily taken the upper hand. A hand of his pulls down your hesitant hips, swollen lips against your covered ones in such a filthy kiss. 

He hums into your folds, bunching your panties between them. “Mmm. Shit- jus’ like I imagined.” Hot tongue dipping just underneath the flimsy fabric to feel out your sloppy entrance, “Better, even. Jus’ look how well you’re taking me, pretty.”

But you don’t - too scared to find out that you’d like the sight more than you should. How you wished you could go back to the golden days where it didn’t matter - wasn’t a matter of life and death. And something else entirely. 

And this dilemma has Suguru’s brows furrowing, sharp canines lightly nipping at one of your swollen folds. Wanting to see how it’s him - despite everything, it’s still him making you feel this way. “None of that now.”

RIP!

With this you have to look down, a desperate whine leaving your stupid mouth at the fucking sinful sight down below. Your panties now a tattered excuse in between Suguru’s teeth, baring them with such a devilish grin right up at you. 

“See?” he spits out the fabric onto the floor beside him, half-lidded eyes peering up at you so sultry. Looking right at you as his tongue lolls out, spreading your bare, needy folds shamefully. “Isn’t this much better?”

“Hngh- fuck, yes-” you slide your fingers through his now-messy hair, falling out of that half-bun. Jolting on top with each push of his tongue past that feeble ring of resistance, the lewd squelches leaving you with each graze of the wet muscle against your walls. “Shit- Suguru it feels too good. So deep ngh-”

He swats a hand against your ass, making you sit your slutty hips down deeper, all the way till Suguru’s jaw was grinding so greedily against your cunt. Tongue bullying past your folds in and out in and out in and-

“God- hah-” he’s pulling away to gasp deep lungfuls of air - secondary, to the way he was back immediately to making out so hotly with your tight pussy. “Mmm fuck. This cute lil cunt is so needy. S’like you’re trynna suck my tongue off.” Thumb reaching up to draw slow, languid circles that have you throwing your head back. “So perfect.”

Your delirious mouth is dropping open, body moving before your mind as you strain to reach your hand behind. Trembling. Shaky when you manage to cup Suguru’s aching erection. 

“G-guess m’not the only one ah- needy, hm?” you smirk, having him bucking and spitting out harsh little profanities with each rub of your palm down his drenched length. 

Suguru doesn’t give you a response - because his fingers are speaking on his behalf. Dipping into your sloppy hole, locating your g-spot, as if on instinct. He’s milking your pretty cunt while he roams for those sweet spots. Lips muffling around your throbbing clit, “You’re always right, my love. You always were.”

And his words are so gentle - mouth so sloppy. Squelches so obscene. 

Nose pressing up at the top of your abdomen, cheeks hollowing wetly around the sensitive nub. Letting your juices drip all the way down his chin, his jaw, dangerously close to that cut on his neck. 

The hand sliding back and forth across the swollen outline of his cock had Suguru get more frenzied. Faster. Like it was his personal mission to make you cum on his tongue before he fucking passed out. 

Penetrating your gummy hole with both his fingers and his tongue, spreading it open more. And it’s all you can do to keen, “Oh- oh my god.” Riding Suguru’s pretty face harder. “Shit- m’close, Suguru.”

“Always right.” he gasps, swiping his tongue faster across your clit. “Always perfect” Alternating between squeezing back into your hole, your sweet spots. Stretching out your gummy walls as far as they’d go. “Always made f’me.” Assaulting it with both his fingers and his tongue. Again. And again and again and- “Jus’ wish I got to have you sooner.”

His words make you snap your eyes up from his mean mouth to meet his gaze, devouring you as greedily and depraved as his tongue. They make your thighs burn with the effort to drag your sloppy pussy faster.

They make you cum - shaking, crying out little mewls of “Ngh- fuck. M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”

The way your voice is breaking at the end of each moan has Suguru’s cock straining so painfully against his trousers. One hand firmly on your waist, arching you deeper to tongue you through your high in ways he’s only ever dared to imagine. 

Ways he’s selfishly hoped only he could - even after all these years, the sight of any other man looking at you wrong having his irritation flaring. 

“S’right.” his voice is sending stars bursting behind your lids, tongue even worse. Having you pleading and so sensitive. “I got you, my love. Give it t’me.” Messy - not as forgiving as he’d like to be. “Give it alllll to me.”

And you do - all but smothering Suguru’s eager tongue with all your sweet juices. Ones he’s lapping up happily, tilting his head back as far as it’d go on the floor, letting your heady slick fill up his throat. His pussydrunk lips let out a hiss, both at the burn of that cut on his neck, and the way you’re desperately pulling your hips back. 

Too overstimulated. Too fucking sensitive. Too much - but it would never be enough for Suguru. 

“Please, Suguru.” you sob at the way your limp hips are being pulled back by a needy Suguru. “M’too sensitive. I- fuck-” He’s only lapping at your quivering cunt leisurely, smirk prominent against your swollen folds. 

And it’s all you can do to deliriously slip a hand underneath his robes, a desperate attempt to keep whatever shred of sanity you have left. Fingers feeling down his unfairly toned abs, the tufts of hair at his pelvis, reaching-

“Oh fuck!” Your heavy eyes admire the way Suguru arches into your touch in surprise - like he couldn’t help himself. Eyes flying open, glossy, plump lips curling into a disbelieving grin, “Ya really are made f’me, huh?” 

That’s all it takes for Suguru to head to your lewd whims, bruising fingers on your hips finally loosening to let you sit your sloppy cunt back down on his lap - except, this time, you were seated directly on his rock-hard cock. Pussy lips spreading around his length to just soak him. 

“Oh, my love.” He sits up, splaying you out so prettily on his lap. “How I’ve missed you.”

You don’t even register the way you’re raising your head up to meet Suguru’s - not until he spits. Once. Twice. Straight onto your awaiting tongue that you didn’t even realize you were sticking out, saccharine sweet saliva making such a mess when he’s crashing his lips into yours. 

“Yeahh, like that. Kiss me like that.” he slurs against your mouth, drunk off both sets of your sweet lips. Getting out through wet, sloppy pecks. “How I wish I had you sooner.”

You can feel your heart thumping so wildly against your ribcage, matching the needy, needy staccato of Suguru’s cock throbbing between your puffy folds. And, well, you really can’t be blamed for the way you break the kiss to look down and oh-

Oh Suguru notices that furrow between your brows, kissing away the nervous little wobble in your lower lips as he grunts, “God, you’re killin’ me.” 

Fuck. Killing him?

You were the one sent in for the kill, but it seems you won’t be making it out here alive. 

Because Suguru was so big, girth rubbing up against your thighs. So angry and heavy, smearing hot precum over his abs, your cunt, adding to add to the absolute mess. Long enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk out of here - which, honestly, Suguru would’ve preferred. To keep you with him forever. 

To have you always mewling so prettily when he’s dragging his fat head down your sensitive slit. To have his name - and only his name - leave your bruised lips when he’s asking, “Who’s got you this wet?” 

You’re so cockdrunk already that you’re groaning mindlessly, “You- Suguru-”

“No, that’s not what you call me.” 

And it takes you a few, long seconds to understand what he’s saying, all the while trying to focus with the leaky tip being pressed past your swollen folds. Slow. Torturous. Hitting you so violently at the same time he slips past that first, slutty ring of muscle. 

“Sugu!”

A blinding grin splits across Suguru’s absolutely fucked-out face, brows furrowing together in ecstasy. “That’s more hah- like it.” Not having heard that familiar little nickname - one of your many - fall from your lips since high school - one that makes a heart he forgot he had grow five sizes too large. “Now, just take me-” Hips bucking up, so strong and ruthless. “-like I know you can, okay?”

Over and over. 

You can’t let out anything but barely-lucid whines at this point, letting Suguru sink in inch by fucking inch. Your walls stretched out so perfectly to take his sheer size. But the stretch- oh, the stretch.

Fuck, it has you clawing at Suguru’s exposed shoulders, fingers leaving angry, red marks down the muscles. An obscene ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with each time he reels his hips back, only to bully his aching cock inside until he physically couldn’t.

“Hngh- Sugu, s’too big-” You buck your hips down in shallow, tentative grinds to meet his filthy method of fitting in. “Too- much. Didn’t expect you to be so mean-”

“The sorcerer that hah- held a knife to the infamous Geto Suguru’s neck-” he groans, hands groping your ass to move you further down his massive cock. To watch the way your sloppy entrance was stretching out so much to suck him up. “-can take this too, right? I know you can.” He reaches a deft thumb around to toy with your pretty clit, making your cunt relax like the good girl she is. Fucking up deeper, just a bit more mean. “You- can-”

Several things happen at the tail end of Suguru’s sentence - he’s finally fitting in all in one go. With a calculated, harsh thrust up into your poor cunt, your ass is kissing his heavy balls, pussy rubbing against the hair at his hilt. So full and so much.

And Suguru knows he just might not see heaven - but shit, does he feel like he’s there right now. The feeling so good that both of you letting out mingling gasps of pleasure. 

Your back falling onto the now soiled mats like such animals, the other not far behind.

“You alright, my love?” Suguru hums against your throat when you’re managing to adjust somewhat to the stretch, aware enough to kiss the palm resting protectively underneath your head - making sure you don’t hurt yourself.

You bat your teary lashes, “Never been better, Sugu.”

And something about that makes him remember. 

Remember the way you’d tell him the exact same thing when you fought with curses too strong for you - coming back to the dorms all battered and bruised, but alive. Flashing him that addictive grin, and a crooked thumbs up, “Never been better, Sugu. Gold, actually.”

His golden girl.

Shaking away the tightness at his throat, Suguru instead focuses on wrapping your trembling legs around his toned waist. Tight.

“Sh-shit- you’re milkin’ me so good, fuck-”

Abs burning as he just drags his cock along your plushy walls, keeping your legs held wide open for him. So tight - like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Making sure to angle his hips in just the way that’ll have your eyes tearing at the way he was massaging all your sweet spots. 

And sure enough - “O-oh my god-” you breathe, and shit, it was so hard to speak. Suguru’s cock too big, too depraved. Speeding up with every ram of his hips into a steady, mean pace. “Jus’ like that, fuck-”

“Mhm?”

You paw at his free hand settled by the side of your neck, trailing it down, down, down - rings and all - to the part of your stomach you could feel his thick tip hitting. A slight bulge, abusing your cervix over and over, “Here-”

“-s’where I belong.”

Your brows raise at his interjection, and you swipe away the long locks of hair partially covering Suguru’s face, legs tightening around his hips as you take a long, hard look. He repeats, “S’where I belong. Where ngh- you belong.”

Like some deep, dark part of him was trying to fuck out any and every doubt about this out of you - as if you’d have any - Suguru’s rolling his hips harder into yours. All the way until it almost hurt - until the sting of his twitching balls against your ass felt permanent, fingerpads pressing down so hard on your stomach. 

Lips searing against yours, punctuating each word with a jagged, rough thrust. “Because you sh-shouldn’t be ah- here. You shouldn’t be-” He drags you deeper onto his dick like some ragdoll, fingers frenzying on your clit. “-with me.”

Words slurring and as sloppy as his hips now. 

“Wh-why fuck- why wouldn’t I be?”

“Heh, you forgot?” Suguru spits out a chuckle, pushing you further and further up the mat with how bruising his hips were hitting yours. Alternating between marking your cervix - your g-spot - your gummy walls. “Forgot how I told ya to live a better life than this?” Everything and anything. Hips smacking so loud, echoing in symphony with those melancholy words he parted with so long ago. “How I told you to hngh- find a-another? Live a long life? To be happy?”

Now that Suguru was talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a damn had been broken - both with his words and his movements. The curve of his dick drives you wild, veins molding your cunt into their shape. 

Gritting his teeth to hold back the way his drenched balls squeeze so painfully, biting down on your lower lip. “You’re s-supposed to kill me.” A drop of sweat splashing down on your cheek, “To kill me and maybe you’ll be hah- fuck mine in another universe. But not this one.” It’s like he’s out of control now, “Never this one. You can have anybody else.”

And suddenly you’re having a flashback to just a week prior, to an uncharacteristically solemn Satoru telling you words you should’ve been happy to hear. Quiet, and unassuming. Ones you knew that had you heard them before knowing Suguru, you’d have jumped into his arms - exactly how he hoped you would, the day of his departure. 

Chuckling at you being such a “crybaby” about him leaving. After all, this was just meant to be, right?

But no.

Instead, you’re here. Bunching Suguru’s beautiful, glossy hair curtaining the sides of your head, into a ponytail. Difficult - with how he was getting faster. Harder. Just ravaging your hole until you were gaping and breathless.

And yet, arms trembling and limp, you still manage to reveal the boy you fell in love with - the one you could never forget. From the flush on his pretty face, to the twisted, sad curve of his mouth. And the eyes that bore into yours like they were searching for the same thing. Smiling, for the first time since you entered this place, “How could I ever want anyone else, Sugu?”

The hand on your stomach is cupping your adorable face so softly - and it’s hard to believe those hands have killed. Betrayed.

Like they were capable of doing anything but as Suguru swipes the single tear glistening down your cheek, “Still a crybaby, huh, my love?”

And then you cum - and Suguru isn’t too far behind. 

It’s just a flash of hot white, tingles running down your spine - all the way to the thick, creamy base soon forming around his wildly twitching cock. 

And it’s so good. Too good that all you can do it scream out his name, letting him do anything - and you were glad all he did was fuck you so mercilessly through your high. So violent. Addictive. 

Vision blurry, mouth sagging open for Suguru to press intimate little kisses along the corners of your mouth. Whispering sweet praises as your cunt sucks him up so good. So sinfully milking him for everything he’s worth. 

Taking in rope after rope of thick cum that warms your gummy walls from the inside, overfilling just enough for it to dribble down into the mat below in an obscene little pool. Smearing down your thighs, his balls. Heavenly. 

His heaven.

And in the haze of it all, Suguru imagines that you’ll reach for your knife again, press it back against the curve of his exposed neck. He imagines you’ll laugh in his face, tell him what a great whim this was but you had to get back to your job, turning your back on him as he has done before. He imagines.

But what he gets is your strained, fucked-out little voice, “I missed you, my golden boy.”

A/N. Yes, That Line was inspired by HTTYD. If I had to be hurt, y’all do, too. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[inkedbybarnes]

unclear

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: everyone thinks you're dating bucky, except yourself.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ minors dni. miscommunication (i love this trope, sue me), angst with a happy fluffy ending, quite stubborn reader, implied smut if you squint, usage of petnames such as baby and doll. lowercase for basically everything.

i haven't finished anything in decades, but i suddenly had an idea just now and decided to write it down. surprisingly, i finished it? might have a lot of mistakes and such since i haven't proofread it yet. also, sorry for using lowercase for this, i kinda like how it looks. hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you're confusing me. so... you're not dating bucky?”

wanda tilted her head, confusion etched on her face as you spent your weekly girl's night with natasha. it usually consisted of eating food you all desired, drinking until you got wasted, and spilling secrets to one another.

although tonight, you weren't sure if you had any secrets to spill.

"as far as i know, no. we're just friends, teammates. nothing else," you answered with a heavy sigh. "can we talk about something else?"

"hold your horses, young lady! we are not skipping this topic again. you obviously want a label but he isn't giving you one!" wanda protested. she has been constantly asking about you and bucky's relationship for the past weeks, and you always had the same answer. you don't know.

"have you never talked about it with bucky? he looks at you like you'd get lost if he looks away for a second. not a single soul in the tower would think that you're just friends," natasha interjected, taking another sip from the bottle of beer she held. she had a point, as always. "if he's just playing with you, which i highly doubt for barnes, then just end whatever that is. you deserve better than having doubts and confusion, babe."

you've tried asking him multiple times, but every attempt felt like you were stepping on his boundaries. after years of being controlled by hydra, you knew it was possible that he'd hate the feeling of being rushed and entering a relationship that could potentially feel like a cage to him.

but natasha was right. your "relationship" was no longer anything friendly. he sleeps in your bed, claiming he slept better in it, and wakes up beside you to shower you with kisses. none of you even tried to hide it after some time. you always cooked your meals and ate them together, casually feeding one another and stealing kisses in between. you even stopped going on dates and you had no idea if you were exclusive. you deserved to know what your relationship with bucky was, but you were too scared to lose everything once you asked.

"we're not dating. i only see him as a friend, so you can both stop worrying about me." you lied through your teeth, your chest aching as you realised how stupid this was. you sighed and faked a smile, shifting the attention to natasha. "so, tell me about your date with steve! how was the first ever date of captain america since the 40s?"

wanda was distracted by the question, immediately bombarding the now blushing widow with questions. on the other hand, your mind flew away for a minute, finally deciding to get an answer from bucky.

the annual ball that tony stark held for, well, nearly anyone, was nearing. you only had two weeks left, and you haven't even gone out to find something to wear. it was hard to find any motivation to do all that effort when the person you've been waiting to ask you as his date hasn't asked you yet.

although, bucky had a tendency to get shy and hold back. you knew that. so here you were, standing behind the doors to the gym, knowing that bucky would be training at this hour. you still haven't asked him the question you were supposed to ask him, so you decided to do it all at once.

after you've finished your small pep talk, you opened the door to enter the room and your first instinct was to search for bucky.

considering that he was a huge chunk of a man, he was easy to find. however, the sight of him standing in front of a woman that was too close for your comfort wasn't delightful.

he didn't see you entering the room since he was facing the opposite direction, conversing with the agent that happened to be training as well. she had the sweetest and flirtiest smile on her face, bringing her hand up to his arm, slowly caressing it. you didn't mean to easily hear their conversation as you walked closer.

"so, do you happen to have someone for me to have as a date for the ball? i don't want to be lonely on that night, sergeant," the agent said with an extra pout, swaying her hips side to side like a child asking for candy.

"oh, yeah? i think i have someone for you," bucky replied, breaking your heart into pieces with how enthusiastic he was with his answer. "i'm sure you'll—"

you sniffed. unconsciously. not knowing that your tears were already falling, causing your nose to get stuffy. how pathetic, you thought.

your little sniff caught the attention of both the agent and bucky, looking at you in shock. although, the girl was more pleasantly surprised than the opposite. thankfully, you already had your tears wiped before they could see them.

"oh, we didn't see you there!" she greeted you with your name. "we were just talking about our date for this year's ball. who are you bringing?"

"i haven't decided yet, no one's worth it even if i try," you answered bitterly. "so you're going together?"

before bucky could answer, the agent already had her arm wrapped around his, happily smiling at your question. "yeah! amazing, right? i actually thought you two had a thing, but i guess not. glad things worked out in the end."

and that was your last straw. "well, enjoy yourselves. i have to go and find natasha."

you turned to leave, ignoring the loud calls of bucky. you were glad that you never asked him about your relationship and the ball. you were going to be hurt either way.

you spent the next hours stuck in your room, body covered with a thick sheet as you ranted about your frustrations to friday.

it was silly, you knew that, but you refused to call natasha and wanda to remind you of your stupidity and decided to let an ai robot listen to your problems instead.

"and he even flirted back! answering coyly like a teenager. he's 107 years old, fri!" you whined, not noticing the new nickname you've given the alternative intelligence. "ugh, now i have a broken heart and no date in sight. how did it get to this?"

"perhaps you must discuss this matter with sergeant barnes first. your conversation ended quite abruptly with no clear conclusion."

"no, i don't want the truth rubbed on my face," you said, grabbing another piece of tissue to sneeze in. "you restricted him from entering my room, right?"

friday answered with a yes, then you thanked her for listening and decided to get some sleep after tirelessly crying for hours. you knew you had a team meeting with the avengers in a bit, but you couldn't bring yourself to even walk a few steps.

your sleep ended and you were woken up with friday's reminder that it was time for dinner with the team.

with a groan, you pushed yourself off your bed. bucky would be there, but you were too hungry to care. it would be awkward, of course, but you had to face him at some point anyway.

your feet padded towards the door, opening it after trying your hair in a bun.

"ah, fuck."

you jumped at the voice and the body falling to the floor as you opened the door.

"bucky?" you asked, still in shock. "were you sleeping outside of my room?"

you watched bucky stand up, his hand massaging his aching nape as he looked for your eyes. "friday won't let me in. i waited outside instead. i guess i fell asleep during that," he explained, a frown forming on his face. "did you restrict me from entering our room?"

your eyes widened at his choice of words. our room. he considered your room to be his room as well. while that would've made you melt in an instant, you were still hurt to entertain that possibility.

"this is my room, barnes. not yours, not ours. and yes, i had you restricted because i couldn't face you yet. what do you need anyway?"

"i wanted to see you, talk to you." a flash of pain crossed his eyes. "whatever happened at the gym, it's—"

"bucky, you don't have to explain anything to me. we're just friends. it's my fault i assumed we were something. i just need some time to get over it."

"but i thought we were something as well..." he replied, his voice was almost as quiet as a whisper. "i thought we were dating."

"were we?" you asked, genuinely curious. "we never.. you never said anything. i mean, yeah, i wished it meant something, but i thought you wouldn't want to be trapped in a relationship with me, so i just waited. apparently, i was right and i can't blame you for that."

"right about what? the thing that happened in the gym this morning?" he asked. you nodded in response. "i know it sounds like i was flirting back, well i didn't know at the moment, until i asked steve who was clueless but he called nat to help me out and explained that it looked like i was flirting back. i wasn't. i was just going to suggest sam as a date for her. i would never agree to anyone."

oh. so he just wasn't interested in anyone at all.

"besides this one girl who's constantly been in my head. that's if she'd even give me a chance and say yes. i fucked it up badly before i could even ask her properly."

you knew what hoping got you, but you couldn't help but think that he was talking about you. he'd have to be clueless to say all those things in front of you only for it to be someone else.

"i love you, baby. i should've told you that, i should've made it clear sooner. i'm so sorry i let you have doubts when i could've been reassuring you about what i feel for you."

"bucky..."

"i would never feel trapped with you, doll. only you made me feel so much love and freedom. i'd be a fool to let go of that. i'm sorry it took a few hits and harsh words from natasha to make me realise that i wasn't giving you enough when you deserve everything." he held your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him. you felt breathless, tears threatening to fall but this time it was out of joy. "hydra made sure i had no voice to express myself. now, i'll use it to let you know that i love you so fucking much that it hurts when you're not around. i promise to work on it. if anything like this happens again, ask me, baby. demand things from me. i'll give you everything in a heartbeat."

"even if i ask for your arm?"

he laughed, a sound that was music to your ears. "it's yours baby. although, i do like fucking you with my metal—"

"bucky!" you scolded him, hitting him lightly on the chest.

"sorry, baby. couldn't help it. missed my girl so much."

his girl. you loved hearing that.

"it's only been a few hours. don't be silly," you reminded him, but you knew you also felt the same.

"i miss you even when i don't see you for a second." you couldn't help but laugh at his words. "something funny, doll?"

"sorry, natasha said something similar about you a few days ago," you answered. "i'm sorry for assuming so quickly, bucky. you deserved the chance to explain."

"and you did let me explain. i can't blame you for assuming and getting hurt when i never gave you the confirmation to believe otherwise. don't apologise for it, baby."

"i love you," you said, causing him to grin widely.

"yeah? you love me too?" he asked, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "this is official now, right? we're dating?"

you nodded happily, giggling as he landed a kiss to your mouth. "so, you wanna go to the ball with me?"

he kissed you again. "don't. i'm supposed to be asking you that. i had an entire thing prepared for you, i even dragged half of the team to help me out days ago. besides wanda and natasha, of course. couldn't let them tell you about it."

your heart swelled, he was already planning to ask you before all of this misunderstanding happened, and it could've been solved with communication. lesson learned, indeed.

"well hurry because i can't wait to say yes," you playfully threatened him, kissing the tip of his nose until the loud rumble of your stomach interrupted your sweet moment. "ah, right. i was on my way to eat dinner when i opened the door."

bucky laughed, his eyes twinkling witth adoration as he kept his eyes on you. "we can't have you starving, that's for sure. come, let's get you something." he held your hand, and dragged you to the kitchen. he turned to look at you with a playful smile. "wanna cook together like the old times?"

you smiled. "like the old times."

in the middle of your cooking session, you heard whistles and claps along with the footsteps that entered the kitchen. you both turned to find the rest of the team with shit eating grins.

"finally! so is this real or do we need to smack your heads?" tony asked, his hand placed on his hip.

"it's always been real, stark," bucky answered, wrapping his arm around your waist. "except this time, i'm making sure my entire world knows it."

"i think everybody knows you have a thing for each other, barnes." clint added.

"i meant my entire world, not everybody." bucky looked at you with awe. "she's my world."

bucky's answer gained various loud reactions from the team, mostly calling him a cheesy old man and fake gags, but there you were, cheeks heating up as you looked back at him with the same amount of love, if not more.

and he did ask you to be his date to the ball the day after, surprising you with his so-called secret plan.

a year later, he surprised you with a ring as he knelt on one knee.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[angelltheninth]

Arcane Characters Make Food for You

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Mel x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, domestic fluff, kissing, making food, teasing

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: I already wrote this on my old blog but now is a good time to re-write it.

Jinx knows how to cook pretty well, surprisingly enough. Or maybe not so surprisingly given how she's always the one making things and experimenting. However that also means she might make some really weird meals.

It's something you'll have to deal with if you're with her and might have to develop a strong stomach. She already has it because she grew up in Zaun and ate a lot of different things. For you she wouldn't recommend some of them yet and she will try her best to make something that you'll like. And she won't get too offended if you don't eat her cooking right away.

"I made ya some breakfast, ta-da! It's a little sticky but don't worry, eat your fill and I'll clean up the mess later. Don't look at it like that, it might not look pretty but I promise ya it's so good. I could eat this every day. I hope I'll get to eat it together it with ya every day, sugar."

Vi doesn't know how to cook because she never had the opportunity to learn. The first few dishes are bad, like really bad, almost burn the toast and eggs type of bad but Vi she isn't the kind of person to give up. She'll keep trying until she gets it right.

There have been times where she did burn things and she won't let you eat it since it's not right. She wants you to have the best of the best, even if she didn't. Might get a little distracted when you're in the kitchen with her so she prefers to cook by herself even if you're there with her. Regardless of how many times she gets it wrong she at least wants to learn to cook your favorite.

"Yes, this is burned toast but this time it's not my fault, it's yours. Well you're the one who walked in here looking all cute and distracted me. One kiss is all it takes if it's from you, sweet stuff. Sit down and let me do this right and if you do you'll get something sweeter than this."

Caitlyn knows how to cook really well. She did grow up with people doing the cooking for her however she was curious and wanted to learn how to do it on her own. She's a very hand-on learner, now she can use some of her skills to make you happy.

She gets up really early anyways so she might as well make breakfast for the both of you. The first time she brings you breakfast in bed she thinks your reaction is cute, the way you stare at her, eyes wide and drooling over the food. For her it's not odd to have breakfast in bed. And if you stick with her you'll get used to her pampering you. Be sure to tell her how the food tastes.

"Good morning, darling, I brought you something. See, I didn't just brag about my cooking skills, this is me showing you I can cook. Showing off? Suppose I am a little bit, it's not my fault you didn't really think I would bring you breakfast in bed."

Maddie can cook some dishes but she can cook them well. Her skills aren't anything impressive but they don't need to be because she can get take out too. But she is more than happy to share what ever she makes with you.

She falls back on take out more often than she would like to admit. However not when she invites you over to her place, then she will put her best foot forward. A lot of that is because she wants to impress you hard, but it also gets her to work on her skills either way she wins. She keeps looking at you very intently while you take that first bite. Thankfully she doesn't seem to do a bad job if your smile is anything to go by.

"I'm not weird for watching you eat, it's called being smitten, gorgeous. Anything you do is interesting to me, you know that by now. This isn't empty flattery. I already got you to eat my cooking, I don't need to butter you up at this point."

Ekko isn't the best cook out there, he will be completely honest with you. While he does know the basic things you can't really expect anything fancy. If anything he focuses more on the dish being filling than tasty.

The thing about him cooking for the two of you is that he can only do it on his free time, which isn't a lot. Therefore he wants to make it a bonding activity. A cute date of sorts, mostly in the late evening when the rest of work is done. Sometimes he will try to surprise you but its hard when his living space isn't that big and everyone knows everything in the Firelights. The gesture counts.

"There wasn't much time so it's pretty simple, but at least it's your favorite, Firefly. No, I actually finished the new project, I had extra time to kill. Please, don't thank me! It seemed only right for me to make you something after you cheered me up this morning."

Vander knows how to cook really, really well. He kids to raise, and he was on his own for a very long time, he had to become a good cook. Plus he makes awesome drinks, being a good cook was a bonus skill for him.

He's always the first one to wake up and start the day in the Last Drop and he always makes breakfast for everyone. Not just breakfast but every meal, his kids need to eat a lot, there's always a little left over for later. Even if he feels a little sleepy himself he at least wants to put something on the table. It's the dad instincts in him. And husband instincts, hopefully.

"Don't ya even think about sneaking up on me right now, darlin'. I've got a pan full of sizzling hot oil in my hand, I don't want it all over us. Hugs are fine, I always love ya being close to me, but keep your hands to yourself. We both know ya get handsy in the morning."

Silco didn't know how to cook before he adopted Jinx, since then he's had to learn. It wasn't easy but now he does know a lot and he can impress the woman he's dating. Now when you stay over you can expect good for for your date, and good food when you wake up.

When the dating gets more serious he lets you help him cook, but until then he pretty much does it on his own. Jinx will go nowhere near the kitchen alone, not after that one explosion. He does have a list of recipes that he makes the most. And a few that he made up. Sometimes ingredients are hard to come by so he needs to improvise.

"Pass me the flour would you, love? This time I will follow the recipe, yes, the last time there was a bit too much sugar in there. I know you liked it but it's not the healthiest thing now is it? Fine, call me a worried dad, I know you think it's attractive."

Sevika isn't able too cook that well, she never was, she always liked others cooking for her though. However when you tease her about it she takes it as a challenge. And you know damn well that she doesn't back down from a challenge.

Curses a lot when she messes up, though you can bet that she's not gonna let food be the thing that beats her. When you walk into the kitchen it's a mess which will take a while to clean up. But at least she managed to make the dish this time and it's quite good. For her hard work you give her a very passionate kiss and that just makes her wanna work harder. That's the best reward she can ask for.

"One kiss for at that work, doll? I think I earned myself a little more than that, maybe you on the table instead of all this food. Yeah, I know it's gonna get cold, you're right. Can't let all this hard work go to waste, but when we're done we have to work all that food off."

Viktor doesn't have as much time to cook as he could if he worked a bit less. Not that his skills are award worthy but he can make a few things, at least in his opinion. Give his cooking a chance.

When he was a student in the academy he had to learn how to make quick meals and that is where most of his strength is. Just very simple dishes but he knows how to make them well. There are times when he himself forgets to eat so he makes sure he gets a good meal when he can. If you're part of that that's even better. Having you eat his cooking makes cooking more fun.

"If you think cooking this is so easy then you make it will you, beautiful? Ah so now you like it, I see how it is. I'm just kidding, I love making food for you when I can. But if you want to make it yourself please let me do a taste test first. I promise to be brutally honest, just like you are with me."

Jayce has absolutely no skills in the kitchen unless you need him to fix or build things in there. He knows this too and will admit it right away. Trust him he is much better in science than in cooking food.

That being said he will join you in the kitchen when you cook. He takes an interest in it because the way you cook makes his mouth water. When he learns about what your favorite food is he wants to lean how to cook it. However he does this in secret because he wants to surprise you. Sure enough he's able to get the biggest smile out of you when he presents you with your favorite meal.

"I learned it secretly, all for you, babe. Well I am quite good with my hands and I enjoy working, that was just another excuse to learn. Of course I don't have an ulterior motive for it! But if I did... and if it was kissing... would you kiss me for doing a good job?"

Mel is actually an amazing cook and knows a ton of recipes. Including your favorites of course. Do you really think she'd invite you over and offer you nothing to eat?

It's been a long time since she had to cook for anyone but herself but she's not bad at it at all. She has high standards when it comes to good food specifically because she holds herself to high standards. It doesn't matter how simple or complicated the meal is. When she invites you over and offers to make you food you better believe you're eating good that night. Not strictly food either.

"Beloved, slow down a little, the food isn't going anywhere and neither am I. We have all night. Every time I make food I do so because I want to enjoy a good meal, and you should too. And please be careful, I don't want you to choke, on the food that is."

[mrsbarnesblog]

my girl

masterlist

requests are open

summary: even if you knew that you and Rafe were just hooking up, hearing his friend's comments about you, while you were preparing a venue for the event, hurt more than you expected it to

word count: 2k.

warnings: fwb (or smth like that) to lovers, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, Rafe's friends lol, swearing

a/n: soft Rafe is my weakness, I'm sorry. he's on my mind 24/7 and I literally don't know what to write

You were running around the outdoor venue with boxes full of pastry, where in a few hours there was going to be an annual celebration with lots of rich people. For some reason, Ward Cameron, who was paying for everything here, decided that your father’s small bakery was good enough to feed all of the kooks, so from the afternoon on, you were organizing tables to make everything look perfect. 

The place itself looked truly magical—decorated with a lot of flower arrangements, lights and expensive furniture. It was located at Figure 8, so you obviously never had the opportunity to visit it before. It was Kook’s territory, and even with your family’s bakery, which was pretty popular on the island, you were not welcome here.

Just a few minutes ago, Ward himself came to the venue with Rafe and his son’s best friends in order to check how everything was going. 

As soon as your eyes met Rafe’s, you both stopped for a few seconds, too shocked to see each other in a public place. What happened between you and Kook's prince was something that you had never expected to get into, yet here you were. 

You didn’t know what got into you that one night, but out of nowhere, Rafe was talking to you, smiling, looking all sexy and without his usual cockiness, so you couldn’t resist him. 

It wasn’t that you even regretted your decision; it just became more weird every single time you met because he wasn’t bad. Rafe Cameron wasn’t an asshole, which everyone made him seem to be. He was affectionate and surprisingly soft, always checking on you while you two were together and never pressuring you to leave. You wholeheartedly had to admit that it became more than just sex after a few weeks, no matter how hard you tried to deny it. 

You were definitely not dating, mostly because he had never asked you to, but you two were always texting about random stuff, he would even pick you up to hang out at his secret spot on the beach, or just to simply sit in his truck with lots of food and talk. Part of you hated it, but Rafe made you feel so comfortable and safe around him so you were scared to push it and ask him what was happening between you. 

Rafe’s eyes stayed fixated on you as his father, Kelce and Topper stood near him, looking around the venue and chatting. But he could not care less about it because his entire attention was drawn to you and how adorable you looked in your pink tennis skirt and simple white polo with the bakery's logo on it. 

He may or may not be responsible for Ward’s choice of bakery to work with, because Rafe made sure to accidentally mention it a few times, knowing that it would be a good profit for your family. Yet, seeing you here slightly took him off guard, as the first thought that appeared in his head was to go up to you, flirt and make you blush, or just simply kiss you. But he couldn’t, right? At least not until he properly talked to you. 

“Damn, she’s hot, even for a pogue. No wonder you hit it a few times, bro. I'd do it too.” The moment words left Topper’s mouth, Rafe’s heart dropped into his stomach. Kelce snickered, fistbumping Topper, and Rafe cursed himself for running his mouth. He really considered drowning his friends in the nearest lake. 

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Rafe seethed through gritted teeth, elbowing his friend. 

“I would appreciate you both watching your language.” Ward sighed, wincing and rubbing a hand on his beard. He looked at Rafe, who completely ignored his questioning gaze while trying to figure out how to fix it. 

Even with you standing with your back facing them, Rafe saw that you heard it too. Your hand froze in the air, still holding a cupcake, and your shoulders sagged in disappointment and hurt.

Only a few seconds later, you came back to your senses. Your back straightened, you finished decorating the table and you put empty boxes in the trash can. You turned around, showing the fakest smile Rafe had ever seen on your face. Your nails digged in your palm to control yourself, and you stepped closer to the four of them. 

“Mr. Cameron, thank you for working with our bakery. It really means a lot for my family. I did everything and now the event manager should carry on. I, um, should go. I have a lot of stuff to do. Have a great night.” Your eyes were glossy, with tears clearly visible on your waterline. As you awkwardly and in a rush thanked Ward, you didn’t even look at Rafe or either of his friends, knowing damn well that it would break you. 

You didn’t even wait for Ward’s response before storming off, trying to get as far away from these people as possible. Your chest felt too heavy, and the lump in your throat was so hard that you could barely speak. But you didn’t even walk a few feet away before a familiar hand wrapped around your wrist and made you turn around. 

“What do you want from me?” You snapped at Rafe, trying to yank your hand out of his grip. “Don’t touch me, Rafe.”

“This is not what you think it is.” He said, searching for your eyes. His brows were knit together, and his eyes were big and round, almost in fear. 

“Oh no? Isn’t it what I am to you? Just a hit. Just another one on your long list. Why are you bothering to explain anything to me anyway?” You laughed, barely able to hold back your tears. As if it were not enough that you cried in front of Rafe, neither his friends nor his father seemed to mind their own business, obviously listening to your conversation. 

“No. You know that it was more for me, Y/N. I’m serious about you, okay? Topper just cannot filter his fucking mouth.” 

“Stop doing it, Rafe!” You broke, not bothering to hide anymore. “Stop playing with my feelings when you know damn well that you won’t have anything serious with me. I’m not rich, I’m not a kook and I’m not like the prefect girls you usually hang out with. I get it, okay?” You yanked your hand out of his hold, not missing the way Rafe tried to catch it back. Wiping away hot and angry tears with the back of your hand, you look him right in the eyes. “I just wish you didn't give me hope in the first place, because I feel so fucking stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid, Y/N. I don’t care about your money or your status, for that matter. I want you and I mean it. Just let me explain—”

"This is why you would not even speak to me in front of anyone, right? This is why we were always sneaking around. Because you want me, not because you’re too good to be around me.“ You confronted him, not even caring who could hear or see you. From the position where you were standing, you saw a bunch of young waitresses standing not so far away, pretending to work on the table but eyeing you and Rafe every second.

“I’m an asshole. I know it. I know that I didn’t put the label on us and that I fucked up, not doing the right thing.” He stepped closer to you, not breaking eye contact to show that he was sincere. "When Topper and Kelce saw me with you, I panicked and said the only thing that made sense: we were just hooking up. I didn’t want it to be that way, fuck…” Rafe screched the back of his neck in agitation.

“You should go back and stop embarrassing yourself talking with a pogue. I bet your friends found it entertaining. How much did you tell them, hm? Did you share every single detail of what we were doing?” Your voice broke at the end.

“I didn’t tell them anything!”

“Well, I don’t believe you, Rafe!” You sniffed, looking away to distract yourself from the look in Rafe’s eyes. His blue eyes were round, full of concern and it seemed like he was almost panicking. "I understand how guys like you talk about women, but I guess I was stupid enough to believe you would not do that to me. So yeah, you got what you wanted from me and now you can go back to—”

You were rumbling one moment, and the next, two hands pressed on your cheeks, tilting your head up, and Rafe's lips were on yours. You gasped, hands freezing in the air in shock, before slowly moving to Rafe’s shirt to tug on it. 

He didn’t rush; he just firmly yet gently held you against him while his tongue slipped into your mouth, savoiring every second. It’s been just two days since you last seen each other, but God, you missed kissing him. Even if you wanted to move away, you couldn’t. Rafe's palms were on your face, guiding you, while his kiss made your head feel empty and light. He smelled and tasted so good and you hated how quickly you got used to the feeling of his touch on your skin. 

“Everyone can see us.” You mumbled into his mouth. 

“I don’t fucking care, Y/N.” He furrowed, still feeling the wetness on your cheeks from crying. With his thumbs gently rubbing your soft skin, he gave you a few quick kisses before continuing. "I swear, all I said to them was that we just hooked up, because it is what it was at that moment. I wouldn’t have shared anything intimate about you, baby. Please believe me when I say this.” Rafe sighed, resting his forehead on yours. His nose bumped against your—something that he started doing when you were alone in the bed, laying face to face and just looking at each other. "I am sorry I made you feel like you were just sex for me, because you weren't. Spending time with you was the best fucking time of my day, and whatever that was between us, I don’t want it to end.”

“Me neither…” You whispered, feeling warmth rushing through your body when Rafe wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you even closer into him. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and then you felt him turning around, seemingly studying people around you.

“Since everyone saw us today, do you think I can take you away with me right now?” 

“Take me away? But you have an event in a few hours, and I have to work.”

“No, now we have an event and we have to find you a dress. I’ll handle your work and find someone who can deliver your orders.” Your head snapped up, only to see a proud grin on Rafe's face.

“You’re joking, right?” You pulled away, laughing. “I don’t have such clothes nor do I have money to buy them, and I definitely wasn’t invited.” 

“That’s why I’m taking you to the store now. And since you are my girl now, you’ll be my plus one.” He just shrugged, probably unaware that he had just filled your stomach with freaking butterflies. 

“I’m your girl?” 

Rafe silently looked you in the eyes for a few seconds, and it seemed like he was trying to reassure himself about something. His eyes then shifted to your lips, as he dragged you back to his body, lowering himself to mumble against your mouth. “Yeah, you are my girl.”

[lowkeyren]

—trick or... tricked?

in which : you save a strikingly handsome vampire, not knowing he would get attached to you in more ways than one.

pairing : aventurine x gn!reader

wc 1.5k, vampire aventurine in celebration of spooky month, lots of flirting (re: dialogue), reader implied to be shorter than him, ofc he bets lol, art by @/shizuart, reblogs r much appreciated!! enjoy <3

for @stellaronhvnters ongoing event; the prompt i ended up w was vampire ^^ @staarri sighs i miss writing for aventurine.

you have no idea why aventurine has taken such a keen interest in you. 

all you did was help a poor vampire in need. you saw him slumped against the cold stone of an alley one night, weakened and vulnerable; his pristine clothes torn and his blond hair dishevelled. 

you stepped closer despite the little voice in your head telling you to mind your own business. vampires weren’t known for displaying vulnerability so openly, yet there he was —barely holding on, his gaze hazy as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

out of some misplaced sense of duty—or perhaps it was pity—you knelt beside him, offering your help. at first, he brushed you off, pride keeping him from accepting anything. but as the blood from his gashes continued to seep through his clothes and his breathing grew more laboured, he had no choice but to relent.

tearing a piece of your sleeve off to use as a bandage, you quickly tended to his wounds. he’s surprisingly compliant, letting you clean the gashes without complaint, except for the occasional groan whenever you applied the antiseptic.

rummaging through your bag, you pulled out a bottle of water and pressed it against his lips, watching as he gulped down the liquid eagerly. his eyes flickered with relief as the cool water met his dry mouth; and you noticed the way his shoulders relaxed, the tension visibly easing from his body. 

after making sure he was somewhat stable, you stood up to leave. though you didn’t expect him to thank you, and you certainly didn’t expect him to latch on to you like this.

you take it back.

maybe you shouldn’t have helped him. who would have known he would become so… attached? 

you have tried everything. changing your routine, leaving town, even staying inside for days at a time, but none of it worked. he lurks in the shadows, leaning against a wall as you pass by, catching your gaze across a crowded room with an infuriating smirk.

you hoped, prayed even, that your indifference would drive him off. that maybe, if you didn’t acknowledge him, he’d lose interest, move on to someone else. 

though you couldn’t be more far from wrong. 

("aventurine, why are you always here?"

his eyes flicks down lazily to meet yours, a hint of surprise in them. slowly, he set his cup down and smiles.

"why sweetheart," his voice is smooth, amused. "i’m just enjoying the view.")

he’s patient, maddeningly so, with a persistence that makes it hard to ignore him.

you catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye —a flash of pale skin, a figure too still in the crowd, but every time you turn to face him, he’s gone, only to reappear moments later, closer than before.

how frustrating. 

“i know you’re there, aventurine.”

a moment passes, then he steps into view, a relaxed smile on his lips that stirs something within you. “you’re quite observant tonight,” he replies, a teasing lilt in his voice. “i was beginning to think you preferred to ignore me.”

you cross your arms, “i don’t prefer anything about this situation, you keep showing up uninvited,” you retort, yet your heart betrays you, fluttering at the way he leans closer, the scent of him intoxicating.

“uninvited, sure. but unwanted? i'm not so sure about that." he chuckles softly, his voice like velvet, eyes gleaming as they meet yours. “i think,” a sly grin tugs at his lips, his fangs just barely visible beneath them, “you're more intrigued by me than you’d like to admit.”

the roll of your eyes does little to hide the faint blush creeping up your neck. “yeah yeah whatever,” you mutter, glancing away to regain your composure, but even the sun rising on the horizon seems to pale in comparison to the heat radiating from your cheeks.

“i’ll catch you later tonight, sweetheart.” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into the early morning light, “try not to miss me too much while the sun’s still out.”

you quickened your pace, weaving through the streets, desperate to put distance between you and that haunting smirk. but the faster you move, the closer aventurine seems to get, his footsteps silent but ever-present. 

“not now, aventurine,” the words came out sharper than you intended. “i’m running late for my date,” your breath hitching from the strain of trying to outrun him. 

“a date, huh? is that what you call it?” he pushes himself off a nearby post, “and here i'm starting to think you enjoy my company."

"enjoy? not even close." you shoot a glare at him over your shoulder, before quickening your pace again. “why do you even care anyway?”

“because i do,” he replies simply, you can feel his gaze boring into your back. “you helped me when no one else would. it’s only fair i return the favour.”

you stop short, your heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with running late.

“—and you don’t seem to hate the idea of getting involved with someone like me.”

“someone like you?” you echo, incredulity spilling into your tone. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

aventurine shrugs, his presence still lingering close behind you. “vampires don’t exactly have the best track record, you know. most people would steer clear of me.”

you raise an eyebrow, “and yet, here you are, shadowing me like a lost puppy. so, what do you really want?”

he straightens up, the glimmer in his eyes brightening. “i was wondering how long it’d take for you to ask." he saunters closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his cold fingers lingering near your cheek. 

“let’s make a deal.”

“a deal?”

"a bet, if you will," he corrects himself, his voice dripping with amusement. "it's simple. if you win, i’ll leave you alone, for good.” his lips quirks upward, before continuing. “but if i win, i get to taste you.”

your heart lurches at the word, dread pooling in your stomach. blood. he wants your blood, right? what else would a vampire want?

you swallow hard, thank aeons he can't see your face right now. “fine. what’s the bet?”

he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “let’s see how well you’ve been paying attention." you barely have time to react before his hands gently close over your eyes from behind, blocking your vision entirely.

“tell me,” his voice a low whisper, “what colour are my eyes right now?”

your pulse quickens. well, they’re usually—

“magenta and cyan,” you mutter instinctively, the words slipping out before you can even think. aventurine chuckles softly, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear as he speaks. “wrong answer, sweetheart."

his fingers remain gently over your eyes, his cold touch pushing your already racing heart into overdrive. "then, what’s the right answer?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“they’re red tonight,” he replies. you perk up “how am i supposed to know that! you can’t just change the colours on a whim…”

“ah ah, you lost the bet.”

taste… your throat tightens at the thought, your mind went straight to the worst-case scenario —a sharp bite that would sap your strength and leave you utterly drained. 

his body presses against your back as he tilts your chin up gently, and you meet his gaze. yes, they’re definitely red tonight —a striking shade of crimson, blood red. he looks down at you, a devilish grin spreading across his face, a smile so dangerously alluring, so handsomely wicked.

“ugh…” you shifted uneasily, though you tried to play it off as indifference. "just make it quick and painless." you turn your head slightly to the side, exposing your neck.

aventurine blinks, taken aback for a moment. "oh?" he drawls, his voice dripping with mischief. "no, no, sweetheart. i don’t want your blood."

confusion flickers across your face as you stare up at him.

"i want a kiss.”

aventurine leans against the doorway, an amused smile dancing on his lips. “looks like someone forgot about their date,” he teases, his eyes glinting with that familiar blend of magenta and cyan —such beautiful eyes with vivid hues of twilight, too mesmerising for a beguiling being. 

“never had one in the first place,” you murmur, your words holding a hint of resignation.

he tilts his head as the corners of his lips curl up. “really? then… can i be your date instead?”

you blink, caught off guard; your heart stumbles in your chest, and for a moment, you’re lost for words. you look up, meeting his gaze. there’s something different, something softer about the way he looks at you.

“a little late to be asking, don’t you think?” you manage, your voice quieter than before, the space between you feels a lot smaller than it did just moments ago.

“better late than never,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “besides,” he continues, his thumb brushing gently against your hand, “who’s to say a night with a vampire wouldn’t be better?”

you laugh lightly, “you’re too confident for your own good.” even as the words leave your mouth, there’s no real bite behind them.

he leans in, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath soft against your ear. “and yet you haven’t said no.”

MASTERLIST.

[maxivstappen]

THE GREATEST

[ part two / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ being in a relationship with a formula 1 driver like lando was hard, but not impossible. right? a story based on THE GREATEST by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst! pure angst, swearing. i’ll write a part 2 if requested 𝄞 4.4k words

❝ I’m trying my best to keep you satisfied ❞

Loving a formula 1 driver, let alone being in a relationship with one, wasn’t easy. But that didn’t stop you. In fact, you were sure nothing was ever going to be able to get in between the love that Lando and you shared, the kisses and the late night cuddles, the fun family dinners and the celebrations of his milestones. Everything was so perfect.

Yes, sometimes it’s hard to meet his standards, sometimes having you leave your own family to go attend races with him, or the blatant flirting he would still be partaking in at after-race parties, it was definitely a flaw of your relationship, but maybe you should’ve just worn something prettier or done your makeup in a different way, in the end it’s your fault if his attention wasn’t keen on you, right?

But no matter what, you were ready to do it for him. He’s your main priority, just as he should be. That’s what makes a relationship a functioning one, doesn’t it?

❝ Let you get your rest while I stayed up all night ❞

Of course you weren’t always his main priority, but who were you to judge him? He’s a professional racing driver, it’s not only a job but a complete career, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world. Having a world championship under his belt, that was more important than you. You just have to live like that, someone had to put in the work for the relationship. And because it definitely wasn’t Lando, it was you. But you didn’t mind, you’d do it all over again for him. Because you truly loved him, and to you, there was nothing in this world stronger than love.

So when you both finally get home after a long race weekend, you don’t mind doing the cooking and cleaning and laundry for him. You also don’t mind him going to sleep while you’re up packing up luggage for him and you to depart for the next GP. You would’ve appreciated some skin contact after such a busy and nerve wrecking weekend, but if he needed rest, then he should have it. You could rest another time, maybe during the flight or while he was spending time with his friends. You weren’t sure why, but Lando always insisted on not having you with him, always making up excuses why you couldn’t come even if in reality, you were at “home” trying to get used to the new place you’d have to stay at for the next week. Maybe you would’ve preferred being with him, or having him with you, or being in your home country with your loved ones he was yet to meet, but that’s okay. He had his fun with his friends and their girlfriends, that’s what mattered.

Maybe he didn’t want you there because, while he dated a girl he’s known since forever, a girl who knew him before his win and his fame and his career, all the others were dating models and successful women. Maybe you embarrassed him a little bit, so you were understanding when he told you to stay at home. His fans didn’t exactly love you either, so actually, it was really thoughtful of him not to have you by his side when he went out, because then his fan base and the news wouldn’t be able to pick at every little flaw you had, which you had surprisingly lots of, as the media told you.

The clock read 5am when you finally finished packing up the luggage and went to bed yourself. Well, not the bed but rather the couch, because Lando had just previously told you not to wake him if he was already asleep, and who were you to rip him out of his peaceful slumber when he had so much pressure on him the last three days? It was a little cold, but that’s okay. It was just kinda difficult to fall asleep on the small, hard, uncomfortable couch.

The clock read 8am when you woke up to prepare breakfast for him and you.

❝ And you don’t wanna know how alone I’ve been ❞

You knew better than to complain. Of course you felt a little bit alone in the huge apartments while he was away, spending time at the track or in the gym with his friends. How could you not? You were in a country you’ve never been in before, a country with no familiar faces or friends or people you could talk to besides the McLaren team and well, your boyfriend. But in the end, Lando showed you the world. And you had to be grateful for that. Even if he basically just pushed you around the world and then picked you up again when it was time to travel farther. And god, how you missed your family. And how deeply you wanted them to meet your one and only love, Lando. It was sickening, the need to be at home again.

One time after a long day of qualifying, you told Lando about your homesickness and that you felt a bit alone on this journey.

He got mad and told you if you wanted, you could just leave. He’s not keeping you here. 20 minutes after, you were stood in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you. Your response to “Are you actually fucking crying right now?” was a quiet “I was just cutting onions.”

His reply to “I thought we were eating together, I made dinner” was “I’m going out to eat with Charles and his girlfriend.”

You felt your heart break in that second, but he was just mad and not thinking straight. Outbursts are okay sometimes.

❝ Let you come and go, whatever state I’m in ❞

You spent the whole evening and night crying, putting his food in the fridge in case he was hungry later. The tears didn’t stop until he came back through the door, obviously a bit tipsy. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and told you how sorry he was, telling you that next time, he would take you with him to dinner. You knew it wasn’t true, and he knew as well.

At least you felt his touch again, his arms around you and his rough fingers caressing your cheek. That was worth the tears and the unappreciated cooking.

❝ Man am I the greatest? My congratulations ❞

Miami GP ‘24. Lando’s first win in his Formula 1 career. You were the proudest girlfriend in the world and you couldn’t wait to celebrate his win with him tomorrow, knowing he’d be busy partying with the others today. You’re in Miami, after all. And he has just won. Of course he had to celebrate that with his boys, surrounded by beautiful women and loads of alcohol. He would never cheat on you, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind being in the presence of some women who were gifted with a prettier face and body than you were. That’s okay, at least he doesn’t use you for your looks.

As he stood there on the highest step of the podium, smiling like a little kid who had just fulfilled his dreams, smiling like he once had smiled at you, it made you so incredibly happy and emotional and you couldn’t wait to finally see him and give him a big celebration kiss.

Once he was back in the paddock he told you to wait until the cameras were gone. You didn’t get a hug either. Not until you were back in the apartment.

At last. you got your hug and a kiss. As a goodbye before he left with Max.

❝ All my love and patience, all my admiration ❞

The day after, you woke up at 7, waiting for him to wake up while you were already up in the kitchen, baking a small cake with a “one” on it, all decorated in orange.

Even if you were left unsatisfied yesterday, that didn’t stop you from still feeling eternally proud of him, and proud to be able to call yourself his girlfriend. He was so dedicated to the things he loved, it was a pleasure to watch him go through life with his determination. Racing was his passion, there’s no shame in sometimes forgetting your girlfriend for it.

He finally entered the kitchen at 12, smiling at the small cake placed upon the dining table. “Surprise!” You said, and he immediately went to hug and kiss you, smiling just as brightly as he did on that podium. Moments like these were a reminder that he did in fact love you, and once again, that it’s all worth it.

❝ All the times I waited for you to want me naked ❞

You often wondered how the others managed to keep up their relationships.

Just recently you were having lunch with the other WAGs at a restaurant near the circuit. Originally, you didn’t want to come, still feeling insecure about what the media has to say about you, the ugly duckling around the most beautiful women in F1 history. However, they insisted. At the table the girls began talking about the party after Lando’s win, and how proud you must’ve been to see him on that podium. You loved talking about it, until you were asked why you didn’t come with him to the party. A lame excuse of “I was just tired and not feeling well” made the others look at you weirdly. How could she be so selfish and miss her boyfriend’s afterparty for that? Alex, Charles’ girlfriend smiled at you with a knowing look, but you pretended not to notice, feeling embarrassed.

The next topic at the table was rather intimate, and you wanted to puke right then and there. Were you really the only one who hasn’t been touched in so long, because there just wasn’t enough time between all the travelling and racing and exhaustion? Or were you just not good enough? Was it really your looks? Should you change?

You missed it dearly, the intimate times with Lando. The ones where he finally took care of you instead of the other way around, the ones where you could feel the connection between you two with all your senses. Was it your fault that these times stopped? Lando was so perfect, it just couldn’t be his fault.

Maybe you just had to wait until he wanted you again.

❝ Made it all look painless, man, am I the greatest? ❞

You didn’t show your feelings often, not your real ones. The times he had catched you crying for him on you knees were pathetic little situations he shouldn’t have seen you in. When asked, you denied. “Do you feel lonely in this relationship?” — “No.” “Does he make you cry often?” — “No.” “Do you think your relationship is slowly breaking apart?” — “No.”

Talking about it with the women around the paddocks or when you’d facetime your friends from home, you never once said anything bad about Lando. Never once complained about how he treated you or how he ignored your feelings and your endeavors. Not even your closest friends knew what was really going on, or maybe, you just didn’t know that yourself. In your mind, this was just a phase where his career just made it impossible for him to focus on you. Someday this would change. Sooner or later, it would change.

For everyone else, you had the greatest, perfect, flawless relationship. And you didn’t mind keeping that imagine up. For his sake.

❝ Doing what’s right without a reward ❞

And so it kept going. You making efforts, him abandoning you. No matter what you did for him, no matter how much heart and love you put in for him, it was left unappreciated. But that‘s okay, still. You were in a relationship, your only task was to love him, and you did. Because that‘s the right thing to do in a relationship, and for him, you‘d do anything. No matter if he appreciated it or not at the moment, you knew that, eventually, he would.

❝ And we don‘t have to fight when it‘s not worth fighting for ❞

At least you hoped that he would change someday, so far he obviously hadn’t, and it was slowly getting to you in a more serious manner. In a way that might worry you and the people around you, in a way you wouldn‘t forget. That one time you prepared dinner for the both of you and he went out with Charles and Alex instead, it was all forgotten in a matter of seconds when he apologized. But now every single interaction he had with other women haunted you, asleep or awake. No apology would help you actually think he would change his current treatment towards you, and as it seemed, he didn‘t care either.

There was no point in fighting anymore, no point in telling him how you feel whenever he walks out the door, leaving you alone with nothing but your awful thoughts. For fuck‘s sake, you left all you had behind to be there for him, and how does he show his gratefulness? He doesn’t, because he isn’t fucking grateful, and he couldn’t care less about you and your dumb feelings. He doesn’t care that you want nothing more than to finally be able to introduce him to your family, he doesn’t care that you gave up your own career for his, and he doesn’t care that while he’s treating you the way he is, all the people who knew the both of you and basically the whole internet was only picking you apart. Never him.

Oh you were such a shitty girlfriend refusing to kiss him in front of the cameras after his first win, but wasn’t he the one who pushed you away? And how could you miss the party that night, the party dedicated to your oh soo perfect boyfriend? Do you not care about him enough? Were you not proud? So many girls would trade their life for a day in your shoes, and you just didn’t appreciate that? What a disappointment you are to the WAGs, and what a disappointment you must be to Lando.

“Lando please, listen to me,” — “No, I’m done with your insufferable complaining all the time. I meant it the first time I said it and I mean it now, if you wanna leave, leave.”

❝ And you don’t wanna know what I would’ve done, anything at all, worse than anyone ❞

You would’ve walked through fire for him to love you again. For everything to go back like it once was. When he would brag about you to his friends and even in interview, when he took you to hang out with his friends and to parties, always keeping an arm around your shoulders so other guys wouldn’t even dare to look at you, when he was so eager to fulfill not only his, but also your dreams, wether that be a simple one, like him meeting your parents in your childhood home, or the greater ones, like becoming not only a good, but a great graphic designer. When he would watch you draw and perfect yet the smallest details with nothing but the growing admiration for you visible in his eyes. When he would kiss you good night and good morning, when he would ask about your day and passionately tell you about his. Back to when he had loved you. But now it was too late. All the things you had done for him, all the things you would probably still do, in the end, were for nothing more than a broken heart.

The sleepless nights. The nerve wrecking days. The painful parting from your family and friends. The abandonment of the life with him you had so desperately wished for.

It was all for nothing.

❝ I loved you, and I still do. Just wanted passion from you, just wanted what I gave you ❞

Last day before the summer break, the last race. And probably, the last day of him and you.

You were done with his shit, the sad look on your face visible to everyone in the room as you sat and watched the race from the McLaren hospitality, his parents seated next to you. Something felt very off, your usual happy and optimistic demeanor completely washed off, replaced by a dark, almost expressionless look. They sensed that something might have happened between Lando and you, but nobody dared to ask, too busy watching the intense race.

The outcome was disappointing, Lando finishing behind Max, the one he’d have to beat to win the championship. The team and the people inside the paddock and the hospitality clapped for him and Oscar anyway, with Oscar finishing second and Lando fifth. You cheered and smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You knew what was to come once you’d be back in the hotel. You were scared, sure it would be the most painful thing you’d ever have to do, putting all the things you’d done for him, all the things he’d done to you, in its shadow.

The celebration went well, again, no hug or kiss for you. You were sure his mother had even scolded him for it, but that wasn’t important anymore. You didn’t really care anyway, the media would run their mouths about you anyway, and Lando surely doesn’t give a shit either way. You desperately needed an answer, you wanted him to explain it to you. What had suddenly happen, what did you do wrong, for him to suddenly act like this? And if he fell out of love, then why couldn’t he just tell you?

Meanwhile Lando was busy celebrating Oscar‘s podium, taking pictures for the McLaren instagram account and whatnot, then doing the post race interviews.

He loved you, he really did. But he just didn’t see you as someone he wanted to spend this life with. He couldn’t imagine living his private life without you by his side, he wanted you to come with him to visit his family at home, to come with him when he would meet up with Max and the others during summer break or really, he wanted to just do nothing with you, nothing but share small kisses and cuddling on his couch at home, eating some homemade food and drinking a glass of wine together. At the same time, he thought that you didn’t fit in. Not in this life.

You met when he wasn’t yet the person he is now. When he was still passionate about so many other things other than just racing. Of course this had always been a part of him, but so were you. And now its just racing that occupied his mind, no single corner in his head left for his girlfriend. He knew it hurt you, but at the same time, part of what the media had to say about you was true. The first season he had spent with you by his side, the internet was already raging about how you weren‘t the typical WAG, and how they thought seeing you next to someone like a Kelly Piquet, you did seem a little weird. Lando didn’t want to be confronted with these opinions anymore, so instead of standing up for you, he decided to ‘hide‘ you. To not put you in the center of attention after a race to hug and kiss you, to just let you stand there and wait until you were inside where no one could see you. He also avoided reading anything the internet had to say about you, so the fact that his plan had only made you gain more and more hate, went unnoticed. Just like your complaints when he didn’t want to be seen with you after races at parties or even in a restaurant for dinner with Charles and Alexandra. Of course they had invited the both of you, and not only him. Lando came up with an excuse so he the paparazzi wouldn’t see you. The rumor that Lando and you have broken up after he was seen at dinner alone didn‘t seem to bother him either, but it did you. He thought you liked it this way, as he thought, without any hate comments about your looks or the way you’d dress compared to the others. He thought you appreciated not having to dress up for parties or the countless hangouts with his friends. He thought you cried that night after he was out for dinner because you cooked for him and he just went out, not that you cried because you felt not good enough for him to want you to come with him.

He really was stupid enough to think you were happy with all of this.

And while he was happy to be able to finally spend his summer break with you and only you, it all came crashing down when you were back in your shared apartment. Tears were forming in his eyes while yours were already streaming down your face as you yelled at him, telling him every yet so small detail that left your heart crushed and broken while he was busy „hiding you“, or as he explained it to you, „protecting you.“ this wasn’t protection, this was blatant ignorance. And finally in this relationship, you did something for yourself. You left.

Maybe it was miscommunication, or him refusing to communicate at all. But that didn‘t matter now, ‘cause now, it was over. No more kisses, no more cuddles and no more meeting friends or families. But most importantly, no more crying, no more sleepless nights, no more unappreciated support, no more hiding.

❝ I waited and waited ❞

Finally at home, your family had expected to see you with Lando by your side, and they were so very excited to finally be able to meet the guy their lovely daughter was head over heels for, using every chance she had to gush over him and how unbelievably proud she was of him. So when you stood there with puffy eyes and all your luggage placed next to you, they knew the tears you cried weren’t happy tears from finally behind home again. They were tears from saying goodbye to the life you were ready to spend with your boyfriend, who was now on the other side of the world.

You knew it was stupid, but you couldn‘t help waiting for him to reach out to you again. A call or a message, hell, you hoped he was as miserable without you as you were without him so that maybe Max or even Oscar had to contact you again. Despite all the times he had hurt you, you missed him so dearly.

But after months and months of waiting, you decided that there was no use in waiting. It’s over, and its for the better, it has to be.

It was gonna be hard seeing him again, once the summer break is over. Even if the love between Lando and you ended, your love for Formula 1 didn’t, and you weren’t about to give that up just for the sake of not having to see him. You‘d be in the stands or in front of the TV, he‘d be in his car or in front of the camera. No point in worrying. But still, the first few races, you watched curled up next to your best friend and your parents from home. It was so nice to finally be able to see everyone again, everyone you had to miss all these months you were away. Your dad and you used to always watch races together, and you were more than grateful to finally be able to do exactly that again.

❝ Man am I the greatest? God, I hate it, all my love and patience – Unappreciated. You said your heart was jaded, you couldn’t even break it, I shouldn’t have to say it … ❞

His instagram and twitter definitely make it seem like your broken heart doesn’t match his perfectly fine one. He seemed happier than ever, having fun with his friends at parties and driving around different towns with different girls. Seeing him was draining, but how were you supposed to never hear about him again when the entire internet was screaming his name? You wanted your life to finally feel easier now, but it seemed to only get harder.

You felt you lost your soulmate, while he only lost his greatest burden.

It wasn’t until you watched the first race after the summer break with your dad that it all came flooding back to you. Lando crossed the finish line first, and as the camera switched to show him get out of his car and rip off his helmet to kiss his new girlfriend that looked weirdly similar to you, surrounded by loud cheers, clapping and ecstatic, smiling faces, you realize that maybe, he really didn’t love you. And that he didn’t *want* to kiss you after his races, because it seems that if he had wanted to, he would’ve.

At the same time, even while standing on the highest step of that podium, Lando couldn‘t help but think about you, how stupid he was to treat you like a piece of shit when all you wanted was to be there for him after races like this one and most importantly, why the hell no girl he‘s been with after your breakup felt even remotely close to you. You were the greatest thing he‘d ever had, no trophy, no price would ever compare, and he managed to take it all for granted.

If he had just put in a little more effort, really, you could’ve been the greatest .

[brunetttebaby]

OH MY GOOODDD THIS TWITTER VIDEO IS SO ABBY ANDERSON CODED FUCK. (link is nsfw ofc)

SHE IS SUCH A BOOB GIRL. she loves them so much. fuck if they’re big or small, they’re attached to her favorite person in the world.

you’ll be making the two of you breakfast and she’ll come from behind you, a hand coming up your shirt just so she can feel your tits!!

squeeezzing the soft flesh, playing with your nipples till they get all hard!:3 she thinks it’s adorable how riled up you get for her!

she ADORES how warm they are too!! you’ll be watching a movie together, spooning, and you feel her hand inching up your tummy. you’re just so warm for her!!

she is a sucker for titty sucking!! (laugh at my joke) it’s a comfort thing really. when she gets bored she’ll just ask to suck on them, which you’re happy to oblige to.

abby loves when you ride her and she gets to watch your boobies move with each of her movements :3 she’ll even latch onto one, playing with the other one!

“so pretty,” she’ll murmured against your nipple, looking up at you squirming from her hot mouth. “abs!!” you’d whine, her hand roughly pinching your other nipple, twisting n pulling on it>;( so mean of her!!

“‘m sorry baby, i can’t help it. you’re so pretty for me.” she’d say with faux sympathy, yet that smirk was still on her lips.

she also loves getting hers sucked as well (as much as she doesn’t want to admit it) you did it once, and she got hooked!!! nothing beats yours though;((

a/n: i surprisingly like the way this turned out, which is weird because i usually use everything i write but 🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️

[strwberri-milk]

Hello, I love ur LADS works <3. Can i request the boys on the day of their and reader's wedding, their reaction to first seeing the dress and their vows in the current timeline. Tysm 🩷

i literally wrote this entire thing and then tumblr deleted it so im so MAD - wrote this w/ reader being g/n bc what if you wanna wear a sick pantsuit to your wedding, focues on the first look/vows!! but i dont write vows bc i dont know the touch of another human also very very slight references to myths you dont need to know them to read this/its not really a spoiler

Zayne took an active role in your wedding planning because you wanted him to. You know he's got his preferences and even though he bends to your will a majority of the time you know that you want as much of his input as possible.

A part of him honestly wanted to be there for you to pick out your clothes for the wedding. He wanted to spend the afternoon telling you how amazing you look and how excited he is to marry you but he knows it would make you much happier to surprise him on the day of. Besides, he has a reputation to maintain as a professional doctor - crying in the changing room is not conducive to such an image, you tease.

The day of the wedding he focuses on the empty space in front of him. He doesn't want to look at the walkway until he knows your day, knowing that the anticipation of your presence would just make him cry. Unfortunately for him when it's finally time for him to meet you at the alter he immediately starts crying. He doesn't even notice that tears are sliding down his face until the officiant hands him a tissue.

You can't help but tease him a little for his reaction but you're crying just as much, bringing a hand up to wipe away his tears as you laugh. He leans into your touch, the two of you sharing a quiet moment until it's time for the two of you to say your vows. His vows are concise yet affectionate, detailing the moment he knew he loved you. It's a day that's just out of your reach, one that you can't remember but one he clearly looks upon fondly.

When it's time for the two of you to kiss he steals the breath out of your lungs. He kisses you hard, passionately as a reminder of how much he loves you. You can't help but blush a little at how intense the kiss was but the way he looks at you is even more intense, thanking you for giving him the opportunity to be loved by you.

Xavier was always happy to give you his opinions for the wedding whenever you asked for them. He might not have a strong opinion but he does definitely have one, telling you that he wants but that he's also happy to just go along with whatever you want. All he cares about is that he's marrying you.

When you come down the aisle he can't take his eyes off of you. He's had a determined look throughout a majority of the ceremony, one you recognise from moments of intense focus whenever he's working. It's his default for trying to stay calm throughout the day, waiting anxiously for you at the alter. Now that you're finally here the look on his face softens, smiling at you as he watches every step you take to him carefully.

His vows are simple, swearing to protect you for the rest of his life. Somehow, you get the sense that he's spent a lot of time working on the words, his speech more formal and elegant than you're used to but it's still perfectly him. He smiles at you softly the entire time, his absolute adoration for you obvious as you listen.

When he kisses you it feels like the first time. He holds you delicately, hands cupping your face as he whispers another "I love you" against your lips. He tells you how excited he is to finally be your husband, promising you again that he'll always be by your side.

Rafayel went all out for your wedding. Anything you wanted he got for you, no questions asked. Surprisingly, he actually didn't have very many wants for the ceremony himself, constantly telling you that as long as you're happy he's happy. The only thing was he really wanted to design your wedding attire, wanting it to perfectly match is. You had to fight him for it, telling him it'd defeat the purpose of it all being a surprise. You end up compromising by allowing him to pick the fabric and pattern - that way you two could still match but he doesn't know what the final product looks like. Besides, he already designed the wedding bands so he wasn't too upset about losing this battle.

His eyes are glued to the head of the aisle, waiting for you to come down it. The second you appear his eyes start watering just the slightest, wiping his tears as he waits for you to come to him. His breath feels like it's been stolen out of his lugs, taking your hands in his when you finally stand across from him. His vows are memorised so he doesn't bother to reach for any notecards.

He promises you the world, telling you that he'll be waiting for you until all the seas in the world dry up and even past then. His words are ardent, almost feverish as he devotes his entire being to you, reminding you time and time again that as far as he's concerned, his life means nothing to you.

After the two of you kiss he buries his face into your neck, holding you tightly as his vows continue. They're simple yet just as devoted, Rafayel telling you that right now, his words are just for you.

Sylus, like Rafayel, spared no expense for your wedding. He has less opinions about the whole ceremony and tells you that whatever you need to make you happy then you have to get it. As long as you want it, you'll have it.

When he sees you for the first time he's rendered speechless. He's got a good poker face though so to everybody else, they just think that the smirk on his face is a warning to you of what's to come but you can see the softened arch in his brows, the way his lips are just the slightest bit downturned in anxiety. You reach out of his hands, laughing softly at the fact that they're shaking. Nobody can tell but you, keeping your hands in his so he has something to ground himself to.

His vows for you are hushed, barely heard by the audience since as far as he's concerned, they're promises that are only for you. He loves you more than anything, and he swears that he'd never do anything to hurt you for as long as he lives. He promises that he'll go along with all your schemes and love you with all of his heart - even though that comes to him as naturally as breathing.

The audience is surprised to see such a soft version of him come out in public, the look in his eyes when he sees you making them all melt. He kisses you softly, holding your face in his hand as he makes sure you understand the depth of his feelings for you while he swears his life to you.

[pearlywritings]

Surprisingly

synopsis: for the public eye, the head of the Oak Family and his wife are a loving couple. In private they are astonishingly content with each other too.

pairing: Sunday x fem!reader

tw: fluff, arranged marriage, reader is halovian, established some time before the game quest on Penacony.

word count: 2.8k+ words

Nothing supports the man’s prestige and public image more than a proper marriage with a proper woman. So, I want you to meet this very woman, my child…

Two months, fifteen days and one hour. That’s exactly how long ago Sunday became a husband. A role he didn’t imagine himself playing, not with the role assigned to him from above. But, it was Gopher Wood - his adoptive parent basically, who brought you to him and announced his grand plan. And even if the head of the Oak Family had his doubts initially, a thorough conversation held with and without the Dreammaster, plus your immaculate background and some more specific matters proved to him that you were indeed chosen rightfully. He wasn’t sure if it was Mr Wood’s way of helping him, offering you as an aid at handling some of the work-related matters but with the seemingly perfect image of being wed - the elder gave no answers, however Sunday knew better than to question some of his schemes.

And so, your union was sealed. The ceremony wasn’t something exceptionally huge, none of you wanted that, but it was public enough for everyone and their mother to be talking about it. A couple of perfectly sterile interviews, some joint photos and three or four public appearances together, and people have been fooled enough to believe that.

That was enough.

Something as shocking as a wedding would avert the public eye and serve a great purpose in deceiving the people. After all, newlyweds are far too busy for one of them to be plotting something, right?

Right. So right, that Sunday himself was in a somewhat daze for the first week. But it’s understandable - on top of his regular responsibilities he had to prepare for the wedding and get to know the person he was about to spend life with better. Surprisingly, you turned out to be very understanding and supporting from day one, actively participating in whatever additional activity served on the man’s plate. It was weird, new and confusing, but above all he caught himself considering it not unwelcome.

You are astonishingly easy to work with. Well-versed in the matters of Family (but he shouldn't be all too surprised, given who brought you to him), soft, yet - when needed - firm spoken, not afraid to face the crowd in your husband's place for a public announcement and taking a portion of his responsibilities without any questions asked. If not for your interactions outside of all of that, Sunday would've thought you were his secretary and not a wife (but even a secretary wouldn't have known as much as you are aware of).

You are…comfortable. Sunday should really reproach himself for giving in so quickly, but it’s so hard not to. Maybe his vigilance is lulled with security of his patron’s choice or maybe it’s his own longing for normal civil interaction with someone close, but it didn’t take much time to start entertaining your sparks of curiosity.

Oh, how curious you are. Despite being trapped in a loveless marriage, you’ve been willing to learn about him from day one, trying to unfurl at least one tiny secret of his every day. He knows that because you are methodical, because you write it down (and you don’t hide the fact - when he, alarmed, asked or rather demanded you to show him that little notepad of yours, you just did so, with an explanation of your reasoning.)

Speaking of getting to know each other better… It’s still half an hour before your recently established tea time, but… But maybe he could summon you earlier? 

I hope, my child, this woman will become your reprieve. You are not obligated to love her, see her as just a companion, but feel free to treat her as a continuation of yourself. I educated her to match you specifically, after all.

As a continuation of himself… Isn’t it cruel to speak such things of a sentient being? Isn’t it putting one into the position of submission? 

Somehow it feels bitter on the tongue when he thinks of you.

His hand reaches for the bell, but promptly stops before the fingertips can touch the polished metal. Ah, of course, he asked to not be disturbed today. So, let him not violate his own order. He can find you on his own, not to mention, a small walk around the building might help clearing up his mind. Lately, he’s been thinking too much.

Spacious halls of the Dewlight Pavilion are empty, he knows as much, yet he hopes he won’t have to roam for too long, as the gloved hands push the doors of the meeting room. Today you two decided to work from the main Family residence in need of some materials here, and since no congregations were scheduled for the day, the building was all yours.

Each step of his is muffled by the carpet, lining the exactly 39 stairs, every next one lifting some of the weight from his shoulders and smoothing the deep frown of light gray brows. When his heels click on the small podium with the additional three steps, Sunday feels like his head is cleared. 

Stepping on the carpet again, he finally ends up in the big hall with the 5 Lineages symbols and a big City Sandpit in the middle. Quickly fishing his phone out of the pocket, he swiftly unlocks the screen and finds your name in the recent calls, dialing it.

When did it happen that conversations with you outnumbered ones with his sister?

You pick up the phone after just two seconds.

“Hello? What is it, Sunday?”

Ah, straight to the point, he admires that. And the calmness of your tone is surprisingly grounding.

“I was wondering if you’d join me earlier,” he speaks softly, barely holding off from calling you ‘dear’. It’s not wrong for the spouses, but how would you react? He asks strange questions lately. “Tell me where you are, I’ll come fetch you.”

“To answer your first question, I’d love to,” the young man might lie to himself, but he swears he heard your voice sweeten just a little. It makes the little wings behind his ears flutter, which he is quick to still. “As for your second one, however, you might want to look down.”

Sunday follows your instruction without much thought, looking right at the red carpet covering the marble floor.

“...I don’t believe I understand.”

He hears you chuckle, a tinkling sound, lacking any malice. His left wing slightly jerks as the favorable noise fills his left ear through the phone.

“The City Sandpit, beautiful. I am not far from the origami birds’ nest.”

As he moves to round the table, your husband’s heart skips a beat. You called him beautiful, you have done so on multiple occasions already. You praised his intellect, you gently clapped for the perfect choice of the clothes for the day he made, you agreed with him on the most mundane things incorporated into your daily lives. And not once it felt forced or fake. You were surprisingly sincere with him - he would’ve thought that with the Dreammaster’s upbringing you’d have been all mastered flashy smiles and sickly sweet polished words.

But here you’ve been, admiring him in your own quite blunt kind of way.

He immediately spots your tiny figure among the fake buildings on the city’s layout. You are waving at him with a smile.

“Found me,” he hears again in the speaker, but now also from you as well.

“Found you,” Sunday echoes, reaching his free hand to you. When he curls his fingers, you understand and, clutching the strap of the bag hanging from your shoulder, carefully climb onto his open palm.

Your husband is careful, finishing the call and putting the phone aside, before cupping the other hand under the one holding your sitting figure. Bringing you closer to his eyes he can see all the little details on the pretty pale blue dress you left home in this morning, with your second pair of clipped wings wrapped around the waist like another skirt. Then his gaze skims along your neck, adorned in one of the pendants he gifted you and then up to the first pair of wings, bigger than his when you are your normal size. 

He doesn’t have an opportunity to marvel over your intricate halo, because your eyes capture his in a vice, looking at him inquiringly.

“Didn’t expect you to take a break earlier. I thought you liked to stick to your routine.”

This was probably the first thing you learned about your back then betrothed.

“I do,” a tiny smile adorns his pale lips, “however, today I managed to wrap the most attention-requiring matters up earlier. Now only the mundane cases are left.”

“Good to hear that,” you hum, swinging your stocking-clad legs a little. His golden eyes look over your form once more, capturing the image of surprising comfortability in the hands of a bigger being, one that could crash your body so easily at the moment.

“I do wonder however about the reason behind your current predicament,” the male tilts his head in an inquiring way. “I believe I’ve never seen you enter the City Sandpit.”

Well, not to count the very first time he was giving you a tour.

“Oh, as I said, I know your routine, so I usually leave it before our meetings. I actually enter it quite often when we stay here,” is your answer that makes Sunday’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“It’s easier to do paperwork this way,” motioning to the bag still on your shoulder, you then huff in annoyance. “If only you knew how eager your subordinates to bother me whenever you are unavailable. I am well-informed of my seeming position as the “lady-of-the-house”, but I’ve never signed up to be a link element between you and them, let alone a pawn in someone’s game of becoming first to seek your favor. Pardon me for my straightforwardness, but I much prefer interactions without actual feedback from the interlocutor if the situation doesn’t require otherwise. Except for you, of course.”

Except for him.

“You are my equal. You can always order them not to bother you,” drawing his hands closer to the chest, Sunday turns and starts walking closer to the table’s side where the gates are located.

“As if,” he glances down and catches just the end of your eye roll. “Mister Wood would have had my head if I ruined your picture as little as being distant from your inner circle. I’d much rather prefer just to hide away when needed and return to my secondary duties once I’m done with the primary.”

With the Dreammaker’s upbringing you would think a person can’t be as open-minded. Sunday is sure that it was no different from his - after all you have the clipped wings to match his. But, it seems, you found a way to temporarily escape from the suffocating clutches. Today he learnt a new thing about you, and, surprisingly it warms his soul instead of feeling repulsed.

He carefully puts you down just in front of the gates from the city’s side. Almost knocking off  a little ”DO NOT TOUCH” card near it, your husband moves to the right to let you step out. And in a couple of seconds of blinding light you stand before him in all your tall glory.

“Thank you for making the trip across the city so much shorter,” you grin, shaking the bag’s strap down your shoulder and rolling it, before unwrapping the wings from around your waist and spreading them in a stretch.

“It was my pleasure,” his tone is even, yet the gaze with which he watches you move gives him out. To this day and probably for a long while the levels of intimacy that used to be unknown to him yet which you display are going to surprise him. Sunday almost feels an annoying twinge of upsetness when you rewrap your wings around the dress’s skirt. Though it lets him see a couple of ruffled feathers and he has to suppress the urge of his hand to reach and fix them for you.

Yes, there is some intimacy between you lately, but not close enough.

“If you give me a moment to drop off my papers, I’ll be swift in joining you,” your voice breaks the man out of his self-restraining thoughts, and he lifts his eyes from your waist back to your face.

“Ah, it won’t be necessary. I’d like to have our tea time back at the meeting room, I have some things to discuss with you.”

“So official,” you smile, taking a step to join his side. “Alright then, let us be on our way up. Would you like to fill me in on the agenda of our ‘meeting’?”

“Sure,” Sunday chooses to ignore your teasing, but habitually offers you his elbow to hook your arm in it. “My sister is going to visit soon and she seems to be quite pissed at me.”

“Miss Robin?” Your question is laced with puzzlement. “I assumed from your stories of her that she is hardly in a sour mood.”

“It is true, yes,” your husband sighs, leading you up the first set of stairs. “But I would’ve been mad too if my sibling had gotten married and I did not know a thing.”

“She does not know about us?”

The man nearly halts in his ascending. If he didn’t know better and where your thoughts and loyalties stood in this marriage, he would’ve believed you are offended that he kept such an important fact a secret from his only family member. Nevertheless, he continues his walking.

“I sent her an invitation, you know that. But it seems the planet she’s been on is pretty far away and she’s gotten my message only recently, on her way back. I loathe to admit it, but now I feel very bad and the situation itself is iunjust. I am aware we were in a rush, all because of the- you know why,” he sees you nod from the corner of his eye and feels your fingers carefully dig into his arm, “but Robin has always wanted to be a maid of honor at my wedding. And I ripped this opportunity from her.”

And I am not going to get married the second time. This he did not voice out loud.

For a moment you both fall silent. You get lost in thought, Sunday does so too, analyzing his own words, wondering if this speech of his was too personal, if it was painting him as weak in your eyes.

And his own.

You speak only when he reaches for the knob and twists in to swing the door open and lead you two inside.

“So, how much time do we have before she gets here?”

“Maybe a couple of days,” he breaks the lock of your arms and gets a hold on the strap, sliding the bag down your shoulder and turning to put it aside for the time being. “Why asking?”

“You are a good brother, I can see that, “ ah, here you are, praising him again. “And it’s obvious you care for your sister and wish to give her the world. I suggest organizing a small party for her. This way she could experience what she missed and get familiar enough with me. I can negotiate with Mister Wood, I am sure I can convince him - he has some sort of a soft spot for you, Sunday.”

Surprisingly, it twists something uncomfortable in the halovian’s stomach.

“It sounds… delightful. However, are you certain you’d like to go to such lengths for Robin?”

“Well, she is your sister,” you chose the table farthest from the one your husband has been working at and grab the back of the chair to move it so you could sit, “and I am your wife. I’d love her to believe in us too. If I am not overstepping, of course.”

That’s actually not a bad idea. If almost four months ago someone - even you - suggested he let his sister and future wife meet, he’d be hesitant. He knows his little sister, he knows how perceptive she is - he is not so sure he wouldn’t have cracked under her inquisitive questions about whether he was happy with the arrangement or not. Plus leaving her sad and aching for brother if he let her know of the unjustness of the situation and still chose to proceed with the wedding is just too much for him.

Now he, at least, will not be lying that he is content if being asked.

“I accept your offer and thank you profusely for it,” Sunday slightly bows his head, to which you shake yours, reaching your hand out to beckon him to join you.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ll have time to thank me later, once we’ve already done something, alright?”

Surprisingly… It is indeed alright.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ footprint in the snow ˎˊ˗ cregan stark

cregan stark x fem!lady!reader words: 12.1k synopsis: "The stones of Winterfell have always been blissfully cold against your palms, and Cregan’s presence has always naturally attended you." notes: hi!! this is my first cregan fic [so pls be gentle] but im excited to write for him more... still trying to work out his character but. ily @useralba and @dipperscavern ... febu frong anyways <3 i didnt edit this sorry but hope u all enjoy <3 warnings: canon-divergent au; dance does not/has not happened. north-centric AS IT SHOULD BE. characters aged 23+. slight jealousy, betrothals & poorly made up politics (actually made up so much lore sorry i do that when im nervous), brief mention of parental death, fluff, friends to lovers, smut (fingering, slight breeding kink), brief finger sucking what, light dirty talking. masterlist requests are open.

FOR AS LONG AS YOU’VE KNOWN, THE EVE OF WINTER HAS BEEN SAID TO COME IN A SHARP WHISTLE DOWN THE MOUTH OF THE PEAKS TO THE NORTH. 

Sharp, precipitous - the wind that breaks bones and scatters breath; it howls through the northern curls of the Wolfswood, piercing its glacial breath through trembling needles of pine, hissing up and over the stone of the North Gate. Tales of chipped slabs of sharp, which fly from the Old Tower in a gale of old; stealing the breath from lungs old and new, whipping away parchment, stealing flight and life from those southern ravens white of feather as far as the Bloody Gate. 

As a babe, your mother would sing of the sharp teeth of the Threnody; nursemaids and maester alike whispering of its wail against chamber doors even in the deepest of the castle. Your father, a less cagey spirit - still, he’d not stop the furrow of brow at the blow of hard iced snowdust that gathered within the stables on the outskirts of baileys. 

And perhaps it is not yet time for the howling of the wind when the wolves still linger in the woods; when life may still yet subsist away from the spitting crackle of hearth within castle walls - but you do not feign ignorance. 

Winter is coming. 

It comes in wind; and, just as the Threnody of old, it is subtle and piercing, perniciously beautiful. 

Lord Stark of Winterfell sits at the end of the hall, in a fur cloak that nearly swallows over the bulk of his wide frame; the lick of flames over his skin dance with the murmured din of the crowd as you watch, a cat-eyed weariness from your corner spot. It is not often this loud, though the Great hall has been much more full as of late - with the Southern company from the Reach, Winterfell has bursted at the seams just in the eve of Wintertide. A less than optimal time to host guests; but your Lord is a steadfast one, and knows an opportunity for trade when he sees one. 

Your father speaks to him - you watch the men with vague interest until the elder catches your eye across the assembly; a gesture of his hand, beckoning you to their side. And the Lord Stark, face young, weathered - handsome as he is dour in the torchlight, nodding with a surprisingly warm gaze when your eyes meet.

You do not heed your father’s summon; you remain rooted instead, struck with a sudden fatigue as some odd taste of jealousy from the nest of your bosom peeks into your mind, whispering of the woman who sits only three tables away from you. 

The Southern Rose. Her father, a man visiting to treat in way of increased wheat and salt trade with Winterfell; preservation starts soon, the harvest has found its end - leaves curl tight as a grip frozen in fist now, even near the Neck. She accompanied her father - words whispered from advisors of a potential betrothal - and as she is a girl just two years your junior, your father had instructed you to accompany her through her visit to Winterfell. 

Truthfully, you’ve found her quite wonderful - a sweet girl, though fairly plain-minded: innocent smiles, soft polite nods. You spent the fortnight riding through the Wolfswood, needlepointing - tasks rather simple, though torturous only when you caught glimpses of Lord Cregan and his men in the yard, in the halls, or treating. A yearning festered in your breast during these past days - a desire to attend matters of the mind instead of, perhaps, such soft matters. 

Though no fault of her own. A kind girl, you do swear by the gods - though each simpering look to the man who walks with Ice at his back twists a dagger deeper into your gut; A fine wife for a wanting Warden, the lords had advised - and you, with an ear pressed to the closed oaken door of Cregan’s hall like some bright-eyed maiden. An alliance with a house South would allow for a stake in the Southern lord’s trade route to Dorne; A smart match, perhaps, if Cregan searches for reach outside his North. 

You’re not particularly convinced he does. 

Though the hearths are large and heavy tonight, you yearn for that curling reach, that whisper of agony that cradles limbs into chests - and with a spare step towards the crack in the hall’s entrydoors, cool air pierces the tissue within your chest. 

Outside is the swirling ink of the owl’s hour. 

If you could see through the song of night, up and over the walls of stone which keep the first whispers of Threnody at bay - you might find the ridged roofs of Winter Town; and even beyond, those breathing hills that bring the Kingsroad up and back down. And cold, that creeping wolf, that slither of ragging which drags clouds to the ground and whispers promises of winter. 

You press your lips together; Who would wish to look beyond such persevering beauty? 

Cregan’s voice is low across the hall, though you can hear it through the din of the feast as he converses with his men; a swirl of affection, that comfortable specter in the corner of your thoughts. A glance back through the oak door to that sirened wail of glacial, ancient breath; the southern rose… and you, a pine in wildflowers. 

The yard below the great hall swirls with untouched crystals; miniscule, they glimmer in the open air and twirl in a mesmerizing dance - the ale in your palms is much too warmed by the blood that pumps through you.

A young man beside you gestures rather agitatedly; and you, bristled with the realization that you allow the creeping draft to leak into the hall, step forward once, allowing the doors to once again shut. The hall is warm and your mind is fuzzy; you step away, hugging the outskirts of the wall and avoiding the heat of your cheeks. 

Lord Stark rises in your peripheral when you begin the short promenade returning to your seat.

It is inevitable at any feast, his company - Cregan, a man only three namedays your senior and, even before becoming your Lord, a very close companion. Youths tied up in the training of noble roles, you and Cregan got on rather well - your father advised Lord Rickon, as a vassal house of the Starks; now, he serves Rickon’s son just the same. 

Your brief respite near the exit of the hall is short-lived when his boots pave their way towards you, bisecting your path though you pretend to pay the man no mind, a grin growing on your lips - there is only a breath of his own amusement in the short cat-and-mouse game you begin on the way to the trestle table; the stones of Winterfell have always been blissfully cold against your palms, and Cregan’s presence has always naturally attended you. 

Trots of hooves through the Wolfswood, trailing steps hurried through halls to keep up with long strides – a brief nod in passing when Maester Kennet would end the young Stark’s studies early. You’d learned to shoot a bow with him and his late brother in that very yard below; shared huffs of amusement when your arrow sailed wide. 

And even now, well over your youth; it remains how it has always been, with your roots so very sunk into the hard earth of the North; the Kings of Stark over your family’s barony of land just half-day’s west of Winterfell. And when Lord Rickon drew his final breath - and some years later, too, when Bennard’s slow relinquishment darkened the skies - you never dared worry of how life might change. 

You call him Lord Stark now - though in the quiet moments, he oft prefers Cregan; still the boy who convinced your father and his own to let you attend seasonal hunt, who sat with you in the rookery for hours of silence when your mother left the mortal realm; who did not protest when you insisted you did not wish to discuss it; who wiped tears from your weary skin so they’d not freeze; who waited patiently as you watched wind blow needles from the pines and ravens drop from clouded sky. 

And you, still with some melancholy whisper from the air that blows crystals over the hills towards Last Hearth; a Threnody of your own, your chilled craving despite the warmth of your soul. Cregan calls you my lady now - though he was keen to do so just as oft in youth, despite the blushing of your cheeks and quick glances to the snow-licked ground. 

He approaches you this evening with a storm of a stare and a hint of a smirk that, to any other, would look merely as his usual stoic countenance; though there is a bright in his eyes, a twitch upon his lip as he takes in the shifting of your boots upon the stone. 

You busy yourself traveling to your seat without tripping upon your feet - but still he meets you, eyes hooked upon the curve of your jaw and sliding over the apple of your cheek when you arrive to your spot, concealing your smile with a nod. 

A cacophony of laughter from the wolf’s council - you feel much more at home when the attention is off you and your Lord, hidden in the backlit corner. 

The hall is warm; warm, when all you can see are dark locks, drawn brows, pink lips, stubbled jaw. Your heart clenches when his arm brushes your own, if only for a moment.

 “Lord Stark.” Your voice swims; a wavering, perhaps from the mead that lingers on the back of your tongue, or at the stare that hooks itself upon your own. His eyes take you in - slowly, as if appreciative - an active repression of any fluttering at such a gaze, knowing him much too well to allow yourself a stirred feeling. 

“My lady,” He greets back; he’s obscured you with his height from the brunt of the hearth’s breath - a small relief, as your chest grows hot under the slow roll of his tone and your eyes fall from the mountain of his comportment. His gaze finds the doors at the hall entrance before returning to you, alight with something less than mirthful but not completely chastising. 

“Is the feast not satisfactory?” A drop of tease in a river of adherence; you hear it though, you feel it - and with the flow comes a tide of affection in your stomach. A small smile that smoothes your hot cheeks, “It is wonderful,” You mend, biting your lip, “I am rather keen to find momentary respite outside, though.” 

He seems sated enough with your words, nodding just once. “You’ve always been one for the cold.” He absently observes as his eyes flick to the table briefly, “I suppose you’ve been kept inside the walls too much as of late, aye?” 

A reminder of your recent charge - of the girl, eyes shining as clear as day, gazing upon the mountainous frame of Lord Stark from across the hall.

She much prefers the hearth to the raw air; and you’ve done nothing but acquiesce, placating the whims of the girl who might one day be your Lady Stark - an unpleasant thought, though one that could very well be a reality. Your throat tightens in a bough of unwarranted jealousy at the thought and, with a tight swallow, you nod to your Lord, gaze leaving his own. 

 Your fingers trace the silver prongs upon the table, left after you’d finished your meal half-eaten in search of the whispering sirens of flurry in the courtyard; you do not find it within yourself to speak, and perhaps that is why Cregan worries so for your disposition. 

“You’re distant tonight,” he decides, eyes lingering for a moment longer on the flush of your cheeks - perhaps from the drink, perhaps from something else entirely - and though he is just inches away now, he makes no unnecessary movements - an approach calm, unwishing to ward off a skittish creature. A wolf upon a pup. 

You, in your avoidance of his ownsolemn disposition, nearly miss the opportunity given for you to respond - and so you start with a breath and a lifted stare. 

“Perhaps it is because I was not seated with all you lords at the grand banquet table,” you quip; a rather surprising use of attitude in front of such company. An inkling of rather instant regret - you ought to watch your tongue around the members of the Household. 

Mercifully, Cregan only provides you with a stern glance and a lifted brow, that trickle of amusement only a breathed whisper across the cool gaze of piercing eyes. 

He certainly is aware of your quiet yearning - perhaps in a degree more at least than your yearning for himself, which has never been spoken but has often been rather obvious  - but instead to follow your father’s footsteps; an advisor to the Warden, a trusted voice, in the eve of wintertide. 

You have, for all the exhausted topics Cregan and yourself have touched upon in your many years of companionship, not outwardly admitted such hypnagogic desires; implied, perhaps. But a dreamy wish, a foolish one for a noble girl like yourself. 

His eyes swim between your own, perhaps waiting for more words that do not yet come. You should apologize for your tongue, though away from any other ears, it is oft that your Lord prefers you to speak candidly, uninhibited by much courtly restraint. It is indeed the most common times you’ve been successful in pulling a chuckle or laugh from the man. 

Though this time, he makes the decision for you. “Too much ale?” 

You lift a brow in challenge of the amused tone that barely leaks through, setting the mug down upon the banquet before you. 

“Too much heat,” You excuse instead, hoping your fuzzy mind does not lead to slurred words as your jaw directs his gaze to the massive hearth that threatens to swallow him from behind - and then, with that quiet voice once again, “I apologize for my tongue, my Lord.” 

A frown that looks heavenly on such a countenance- and a brief flush upon the strong ridge of nose; he shifts, vague but endearing from one large trunk of leg, corded with thick muscle, to another. 

“You need never apologize for a gift. So long as you know well enough when to use it.” He murmurs - and after a stilled moment, you nod with tight lips, heart thumping quietly; unintentional as it may be, such words from him sends your desire for him into a gallop. 

In an effort to conceal your affections, you laugh quietly against the heat of your cheeks. “You will come to regret such words, surely.” Your jest falls upon his ears and he hums low, finishing the ale in the mug held by large hands, eyes burning into yours even as he finishes the last gulp. “I doubt that, my lady.” 

There is a draft that catches the edge of your skirts; it carries, beckoning you - the doors have opened, and Lord Cerwin steps outside with a swift nod to Lord Stark and yourself. Some break of the seal which held together your remaining composure; you let out a breath, eyes flickering back to the storm of interest that watches down upon your visage. “I regret I could not attend to you these past weeks.” He murmurs again- rather talkative this eve, it seems. You eye the goblet dwarfed in his large palms; perhaps the ale has done him in as it has you. 

A flip of your stomach, heartbeat picking up at his words - attend you? He must see your expression; for he shifts as flames lick up the leather upon his back. “It has been nearly a moon since I placed a blade in your hand.” He mends, face solemn; a breath from your lips as you exhale shortly. Ah. 

Many days - wind whipping at your cheeks, piercing through your heavy cloaks; Cregan’s few minutes found in spare days to show you parries and ripostes, castigating gently when you try a cheap sweep at his legs and barking in amusement when you fall upon your backside. 

A small burst of cracking embers rise from the hearth just over his stalwart shoulder - you smile at the man before you, watching his own lips twitch at your small huff of amusement.

 “There were more important matters,” Your voice light. “-Negotiations, alliances,” You clear your throat, “matters of the realm.”

His eyes, hawkish as he shifts once more; the shadow of his figure swallowing your own frame as your hand falls onto the table to stabilize yourself against his stare. “Aye,” He nods, gaze briefly flicking to the row of men at the front of the hall; your father finishes his ale, in discussion with Lady Gilliane and the Southern lord. “Tomorrow eve they set for the Kingsroad. And they will have my trade agreements.” His words come as some promise. You’d well noticed the thirty men and women preparing to leave Winterfell; they are guests at this feast indeed. You resist a snarking comment in rebuttal, instead heeding his politeness - and nod slowly.

Another guest leaves the feast and you follow the swish of her skirts and furs with your stare. Just out those ajar doors, tendrils of flakes fall from the skies. You long to feel them kiss the crown of your head, feel them settle upon the downy cloak that sits crooked upon your shoulders; a small draft that kicks again, and the chill begins to settle your flaming cheeks. 

The Southern Rose sips upon a goblet of sweetwine across the way with her few ladies-in-waiting; she smiles brightly at you across the hall and you smile back, aware of the brooded stare upon your visage from beside you. “Only trade?” You finally wonder, unable to look at Cregan, finger tracing the wear of the wood below your palm. 

After a small breath - Lord Stark must direct his glance towards the previous subject of your attention before turning back to you, a frown carved by the gods into the solemnity of his gaze. 

Your heart jumps when he shifts, his arm brushing yours - fingers, large and calloused, adjusts the clasp upon your cloak, knuckles kissing the line of your jaw before dropping away. 

Your cheeks are impossibly hot, though his are just as well. “Only trade,” he echoes, though there’s something within his tone - some secret assurance, one which sets your stomach in warmth. It is a simple silence which follows; his cloaked arm is warm against the fabric of your gown, though you do not mind it. 

“I would not keep you any longer from your respite.” He finally decides, gesturing to the open oak doors, to the pull of chill; A dulcet resonance - you stare at the crawl of flames around his ribcage, flicking over the bulk of muscled mass swathed in furs. You nearly request he join you, though it is swallowed by the polite nod he sends to the girl who sits across the hall, watching with curious eyes. 

“You have a good evening, my Lord.” You bid him, heart fluttering at the pearly soot of his gaze, at the warmth that leaves you as you take a step aside to gather yourself. 

His eyes do indeed follow your movements, tracing the familiar bend of your spine from your peripheral. 

“You as well, my lady.” 

THE NIGHT BRINGS HOWLS OF WINTERTIDE.

And the morning reaps a chill that does not subsist from the core of your bones - even when you pace through the outer hall of the Great Keep, fingers tapping anxiously against the fabric of your skirts, cheeks sharpened by a flurry across the yard. 

There is a great excitement that has stirred in your chest; some disbelief, tethered to the echo of men’s swords in the yard and of hushed whispers between bearded mouths in the halls - though as you recall Maester Kennet’s words written and delivered to your bedchambers late last evening after the feast, you cannot help but bite a smile back between your lips. 

Schooling such girlish giddiness in the brunt of impending adversity, still your heart swells; a glance up the spiraled stones of the Keep’s exterior, you eye the grimed window of your Lord’s study with a huff of disbelief. 

Maester Kennet informs you Lord Stark has accepted your request for private audience - just thirty minutes past your initial supplication - and so you begin to creep your way up the inner spirals of the structure, tracing the old stone with some newborn interest. 

Your hands do not waver when they knock, though you’d hesitated just a breath when you’d made it to his study; Enter, you hear him call - ever practical in his deep tone; a flutter of affection blossoms, spring in the forest of your heart. You once again wipe your perspired palms along the length of your silvered cloak before heeding his beckon.  

The long croak of the oaken door behind you drags against dilapidated stone; with a scratch, the hinge shuts and you slide into the warm chamber, blinded momentarily by wintering light. 

Your lord looks up from his own desk and you trace your gaze along the outskirts of the study; a rather humble room, if the beauty of Winterfell’s castle could ever have such a thing - leatherbound histories, candles that once wept tallow, waxy tears now hardened into dots of bone upon his desk. 

Lord Cregan indulges in his own sweeping glance over your figure wrapped in only lighter furs, your hands clasped and twisting before your dark dress. 

“My lady,” he greets - a girlish tickle within your stomach spurs at the use of title, as though you’ve not bore it your whole life. 

“My Lord, good morrow.” You greet, resisting a short rock upon your toes. 

Cregan leans back in his chair, thighs spread as he wastes no words. “You awaited my acceptance from Maester Kennet,” He observes. At your nod, he continues, “You’ve no need to request an audience when you wish to speak with me. I’ve told you just as much before, have I not?”

Your smile, though faint, is genuine; you relieve yourself of the distance between you and Cregan, finding your seat with gentle grace just across him. You fix him with a glance, “And just as I’ve told you,” you echo, “-as long as you remain my lord, I shall remain mindful of your duties,” Your brow raises just so. “-Whether you wish it or not.” Your voice is rather coy, unable to contain the giddiness in your heart that arises, despite your maintained perplexion - the root of your visit to the Lord in the middle of the morning. 

For half a moment, a flash of amusement upon Cregan’s lips at your familiar stubbornness; but then, he leans forward - large palms curling over the chair’s arms; you eye the worn wood enviously. “Of what do you wish to speak, then?” 

You take a breath; a sweltering heat has begun to stir at the base of your neck - perhaps under the icy stare of the man before you, or the quick gallop of your heart within your chest; outside, the same whistling howl of winds that laces itself through the song of the hounds in the kennels below. 

“I’m…” You shift after beginning, eyes flicking to the quill and ink well that lie abandoned beside him, letter halfway handscribed. A surprising bout of shyness you’ve been struck with under his attention, under the memory of the letter delivered to you last eve. 

Your frown is one of far-off considerations, recalling the information that’d been served with your evening tea while you prepared for slumber last night, a syrupy sleepiness to your hands from the remnants of the feast’s mead; News, given by way of Maester Kennet’s handscript, informing you of your new station. 

A twist of anticipation and determination; you level Lord Stark with eyes icier than his own. 

“I suppose I’m rather surprised that you’ve appointed me to your council, my Lord.” 

The truth is blunt - it feels relieving to rip it off your skin; and so you press on, watching the stern visage before you, wondering if you’ve ever noticed him looking at you without such tender absorption as you see now. 

Your voice continues, strong. “-It’s uncommon for a woman to serve on the Warden’s council, unless she is the Lady of the House.” You fight to ignore the thunder of your heart at such a sentiment - you, Lady of the House - and add with a voice just as strong, “-and we both know I am no such thing.”

A call of raven outside; and a laugh bubbling off somewhere in the courtyard below, melting into a long howl of a hound in the kennels. Cregan watches you carefully, holding your gaze; moments pass under his stare, but you do not squirm - no, as always, you stare back.

 “Would you not accept?” He wonders finally, tone rather unbiased - and for a brief moment, you believe his question is directed towards your latter sentence; a drop in your stomach, though you recover in a breath, swallowing thick. 

You rush to deny it in your accidental hesitance. “-No, my Lord, I'm honored. It’s just rather…unexpected.”

The quiet looms, a cloud rolling over the morning sun; eclipsed in the backlit shadow of daylight by his frame, you begin to pick at the thread of your dress. A fine gown, hand-needled by your own hands just a fortnight ago. 

And then, with a breath; his lips twitch ever so slightly - merely a brief uptick, but you know him. His stare, stark as the wintered sky as he nods curtly - you fight your own grin at the shift. 

“You’ve a good mind for these matters,” his voice is even, face serious. “Some at my table will do well to learn from you.”

You let out a soft laugh, not particularly out of amusement but rather out of surprise at his words, heart stumbling. “I wasn’t aware you thought so highly of me.” You admit, though you both know this to be untrue. 

His gaze doesn’t waver, and neither does his opinion. “I’ve always thought highly of you.”

The words lodge themselves true into your chest. 

And yes, you’ve never been one to underestimate your own intellectual prowess, nor to shy away from an opportunity; though your mind still reels in befuddlement, and you press to hear more, to understand. “You have wiser men - those who served your father well before you.” You observe, tilting your head; a wintery sunbeam ices through the looser strands of your hair, and Cregan's grayed pools trace their colour in the sun. 

“Aye,” He nods as his gaze returns to your own, “Your father is one of them.” 

He is firm; an intimidation in his broad frame, the haloed bright of snowed refractions around his head. “Though it is not about who is wiser, nor who has served longer. It’s about knowing when to speak, and when to hold your peace. When to challenge me.” And Gods be good, his lips curve slightly; a whisper of a smile, some sweep of chilled wind over the face of a mountain.

Your heart stirs at his words, a rush of emotions that burst below your composed exterior. Memories of mulish disagreements, of sliding glares at his youthful visage and stubborn stomps of your foot. Your voice remains firm, though rather surprised. “Challenge you?” You echo with a small smirk. 

“Aye,” he responds without hesitation. “Many lords surround themselves with voices that tend to echo their own thoughts. But you,” His gaze never leaves yours; pinned you remain, eyes unblinking against his, “-you will tell me what I must hear, even when it is hard. Will you not?”

Heat that blossoms over your cheeks as you nod at him - your throat is incredibly dry, “Yes, my lord.” 

He hums, eyes in a brief flash over your sat figure before returning to you. “Good.”

And in the burgeoning moment, a pounding of your heart; you shift in your seat, flattered as a beam of wintered light graces the colour of your stare.

Your fingers still their nervous picking at your gown as you take a slow breath. “And if I do not always agree with you? If I say no, when you would rather hear yes?” 

Cregan leans in just slightly. “I trust no other as I trust you. You'd not dare speak something you do not believe, simply because it pleased me.” 

An absence of concern in your heart at his words, instead filling you with a fierce warmth that curls around the sweet ice coursing through your veins. “You have my word, Cregan. I will advise you as best I can when needed.”

His expression does not waver; though there is a flicker within his gaze. “I never doubted it.”

And then, a gust of breath from the heavens; a rattling gentle against thick pane of glass, though a chill still finds its tendrils in your bones when hard flakes of snow whirl against the exterior. 

“The Southern company leaves this eve,” You observe, eyes glancing out the window, “It will do them well to set off before supper. Lest they become caught in the storm of Wintertide.” And then in your mind, an echo of lovely, sweet laughter; and a curl of unwanted envy at the woman behind the voice, a haunting within your own mind. You are plagued, it seems - thoughts of her kneeling before the weirwood, of his cloak round her shoulders. 

“Aye,” Cregan's voice pulls you back, “We'll not hold meeting until they have left. House Cerwin’s host returns this eve, and I must attend to them.” 

He rises, then - and you, with him, fingers clenched as you register his words informing you not with any air of casual discussion, but rather as a Lord does his vassal. You tamp a grin, nodding instead, following the warm guide of his hand hovered above your back towards the door. 

“I will see you at my table on the morrow, my lady.” He promises when you turn back to him; with a rush of affection, you let yourself smile.

WIND WHISTLES BETWEEN NEEDLES OF PINE AND LEAVES OF OAK IN THE GODSWOOD. 

A rather divine earth upon which you kneel, mind clear with the prayers you whisper to the heart before you. 

It is growing cold, steadily these days - and though you have known the North your entire life, you rather forget how biting it can be when the afternoon snowfall comes. 

You’ve seemed to have forgotten today, as well - your spine shivers just so, the cloak around your shoulders much too light for the tempest that has grown in the skies; flakes that kiss your braids and lick down your cheeks as you finish your intercession, eyes opening to meet the bleeding stare of the heart tree. 

You choose to remain despite the frost that curls around your knees - and after a few moments of quiet, there are footsteps in the snow. 

You know quite well the heavy drags of boots over the whitened crust of earth - a silence that echoes through the woods that you know can only be your Wolf. 

He arrives, perhaps only moments before you register his presence; you had not known he had returned. With a thrill, you wonder if he came straight to you once crossing the gates back into Winterfell. 

“My lord.” you greet, nodding as you feel his warmth behind you - and you can almost imagine the shake of his head at your knelt form. 

“A northerner should know better than to come out in the cold without a proper cloak.” 

A faint smile tugs at your lips, though you don’t yet turn from the tree before you. “The snow came after my prayers. I wasn’t unprepared.” You defend with a twitch of a smile - and then, just to your side, a leather glove extended for your grasp. 

He pulls you to your feet with ease - and there you find Cregan, the low pool behind him echoing the breath of cloudy sky. His eyes are warm and knowing when you trace his irises with your own gaze. 

Flakes continue, shed from the heavens; A white crown of winter falling upon his hair as he takes you in. 

“I came to speak with you.” He says after the moment of quiet you allow; he drapes his thick outercloak upon your shoulders though you glance at him rather sheepishly at the gesture, second in nature in your long years of companionship. 

It is remiss that your first few days appointed in the new station has seen a lack of advisory; alas, Cregan has finally returned after two days with Lord Cerwin and his host, and you will adjoin this evening for strategy.

“I thought as much,” your voice is soft; perhaps residual from your prayers whispered into the listening quiet of the Godswood. “Of what do you wish to speak, my lord?” There is indeed much to discuss now that the company has left Winterfell - winter comes soon enough, and the Wall indeed calls for your Lord’s visit. 

His voice is only rougher as though the words take a coaxing to admit, “Before you were appointed, the lords at my table…” he begins, and your brow lifts as he stares ahead to the tree. “they spoke of a match.”

Your heart stills; you turn to face him fully, swallowing the dip in your stomach. “A match?” you repeat. 

“Aye,” he confirms, “the Southern Lords proposed I take one of their daughters to wed,” He is rather impartial in tone. “Though my men… they advise I take a bride from the North.” 

Perhaps it would be more of a surprise to you, had you not spent the better part of your freetime pressing ears to the council doors; indeed you are familiar with the pressure upon Cregan to take a wife. 

“And…” you begin carefully, “Will you wed the Southern Rose?” 

His jaw clenches; a flutter of flakes against skin though his gaze still holds you with an intensity to make your blood hum; “I denied betrothal to her,” he murmurs, breath puffing in a soft cloud of mist against thicker snowfall; he grows more quiet, then, and it stirs in your chest. “Though as for the proposal set before me by the men of my hall…” He pauses just briefly, and you blink snowflakes from your lashes. “It was not something I rejected.”

A sacred stillness; a raw breath from you as the implication of his words hit you - here, in the Godswood, before the heart tree.

The cloak he’s brought, wrapped around your shoulders, warming your chilled flesh; a kiss of sage and leather as you watch his visage - patient, waiting. Devoted.

A breath puffs from your lips in exhale. 

“You speak of me,” you whisper; his eyes remain on yours, anchored to the press of your teeth into your bottom lip. 

“Aye.” His response is firm, evergreen, rooted. “I speak of you.”

The trees of the Godswood whisper in that quiet way they can; breaths of creeping air that lived long before your ancestors were here. They watch you, how your fingers curl tighter into Cregan’s cloak - how your veins pump with the same blood that runs through his own. You had known this was a possibility - hints from your father’s mulling eyes as you and the Lord had returned from sparring lessons, cheeks winded and amusement laced into small glances and brushes of arms. 

There is a long yearning affection that burns in your heart when you glance back up at his looming height, a small smile teasing your lips. Perhaps, as your fingers brush over heavy fur, you seek to cut through the thick silence which has found you tense with anticipation.

“Well,” you begin lightly, hoping to mask the tremor in your voice, “I suppose you would not be the worst choice for a husband, Lord Stark.”

Cregan’s brow lifts slightly at your words - and a flick of amusement swallowed by a softening; he does not brush off your words with the same playful jest you offer. A step towards you, a hand seeking your own, leather against worn leather. A hollow gust of wind across the gulley of pine to the side of you, and a red bloodleaf falls to your boots. 

“I hope,” he says slowly, eyes anchored on his thumb across your knuckles. “to be the best I can be.” he continues, his voice unwavering as snow dusts his hair, his cloak.

You can only nod through a thick swallow, heart thundering. “You could never be anything less.” You ensure him. His lips part, pink against the light of afternoon; warmth spreads through your chest as his tongue wettens them just so under your watchful gaze. 

“You’ve spent your life here,” he murmurs, “The North is in your blood as it is mine - Winterfell has always been yours.”

Cold, which nips at your skin and aches your bones - it is so distant now. Now, when his breath plumes between you gently. Now, as your hand squeezes his own, even faintly; Now, in a smile that you must bite back as your mind floats, his words rooting into your heart. 

You grin, and it’s softer now. “You make it sound as though it’s already decided.”

Cregan’s broad form towers over you as he leans - though an effective protection from the wintered wind, you feel a shiver down your spine. “I would not presume to decide such things without your consent,” he ensures, “But the thought of another standing beside me… it has never felt right.”

And perhaps, then, he’s always known of your yearning - for how could you not know so familiar the face which looks you back in the mirror, whose heart bleeds your own blood; to know is to love, perhaps. You smile, your other hand falling onto his chest - beneath thick furs, beneath leather and tunic, a heart beats strong. 

A palm, large and calloused as it graces over your cheek; you press involuntarily into his burgeoning warmth, a small smile upon your lips. “It is a good thing I suppose, that I could not imagine leaving Winterfell.” You admit - and then, fixing him with that same intent stare he brings to you: “I will marry you, Cregan.” 

His breath, stuttering only momentarily as his eyes search your own - and then, a clear of his throat. “Then it will be settled,” his thumb lingers against your cheek, his touch warm against the cold that swirls - and it is more than what you'd wished for your whole life; after all, the Threnody would chase you right back to Cregan if you'd gone anywhere else.

“I will be yours, my lady.”  

THE HOWL OF THE THRENODY IS A NEAR SONG ON THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING.

The tub has been placed rather precariously aside the larger of windows awarded to your chambers; you sit in the smoldering heat of the bath, tendrils of oiled steam snaking up and curling into fog at the corners of your vision. 

Outside, scarce birds chirp - a morning early enough, although in this sharp of wintercoming the creatures prefer to retreat to their nests as you stir in your own, sighing away a small dreamy breath. 

It has been five and a half moons since your betrothal; your eyes flicker with a bout of excitement over to the wardrobe across the way, wherein hangs your gown and maidencloak awaiting your presence later this afternoon. 

A smile unbounded, you press palms to your cheeks, attempting to cool them under the thought of what will come tonight. The handmaids have been asked away; a peculiar request from you, but you wish to enjoy a moment of serenity before you begin the day’s preparations - of which there are many - and you worry they will scarce find a moment to eat and enjoy themselves before they are tasked with your hair and your body. 

It snows only in the way trees shake dust from their bones - a heavier pile of white which burdens lower limbs, and you watch the ground of powder stir when it is imbued by the weight. 

Winter is near; words for so long, though now, it is true. And a fine day it is, the Gods have blessed you and Cregan - but indeed, the last of the alpine flowers have curled around a layer of frost, the lakes and ponds have crusted into flat planes thick of ice. Threnody, its whistling song in the dead of night, beckons - winter comes, and the North is prepared. 

A hand falls submerged in the bathwater and you lift it once more with a stinged gasp; the skin over your middle knuckle is cracked and near raw. Maester Kennet administered a salve to it daily since your return with Cregan, Lord Cerwin, and your father - a weekslong trip to oversee the fortification of supply lines in the coming of winter’s harsh brunt. 

Split skin, cracked by the iced wind; and a warm palm to hold you, lips brushed over the top of your temples in a murmur. Your cheeks burn hotter than the bathwater enveloping you; Cregan.

And true that when you lie in your lone bed each evening, plagued with an aching and catch-of-breaths that find you after the memories of chapped lips brushing your own, firmly tender touches that are more fleeting than they are anything else. When you are plagued with such thoughts, you truly think it had all been so much simpler before the betrothal. 

Simpler; glances across halls - stolen moments while he’d chide to you in lessons, quiet words in the library or prideful smirks during a hunt in the Wolfswood. Anticipation is a torturous excitement, perhaps - his hands, you used to wonder - how would they feel against you? 

And you know now - how they hold your cheeks, caress your shoulder, your back; you know, yet you must wait to let them truly hold you, to truly touch you how you so desire. 

A sweet torture, restraint has become. Touches, kisses - far too brief, far too constrained. Your gaze falls upon the stain of red through the Godswood outside, your stomach turning with anticipation, with hunger. 

And yet, the day advances. 

A knock at your quarters starts you just slightly, clearing your throat as your head turns to the door. A stare at the oak, wondering if the doors to your marital chambers will look so similar as these. 

The oils of mountain thyme and coltsfoot bead upon your skin when you sit upwards slightly, wondering aloud who awaits behind the door. 

“-It is me, my lady.” 

Not your handmaidens yet, it seems - Cregan’s voice jumps your heart into a gallop. 

With a flush, you press your lips together, grasping the edge of the tub to rise from the tendrils of steam - the bleeding bundle of leaves which hemorrhage the treeline in the distance abandoned. 

Perhaps only now, as you pad over thick furs upon stone to reach your robe, do you wish you’d allowed your handmaids to remain with you; if only to aid you with some slip that is less revealing than the thin satin you slip on. The stone beneath your feet is warm; you bite your lip gently. 

“Come.” You call; only a breath before the oaken creaking reaches your ears - you’ve pushed your hair back, droplets of oiled bathwater cascading down your temple, over the edge of your chin, kissing the skin of your chest exposed with the loose robe you tie. 

Perhaps you should better ensure your modesty - though by nightfall he will be yours, and you his. What difference does it make now, to let him see you?

Cregan’s frame is backlit by the corridor; a broad figure, ducked only slightly in such tall stature, shoulders brushing the stone sides of the frame - your eyes meet, though swiftly he averts his gaze, turning his head rather sharp as his chest shutters only slightly. 

“My apologies.” His voice holds some tight restraint; you have no power to stop the warmth that spreads upon you at his tone, some hint of arousal at the drop in timbre. “I did not realize…” He trails off, lingering in the doorway - a glint of amber over his dark hair and you swallow a flustered giggle before it can escape your parted lips. “I will return when you are not occupied.” He decides. 

You interrupt gently, shaking your head as your fingers press to your damp palms; an earnest hope he will not leave, now when he’s already here. “There’s no need to apologize,” you gesture to the table and chairs beside the hearth. “You may stay, Cregan. Please.”

His gaze does not return to you yet; palms, large and calloused with life and labor - you press your thighs together in a momentary weakness as your eyes trace over thick forearms that remove a thick fur cloak, dragging over veins which swim up skin kissed by afternoon light. 

A quiet grunt when he sits himself in the chair, thighs spreading as his eyes finally meet your figure once more - gray as the clouded heavens, penetrating as you cross the room to follow him; how those eyes follow the trail of damp water droplets slipping beneath your robe’s loose collar - how they find the rivulets that slide down the bare of your thighs, dripping just slightly onto the stone beneath you. A heat in your cheeks, spreading low over your neck, chest - and lower more, as you find yourself before him, waiting for his eyes to flick up to your own. 

Your chambers in Winterfell have always been much too large in your opinion, for just one woman - though they hold a most divine view of the Godswood; now, the room is impossibly small with the frame of him, silent, watching you slide into the chair across him. 

“Does something trouble you, Cregan?” You wonder finally, searching the face drawn by a stern brow, how his jaw flexes at your question. 

A half-shake of head; a beam of light once again has found his face, an ethereal sight of such a man softened by the wintered sun. He hums, “I came to…” He pauses momentarily, as though struggling to find his words; his eyes once more wavering as a bead of water slides down your damp leg. His eyes flick back to you, swallowing, “I came to ensure this marriage is not being forced upon you.” 

A startle from you; though spoken with a lilt of care, such blunt words hit you rather suddenly, and your heart pangs. He does not see how you crave him, even after these last moons? How your cheeks grow hot under his attention, how your arm laces through his when he walks you to your chambers after meetings - how your lips seek his own in every darkened corridor you might scarcely find? 

 How you return your affections for him each time he murmurs them into your ear in solitude - how you have loved him since long before there was such a word? 

 “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Your voice does not hesitate; neither does your heart. His eyes, so dark in the yards of Winterfell, so bright by light of your solitary quarters; though he does not respond for a brief moment, and in the silence you grow concerned. 

“Cregan,” your voice is soft as you lean forward just so. “Do you want this?”

He blinks at that - daring to be surprised by the question - and for a moment, as his lips part, no sound comes out. The hesitation upon his breath strikes your heart; faint doubt lingers in your chest. 

“I’ve thought about it long before the idea was brought to me.” He admits; a deep tone, eyes fixed upon yours as he murmurs. “Before it became a matter of duty,” his gaze is as steadfast as the words which fall from his pink lips, “I wanted you.”

The breath upon your lips hitch; a warmth that sprouts within your heart begins to spread, against the wide windows behind you, against the man who sits with knees nearly touching your own. 

Tonight, you will meet him under the leaved arms of your ancestors; of those haunted, ancient spirits which call to you in the wind, who blow the Threnody through sharp ravines, who watch you with solemn edict. You will whisper words that have waited upon your tongue for years - he will drape his cloak upon you, and you will taste his faith when your lips find his own under the sight of the Old Gods. 

Dark, his hair blows gently in the quiet of his breath - and perhaps struck by the sheer beauty of the North within him, that steadfast stare cooling the heat upon your skin - you rise from your chair.

His eyes, a hawk; they watch you, head tilting back as you rise to stand before him, your palm gracing his arm; a tinge of pink that creeps over his countenance, a low snowcloud over the breath of dawn upon his cheeks. 

Under your palm are the thick muscles of his bicep; and a heat, one from his skin through the tunic, melting you just the same as his own breath catches. No hesitance from him at your boldness - instead a large, warm palm comes to cup the back of your thigh as you stand before him; and a thumb that traces over the goosepimples that grow at his touch. 

A slide upwards and over his shoulder - your breath quiet, nearing labored as a rising growth of hunger stirs in you. Your eyes catch the armoire across the way, where you know your wedding gown awaits; the material gentle, lined with fur and coloured the refraction of cloud and snow - and wolves, silver and embossed with the darker patterns of your own house sigil. 

The thought stokes your mounting desire for Cregan; your hand slides along the thick warmth of his neck, turning to cup his jaw. Rough stubble which catches on the soft of your palm when your thumb strokes his cheekbone; and eyes, those dark lashes, fluttering only slightly when he blinks up at you - silent, waiting. 

You do not make your lord wait much longer. 

“Cregan,” you whisper, eyes finding some wonderfully reflective taste of devotion laced through his own stormed gaze, and your breath falls with your confession. “I have long wanted you. I wish not to wait anymore.”

His chest moves with a breath - and in lieu of words, a calloused hand wraps around your spare hand, pulling it towards his own shoulder; guiding you. 

With hot cheeks, you allow it - his breath is warm as it hits your cheek, though you gasp when his hands move once more with a gentle motion towards his lap.

You stumble slightly against his powered tug; knees, knocking together as you’re drawn upon his lap - and a small, breathy laugh from your lips. Some flutter of anticipation within you as his own hands come to steady you, taking in your flushed cheeks as he holds you firm atop him, steadying you with a hint of a smile ghosting his visage.

 Gods - you’re close to him, now; closer than you have ever been. And his clothing, fine and smelling of sage, is warm against your robed figure - intoxicating. 

“We need not wait much longer,” He murmurs now, “We’re to marry tonight.” 

As if you’d not been aware - a smile grows on your face as you shake your head. “Yet it seems so very far away.” You sigh. His eyes do not waver; and in a passing moment, a bird calls outside.

Longing falls in puffs of breath from Cregan’s wanting lips; drank in and breathed back out by your own, you shift only slightly, feeling the stutter of his breath, how his chest brushes your own with each inhale.

You both simply stare - allowed, finally, to enjoy the arresting starkness of beauty laced through your veins and his own, that sturdy, hardy northern resolve that persists in the truest of souls. 

Outside, there are preparations; household members prepare the hall - polishing the long trestle tables, setting goblets and trays. Cooks prepare a feast in the kitchens - garlands of evergreen and coltsfoot lifted to archways, Maester Kennet gathers texts and prepares the ceremony. 

The skies are calm, low swirls of snow-caught breaths fluttering up and down when boots fall upon the ground. Outside, the sun bleeds its love unto the harder layer of snow fallen during the eve previous - and you will follow that path, that leads out to the Godswood tonight. 

“You’ll have all of me soon enough,” He promises - and the tone; a deep stirring within you. 

Your eyes fall to the man you’ve known for your better life; and still he watches you, hands firm and unyielding, gaze quite the same, melted only by the breaths that come from your lips and caress his own. Love, held in communal - that is what you feel when his hand slowly slides up the ridges of your spine, his chin tilting up to where yours begins to fall, as if called upon by the same spirits.  

And slowly, shyly - as if you do not know Cregan as you know yourself, as if you do not know how he breathes, how he speaks, how he is -  you lean forward. 

His eyes flutter closed just as your own do, his fingers flexing against your waist. 

The kiss that comes is nearly tentative; gentle as it is, it still shoots through you, a deep warmth and need when his mouth presses, a test against your own. Your fingers curl, of their own volition searching nape of neck, strands dark of hair. 

His own hands, one sliding up your spine, thick arm circling you, pulling you into his orbit - and the other, resting where your hip meets the breath of thigh; a thumb, pressing just so into the divot, curling around the top of your backside, warm against the thin of your robe. Heat surrounds you when you pull away just a bit, your breaths mixing, eyes opening to flicker between each other. 

And he pulls you back to him once more, a small hum in his throat when his lips slide to part against your own. Gods - you shiver, hands grasping the thick muscled frame of his shoulder and neck, shifting to press up into him, chasing that tingling chill of hunger. 

Perhaps it is when you shift upon his lap once more, growing hot in your burgeoning desire - or perhaps when his tongue slides against your lip and you part them, coaxing him into you; he tenses, then, pulling back as muscles fall rigid under your hungry palms. 

Your fingers trace the rapid beat of his heart beneath his skin. A teasing tug upon your lips, exhilarated at the blush that’s grown across his cheeks.  “Have I made you nervous, Cregan?” your lips brush, tantalizing against his.

Cregan’s hand tightens slightly on your waist, the other reaching up to cup the side of your face; his palm dwarfs your visage, thumb brushing along your cheek before pressing against the soft flesh under your jaw, coaxing you to look up just so. 

“No,” he says, though his voice has muffled itself as he brings his lips to the soft patch of skin against your throat, lips ghosting your own pounding heartbeat. Shivers of arousal through you; and a near growl as he hums, “though you have made me an impatient man.”

A thrill through you at his words - an admission rather echoed by your own sentiments, you nearly let out a small mewl at the aching desire gathering between your thighs. 

And as his teeth scrape over the junction of your neck, you tug him gently back to look at you- a dark gaze, clouded by the anticipation of your coming union, of the coming night that will be spent within each other’s arms, finally. A sunbeam wintered and frosted across his chest and yours; they rise and fall together in your shared breaths of desire. 

It’s hungry, eager when your lips once again find each other - noses sliding against each other, a sigh into your mouth. Cregan’s palms paw at your waist; and as you’re pulled tighter against his sturdy chest, the feel of his body hard beneath you sends a shiver of anticipation. 

His hair is silken under your fingers; tugging gently as you deepen your embrace, Cregan lets out a short groan into your mouth. The sound vibrates through you - an ache of arousal that bleeds through each layer of skin, clothing, tissue that separates your soul from his own. His own grip grows rather impatient when your hips seek more of such a feeling; a raw, urgent indulgence, your mind reminds you there is still a wedding to be had - that you will need to prepare for it very soon. 

The press of lips, a hot, open-mouthed trail down your jaw, your neck - and you gasp softly, your body arching into his palms. “Cregan,” your voice is a near whimper, some unspoken plea as you shift upon his lap once more. 

A grunt, his lips pulling back from your flushed flesh - and a puff of air and a tightened grip to hold you against him as he murmurs. 

“You test me, woman.”

It is a valiant effort on your part to resist a grin at the desperation laced through his breathy grunt - though you simply hum, smiling sharply. A thrill of need - breaths fall fast from your lips, spurred by the arousal that grows within his own dark stare. “Do I?” You wonder - and a stern look no more than teasing upon his visage, lips glossy with your previous kiss. 

“Every day of my life.” He grunts, then - a low tremor of restraint that begins to break with a tempered softness he holds only for you. “You know what you do.” He murmurs upon your lips, large palms reaching the expanse of your back, tugging you into him. 

With a flutter, you admit, “I do.” And how very close you are to giving in; to wait until this eve seems torture when you could simply ask him to take you right here, right now. A glance of heat between you and your soon to be husband - his breath falling upon your lips. “And do you know what you do, Cregan?” You wonder, a static of hunger spurring your hand to catch his wrist in your own grasp. 

Eyes watch with hawkish interest when you guide his hand lower, lower - he drags his rough palm over the downy satin of your robe, swallowing thickly as you press his hand the the warm, damp skin of your upper thigh. His breath is hitched - perhaps given up on a response, or rendered unable to from the heat of your flesh upon his own. 

A whisper of a curse, perhaps upon his lips - his eyes break from yours, the mountainous frame of his shoulders under your palm. It seems he has finished speaking with you - a tension has snapped, the final thread pulled; and though he teases you with a light kiss now, his fingers - they are not so patient. 

A trail - one previously led by you as you’d tugged his palm to your thigh - is slow, achingly so as his fingers slip under the hem of your robe. Your breath hitches, now - and he, with a rumbled voice: “Tell me. Tell me what feels good.” 

Shivers of arousal send your spine curling to seek his warmth; your hips buck just so, feeling the length of his own hunger press deliciously into you. “Cregan,” You can only murmur, and his head tilts just so. A tease - a gentle one at that, but still what you’d not expected; indeed it sends jolts of desire through your body when he hums, fingers digging just lightly into your thigh. 

“Use your words, my lady,” His voice orders you, though there is some desperation in his wanting tone, “I’ll not move until you tell me what it is you desire.” 

You've waited much too long for him to stop now, to duck and retreat merely from some pious embarrassment; and in your bout of shivered hunger, you groan. “Touch me, Cregan.” And, perhaps as a last-ditch hope he will indeed understand the extent of your desire, “I’ll do anything.” 

A guttural sound escapes from Cregan's throat - the growl of a wolf, the howl of wind through a valley; and his lips brush over your jaw teasingly soft, as if savoring the power he’s found over you despite the strain of his own hunger. He says nothing, heeding rather quickly to your request. 

Sharp gasps from you in succession when his thumb slowly presses over the pooled heat - a stolen breath or two before you let out a quiet moan, hips instinctively bucking into Cregan’s touch. 

“Easy,” And his voice is no more than a whisper, some tender coaxing as his other hand steadies your hips, drawing you into the slow-burning torturous circles he draws with his finger. It is indeed a sensation you’ve tried to explore yourself on many restless nights in these very chambers - but his fingers sturdier, calloused, gentle - and his presence, warm and loving against the bright of day. 

It is wholly too much and not enough at once, and when he shushes you gently against your lips, a shiver thrills down your spine. 

Your hands grasp at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure slowly burns through you - his fingers explore you, your molten heat; and his lips press warm and insistent upon yours. A slip into the depths of him; some choice warranted only by breath of desire, by the knowledge that come this evening he will be your husband and you his wife. 

His forehead falls against your own, breath uneven as you slowly buck your hips, letting his other hand guide you in a motion that sends pleasure curling around the tips of your fingers. “Wife.” 

The word spurs you; with a jolt you whimper into him, voice breaking desperately as you keen into his large palm. Your lips find the thick column of his neck - a warm smell, saged and spiced; your teeth grazing along the beat of heart upon his throat, a grumble low in his chest. 

“Husband,” You respond, though the word is strangled as one finger, dragging through your molten heat, prods at the entrance of you; with a gasp, you whimper, “please, please.” 

He hums, shifting only slightly beneath you; a whimper from you as the heel of his hand presses deliciously onto your swollen bud, tensing your thighs as you swallow dryly. 

“My sweet wife,” He repeats, brows drawn as his eyes rove over the exposed flesh revealed from your loose robe, “Tell me, how does this feel?” 

Your eyes pitch back, hair tangling in his grip around your back as you shiver, his hand pressing into your cunt - “Good,” You respond pathetically, unable to formulate any semblance of reflection when you begin to see spots of pleasure in your vision; your fingers sliding to grasp at his neck, at his hair. “I’d- I’d like more,” Your face burns at the meekness of your own tone; only in the girlish fantasies, in dreams of Cregan climbing to share your bed under a heap of furs, have you allowed yourself to consider such things falling from his mouth. 

A kiss to your throat, the nip of teeth gentle against your jaw. Perhaps, if you were any less enraptured with the thrill of his touch, you’d feel the small smirk that presses against your throat.

His breath is warm, though you nearly jolt as one finger presses slowly, languidly into you; you keen as he groans, feeling your tight warmth envelop him. 

A very slow torment as he begins to move his fingers against you - you’ve grown rather speechless in pleasure.  Eyes lidded, cheeks hot, lips parted as you watch him; and he nods smally, murmuring, “-Is this what you needed?” 

A kiss to your lips, silencing any broken response that attempts to fall from your hungry mouth, fingers curling to fist his tunic as slowly, another finger joins his first. 

His other hand, a strong grasp - he guides your hips in a slow roll that leaves you both breathless and gasping, your slow peak building after only a few moments. 

Once again, his forehead falls against yours; the uneven stutter of his breath falls against your skin as he watches you intently, eyes gauging every sound you make, each furrow of your brow in pleasure as he takes you apart. “You mustn't-” You swallow, unused to your voice laced with such desperate pleasure, “-you mustn't dare stop,” 

He dares to chuckle against your throat - a brief vibration as fingers press deeper into you, reaching the spot within that has your eyes rolling to the ceiling; you’re suddenly staring at him wide-eyed as his thumb finds your clit, and with a near whimper, you buck your hips. 

And then he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours - his thumb still lazily circles over you, pushing you closer to the precipice with every pulse of heat. His countenance is more gentle, though he watches your body keen into his touch with brows furrowed and a strong inhale. 

“Tonight,” He murmurs, thumb stroking excruciating strokes over you, “I will take you as my wife, and you will take me as your husband.” 

You’re nearing the very edge of bliss, muscles rigid, his voice low and thick as you buck against him. “We will finally have each other. Completely.” He promises, his stormed eyes never leaving yours. It mounts such pleasure; your eyes flicker to the armoire, wondering how he might use his strength later this evening to rid you of the gown’s intricacies; how his touch might burn you - how your touch might burn him. 

How he might sound, as he finally pushes inside of you - taking you, as you’ve so yearned for him to; how you might one day be gifted by the Gods and swollen with his babe, round and glowing. How he might give you many children, and they will be rooted with the same fierce durability, same gentleness, the same love their parents have forged their whole lives. 

Shivers down your spine as Cregan’s hand cants your jaw to face him once more, cradling your flushed cheek as his fingers take you apart so easily - so intimately, so knowing. 

How could it ever be anybody else? 

And that gentleness, so at odds with the raw need in his touch, so known by you - he, so known by you - each slow stroke of his fingers within you, dragging pleasure in waves. He says your name and it echoes in the pounding of your heart.

“Tonight, I will make certain that you feel all of me.”

You’re helpless at the pleasure he’s built - his thumb moves with a maddening precision as you clutch him, sage and pine and wildflowers and love; your lips part with a moan, the last threads of control loose.

“Do you wish for that?” he murmurs, thumb pressing down just slightly harder, sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you desperately try to stave off your crest if only in hopes he will never cease the words that fall from his honeyed lips. “Have you yearned for it, every night as I have?” 

You are unable to respond as his words and ministrations bring you to your crest of pleasure, shuttering as your body bends into your peak. He grunts when your hand tugs at his tresses; though his hand does not cease as your cunt clenches around him, pleasure swirling and clouding your mind. “Yes,” you moan out finally, ecstasy pulsing through you as his lips trail over your jaw with jagged breaths. 

His name, pressed from your lips into his heated skin as he guides you slowly through your wave. “Cregan,” You exhale breathlessly, lips pressing to his skin as you begin to fall from your peak, aftershocks tremoring through you. 

His hand, leaving your hip to soothe up your spine - and an awakening of hunger when he presses you against the hard line of his own arousal; a shiver at the craving hunger it awakes within you. 

Your legs have lost their tight rigidity; you are rather slumped within his grasp, the afterwave of your peak rendering you rather sensitive. His fingers slide out of you slowly, and you watch with parted lips as he brings his hand between your heaving chests. 

A hunger rekindled when his fingers slide past his own lips, a grunt as he tastes you upon his tongue; and a whimper from yourself involuntary and helpless, unable to do anything more than pant in desire. He must see the hidden desire, as he grows merciful - with a slow motion he drags his thumb, to you - and slicked with yourself, over your bottom lip. 

Your taste on your own tongue - earthy, mountain thyme and desire - sends a shiver of unknown desire through you - never in your darkest, impurest desires could you have imagined Cregan here, as he presses his thumb past your parted lips and upon the flat of your tongue. You stir against him and his breath hitches; a promise of the eve to come as he pulls his hand away from you. 

It is upon his lap, with his arms around the bend of your spine, that you rest - within the heart of Winterfell’s castle come clangings, shouts of merriment as the beginning of the celebrations are set. 

Your cheek upon his shoulder, his head against yours as you both relish the small bit of solitude you’ll have before you rejoin finally within your marital chambers this evening. 

And, as it came, the day advances once more. 

Your heartbeats have slowed, though his arousal is a present reminder pressed against the soft of your inner thigh; he presses his lips to your temple, emitting a reluctant sigh. 

“I regret to leave you.” 

You knew it would come; though you mind not, for in only a few hours, you will be with him once more. 

“-but there are preparations yet to be made.” His fingers trace a gentle path along your neck - similar in devotion and exploration as the one you trail over his sturdy chest. 

A playful thought crosses your mind as you consider him returning to his own chambers to prepare for your wedding: “Will you be shaving before the wedding, my Lord?”

Cregan's brow arches - perhaps at your use of his title or the question itself, as he inquires in response, “Would you prefer I do?” 

You beam at him, cheeks heating in memory of the first time he’d asked you if you’d prefer he shave: No older than ten-and-four, when he’d returned from the Wall with his Lord father and you’d faked horror at the sight of the stubble gracing his young visage for the first time. He’d not listened to you then, though you were rather boisterous and impressionable as a young girl.  

Much has changed. 

“Yes,” You decide after a moment. He grins at you and it sends your heart into a race, his hand pulling your inner wrist up to his lips. 

“Then it is done,” He decides, stubble tickling your soft skin as he presses a chaste kiss to your wrist. “I will call your handmaids back, if you wish.” 

A gentle nod from you and he presses a kiss to your warm cheek, returning to his full height and setting your rather unstable legs onto the stone floor. 

“I will see you this eve, my love.” he promises; your heart flutters at the term.

And after one last kiss to your knuckles, you watch him shut the oak doors of your chambers - the wind howls down the slopes outside, though Winterfell shines cold and unstirred. In the distance, the bleeding leaves of the heart tree shimmer, spreading a warmth through your chest as you slowly ease yourself back into the tub, waiting for the maidens to return and begin the preparations. 

Birds chirp outside; there is already a new signet and silver wax prepared and sitting upon your desk - it boasts the sigil of the Direwolf. It is forever yours.

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[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Eight

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Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven

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A/N: I think I went too hard on this, but I also feel like it wasn't enough. I really wanted to play around with dialogue more. I was going to have the Bats hit Smalltown in this, but I think it would be best if the confrontation(s) had it's own chapter. Let me know what y'all think!

A/N: This is my longest writing yet. Just a heads up. Hope that's all good!

Warnings: Yandere themes, alluded murder, platonic bed sharing, OC usage.

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The way the raindrops on the windshield seemed to chase each other didn't even registered to you as your heart continues to palpitate in your chest. Your hands shaking on the steering wheel as the numbers on the mile markers continued to change, and they weren't growing any steadier with each passing one. The way the excitement to gyrated inside your chest as the old truck continued on the patch-work road made you feel lightheaded. Not in a bad way, but in a way you could get addicted to.

It didn't stop the nausea curdling in your stomach, but you chalk that up to this being your first true act of rebellion. Even if you felt it was justified. It wasn't like they were going to chase after you, though. They had made their priorities clear. Clear as Gotham's smog filled skies. You weren't going to allow yourself to waste away in that manor filled with more secrets than people when there was a life outside of it that you had once been a part of.

It wasn't until you were certain a full day had past that the storm had finally dissipated, both over Gotham and over your mind. The trepidation in your belly at long last fading into a sense serenity. Even if it was only a fleeting thing. Water rarely stays still for long when the storm comes.

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Back in Gotham the family had finally dragged their bone-weary selves back to the cave. Some collapsing in the nearest got. Some dragging themselves upstairs for their comfort of their bed. But, surprisingly, it's Damian that drags himself to your room. The past two days had worn him down and he just wanted his sibling, even if it meant disturbing them. Even if they were mad at him.

It doesn't register to him that your bed is empty. That some of your things are missing. He crawls under the covers and curls into the pillow like a temperamental cat. Resting his eyes temporarily he says. You're his sibling, you shouldn't mind. (He had heard you laughing on the phone about how your other little brother used to do this on occasion. He wants to know what that’s like)

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As everyone rest their heads back home, unaware that the worse was yet to come even after the lighting had passed, you start to turn down familiar roads. Roads you had memorized every bump of once. The roads that lead you towards a home you had missed and things you used to know.

There's a few new bumps and pot holes that you don't recognize, but you're too excited to see them as the warnings they were.

As you pull into the driveway of Nana and Grand Daddy's house, you can see Nana standing outside. Waving for you in front of the two-story bedroom house Daddy had designed and built for them years ago. The place was well cared for despite the creaky steps on the front porch that you had spent many hot summers on. Blowing snow across the yard to keep cool.

When you finally park the truck and hop out Nana's already rushing towards you with surprising speed for her old age. Already your arms are opening for her when she suddenly scoops you up and locks you in an tight embrace.

"I missed you." You mumble into her shoulder. Trying to fight back a few tears as the scent of her bitter perfume fills your nose.

"I missed you more. We all missed you more, sugarplum." You hear the gravel in her voice as she gives you one last squeeze. Holding you so tight that for a moment you feel you can't breath. But, before you need to gasp for air, she pulls back slightly. Her aged brown eyes looking you over appraisingly. "You sure ya' don't wanna rest up a bit? You look thin, sweetpea."

A soft noise escapes your lips in a puff.

"I'm sure. Still too wired from the drive." You reply as you wipe those few stray tears that somehow trickled down your cheeks. Your best efforts to keep them contained failing.

Everything around you feels different. It's home, but there's something about it that is different. The smells are the same, the sights are the same, even the sounds are the same. But, you chalk it up to the way the Gotham air still clings to your skin and the silence of the manor that has left your ears sensitive to the slightest shifts in change.

"I… I kinda feel bad about leaving how I did." Comes your immediate confession as she continues to hold you like you're made of soft gold.

Even if it seemed unnecessary to say, it felt nice just to blurt out how you were feeling to someone who actually listened. Besides, Nana had always made you tell her what was bothering you if there ever was something. It was a habit to tell her things by now.

"Leaving Gotham, I mean…. running away in the night without warning, Nana."

"Nonsense, baby." Already she's brushing your cheek and trying to soothe the worry and fear. Holding your face between her hands so all you can focus on is her.

"You ain't done not a thing wrong. They was being unreasonable. Besides, you can just call them later and tell them your alright." For a moment, you feel like she's lecturing you. Like she used to when you where little. About being safe and staying near her at all times when you went out into town with her. But, now you're grown and she still does it.

"Are you sure, Nana? Because I know You, and Momma, and Daddy used to get on to me about asking permission before doin' things-"

"Ah-ah," She irrupts your before you could finish, "This is one of those incidents where it's better to ask for forgiveness, I promise. Besides, I know you asked first. Not your fault they was being unreasonable. Not your fault at all, baby." Nana's voice going from stern to a soft coo as she starts to lead the way into the old house.

You take a breath of the place, smelling the seasonal candles that you usually had lit this time of year. Noting the slight changes in decor. Projects that Nana probably had Grand Daddy completing while you were gone. There's even more pictures on the walls. Some more of Momma and Daddy, and even more of you. Nana had even printed out the ones you had sent her on your phone while you where in Gotham.

It was nice she missed you so much that she made you the center piece of the picture gallery, but still it felt odd. You had been hoping to see more pictures of your brother, Jean Luke. To actually see what memories he had made without you. But, you don't comment. You just head towards the kitchen. Sitting in your usual spot at the counter to continue talking with her.

You can smell her cooking. Nana really wasn't the best cook, but she went all out making a few of your favorite dishes with as much effort as she could muster out of her bones.

"So, how's Lukie been doing?" You mean to start conversationally, but your tone drifts to sounding more concern when the reminder about the lack of pictures on the wall crosses your mind and the thought that maybe he actually hasn't been coping well since you’ve been gone pops into your head as well. "I know what he tells me. That he's doin' fine when we’re on the phone, but how is he actually doing, Nana?"

"He's doing better." She replies while checking the oven, a slight sigh in her voice. She caught your tone of concern. "Still misses your Momma and Daddy. Bless. But, he's doing better. He'll probably feel ever better now that your back." She gives you a grin before sliding you a cutting board and a knife.

Already you fall into step, peeling and chopping the things she hand you.

"I'm not actually back, back." You mention, biting your lip when you catch her freeze.

"What you mean, baby?" Her soft voice doesn't match her tense shoulders. The lines on her face growing taunt.

"Well, it's just I kinda feel bad about how I left things with Bruce and 'em. And, I still gotta finish high school." You start to explain. It is true. You had a whole day to try to think about your actions. Getting out of Gotham had helped you process your feelings about the place. You still didn't like Gotham, but you'd been told all your life that family was important. You just didn't know that the family that had told you that wanted you to put them before all others.

"Oh, baby, you won't be needing none of that. Besides this is where you belong. We need you here. Them city folks just don't understand you, baby." You're about to protest when she continues on just before your lips could part to speak.

"Besides, Tanner's really been missin' you. He about turned himself into a frog when Mae showed him a picture of you in that pretty little outfit she made for ya’. The boy about croaked." Nana gives you that meddlesome look you knew to well. The one she gave you when she spoke about her church friend's grandson's. The one that always made you bush.

It was a clever distraction, and not at all a lie. Nana had watched Tanner turn green with envy at the sight of you in that dress and with your date. And, he about sang when he heard about your date's death right after. The town all had to forcefully stop him from driving back to Gotham to just to comfort you.

"Nana, you're being silly again. He don't like me like that." You brush off the flush with practiced easy, giving her a stern look of your own.

"Things change, baby. You're grown now. Everything's gonna be different, but just the same." She muttered that last part so low you could hardly hear it. Just as your about to question that statement, she changes topic once more.

"Now, you wanna stay we me and your Grand Daddy tonight?" The question stunning you for a second. You hadn't even thought about where you were going to stay when you started your way back here. But, the longing creeps back into your chest once more.

"Actually, I want to stay at the old house. I- I miss my own bed." You once again find yourself confessing, though it goes much deeper than that. Nana likes it when you let her see even surface level things, usually she's able to draw the proper conclusions from them. However, this time Nana tenses for the briefest moment, but then relaxes almost instantly after. You nearly miss it.

"Of course, baby. Of course. Take Lukie with you. It'd do him some good and I'd hate for you to be alone all up in there. The loneliness might get to ya." She seemed to place a bit too much emphasis on bringing your brother with you. But, you weren't going to complain.

After all, "It already got to me, Nana. It already got to me." You whisper to yourself before letting Nana regale you with all the latest town gossip.

It's not long until you're making plans to help set up for your brother's and by extension your own birthday tomorrow. Happily chatting away until Grand Daddy and Jean-Luke walk in the door.

Instantly, receiving a soft kiss on the forehead from Grand Daddy along with a tight grip on your shoulders and a firm, "Missed you, sugarplum." Before he slowly lets you free to help Nana and quite speaking to her.

You turn to your brother, little Jean-Luc, and reach for him with the swiftness of a breeze. He seems to hesitate before returning your hug with an almost intense ferocity that strangely makes you think of your last hug with Dick. Like he doesn't want to let go. Like he's almost scared to let go.

You let him hold you a good long while, standing there in the kitchen. It should feel like a relief to hold him again. Yet, you have the sudden urge to carry him away. Something that makes the winds inside your chest tell you to flee. You mange to swallow it down, but not the tears. Those freely pour down your cheeks as you both whisper about how much you missed each other back and forth. You notice how oddly quite he is. It's easy to blame that on the grief you both still feel, but it's different.

Sitting at the table and enjoying the meal feels different. Everything is different. Including the way Jean-Luke grips your hand when you tell him your going to stay at the old house and how he can come if he wants.

You almost want to laugh at how fast he leaps into the front seat of the truck. The grin on his face the most genuine you've seen since you got here.

Driving up to the old house made you ache. A deep ache that you felt from you chest to your palms. The dirty from the buried grief you felt being disturbed. As you glanced at your little brother’s face, the one that looked so much like Momma’s, you could tell he felt it too. Which bothers you because he shouldn’t have had to bury his grief like you did yours.

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Back at the manor, in the short time it had been since Damian rested his head on your pillow. He noticed it was too still. You were always moving in the manor. Always breezing through the halls. Yet now things had gone still. Not just in your room, but through out the manor.

His green eyes had opened, and sharpened. You should be here resting with him. Where were you? He hadn't bothered to keep track of your belongings before, but some things felt out of place. After a brief scan of the room, he made his way towards the cave. His senses on high alert for you. Straining to overhear your usual chattering on the phone or your pattering feet on the carpeted halls.

But, there was nothing. Most everyone was asleep or dozing and the stillness bothered him. The cooling realization filled him with each step as he walked down into the cave.

Sitting at the computer, Bruce goes over the footage of the previous nights. The storm was suspicious, and the churning in his gut and the way his hair stood on end didn’t help those suspicions. But, when Damian had entered the cave, those suspicions went from whispers to screams.

"Damian, get everyone to the cave. Now."

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"Missing? What the hell do you mean missing?" Dick was the first to respond to the news, standing at attention and livid despite having recently been woken up by an anxious Damian. Well, as anxious as Damian would physically allow himself to be in front of anyone.

"Damian brought it to my attention and the truck is gone from the garage." Bruce replied. Normally, this would sound like his usual paranoia flaring, but no one questioned him this time. Just the grim look on his face and the way his shoulder's tensed let everyone know that this was a completely serious matter.

Exhaustion immediately melting form everyone as the mission suddenly shifted.

"Barbara, pull up the manor security cameras from the night first night of the storm."

She speedily rolled her chair over to the computer and started pulling up the footage. It was only because she had years to develop her self control that her fingers didn't shake as she typed on the keys.

I should have been watching them. I should have checked on them.

The footage begins to show the exact moment that their sweet sibling left their room with a large bag of their shoulder and a excited grin on their face.

Why are you smiling like that? Why are are you happy to be leaving them? Why are you leaving? Why are you leaving?

A million thoughts flash through each of their heads. All filled with variations of despair and worry. Those are quickly amplified when the camera video finally goes out due to the multiple lighting strikes that hit the manor and the generators.

"They left right when the manor's and cave's generator were hit." Tim jumps in into detective mode right away, not wanting to linger on the disparaging thoughts in his head. And, the budding anger in his chest for allowing this to happen. And, for you leaving them. Him.

"Why are their eyes glowing?" Duke points out, coming out of his head finally when his eyes catch the flicker of a glow on the screen. It was a blessing that the cameras were so state of the art.

"What?" That snaps everyone else out of their heads. All of them moving behind Barbara to see what he's talking about.

"Their eyes," He bends forward of the keys, lightly pressing his finger to where you face is on the high definition screen. "They're glowing."

"Babs…" Dick murmurs into her left ear, his eye's never leaving your frozen smiling face.

"On it." She nearly hisses right back. Fingers actually shaking this time as she zooms into your face and changes a few setting of the camera to see the light waves that were captured.

And, right there on the screen, was the hint illumination in those large eyes of yours.

"Holy shit, you're right." Stephanie is the first to speak. Stumbling back as she starts running a million different scenarios through her head. The other's following. Some still sitting enraged or worried about what this might possibly mean.

Possible hypothesises start being blurted out.

Mind Control?

Hypnosis?

Magic?

God, I hope not.

Aliens?

Even worse than the magic.

"Maybe someone from that town manipulated them?" Cassandra suddenly suggests, having silently watched the footage of you play over and over again. You looked excited, genuinely excited, and it broke her heart that you did. But, there was a part of her that was still hopeful. That maybe you left because you didn't know any better. Didn't realize how much they adored you. They'll fix that. They fix that as soon as they get you back.

"Was anything tampered with when that asshole dropped off the truck?" Jason grumbles while rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course he is livid. You fucking left. Sure, he liked putting the fear of God into you and could even tell you were unhappy at times, but you're an idiot if you think it's safe out there. And, you need to come home. Fuck, he'll even apologize and make up for scaring you. Please, just come back.

"No." Tim knows this because he made sure to check. Bruce may not have wanted to touch the truck and forbid them from messing with it. But, that didn't stop Tim from snooping on you at the very least. He just wanted to pretend he was in your fondest memories. Only until he could help you make newer better ones.

"Maybe a drug? Some chemical compound?" Duke eventually suggest, praying it isn't so.

"We could run a test? Just to check." Already Barbara begins pulling up the programs necessary, while Tim sets up the lab equipment. Dick is already running up to your room to grab any strand of hair he can find that might have been left behind. And, maybe checking to see if they were all wrong and you really didn't leave them. Him.

"Run them all."

That draws everyone's attention back to Bruce. The man had been standing stoically in silence. Brooding in silence as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

You left him. You left because of him. This wasn't some disagreement on how he did things as Batman. This wasn't because you were trying to get back at him. You left him willing because of what he had done as your father. No one has ever willing left him like this before. Not his children. Not his parents. Not anyone he has ever allowed himself to actually care for. It makes him mad, but more than anything it makes him want to collapse in on himself. He won't. Obviously. But, he's going to bring you back home. He's going to fix his mistake while he has the chance and you will give him that chance.

"Bruce… That includes a DNA test."

"I said all of them."

"What?" It's Damian who finally speaks up. For the first time since he alerted the other's of your disappearance. "Why would you do that? It's unnecessary."

It's a betrayal, he thinks. Not on your part. You may be too soft and too kind and too fragile and too simple minded. But, he knows you’re his. He may have gotten over his obsession with the blood in his veins, but the blood in yours connects you to him in a way none of his other siblings can have. He doesn't even think to question it. Doesn't want to. And, for a moment, he feels utter betrayed by his sire for thinking to doubt it.

"Damian."

"NO. It is unnecessary." He doesn't glare, but the anger is plain on his face. How dare father question?

Regardless of what Damian wants, Bruce nods to Barbara and Tim when a downtrodden Dick reenters the cave with a hairbrush in hand. You really were gone.

"Do it."

"Father-"

"Damian. They are our family, regardless of the results."

Bruce will love you regardless. He did a DNA test all those years ago. He knows your his, but he needs to make sure your still his. That something didn't change you or take you from him.

For Damian it's a tense minute. He knows you'll be family. No matter the results. But, he wants to share something with you that only an exclusive few people on this Earth or in this life ever will.

"Fine."

After that, it's silence for the next forty-three minutes. The programs running on the BatComputer dinging softly as each one is completed. Barbara's fingers rub together as she watches each one.

Tim doesn't bother looking, too anxious to sit around and wait. Already, he is on a spare computer looking into God knows what. Whatever it is, the rest of them can tell it's about you. Just by seeing the way his pupils are blown wide and darting about his screen.

Dick stands tense. Normally he would move about. Pace or do something. But, it seems wrong right now. The discomfort in the stillness is nothing compared to his current distress at knowing you're gone.

Stephanie debates internally on ripping the spare computer away from Tim. Wanting to see what he's found on you. Wondering if he knows if you're alright or not. Wondering if he's just watching looped footage of you and not sharing.

Duke is thinking. Really, he's contemplating what's happening. This is going to spiral into something. He feels it. He might not be the most experienced or most trained, but he knows something is changing. And, for once, he's not scared of the idea. Mostly because he knows by the end of this you will be back home. They won't allow you to stay lost.

"DNA test shows their a match to you, Bruce. And, we compared them to your old test of them too. Still a match."

Damian nearly beams, but manages to hide his relief under a smug smile.

"I told you, father."

"I didn't doubt." And, it is true. He never doubted you were his. But, he is still searching for an explanation.

"No drugs. No anything in their system that would register, but-" Barbara stops when she notices the screen. The anomaly on it. The one test that triggered. A question being possibly answered from the result and a million more arising if true.

"Oh."

"What is it?" Jason breaks the silence that's once again gone over everyone. The sense of unease bubbling through them all.

"I ran their DNA through all the usual test, and there was one single positive one."

"Which one?"

"Meta gene. And…"

Oh.

"It's active."

"Son of a bitch."

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As your brother and you start getting settled in for the night in the old house, airing out the stale air, pretending the dusting isn't there, you wonder around a bit. Similar to how you would back at the manor. Only this time there's no historical paintings on the wall. Just pictures of your own history laid out before you.

You'd never been more grateful for all the photos taken by you mother. All the times she would chase you down with a brush or comb in hand yelling at you, "You need to make sure you have nice hair for the picture. Or, the one's with terrible hair will be the one's that forever."

"But, what if I want them to last forever?" Your voice had been young and cheeky then.

"What if I just want them to last a little bit longer?" Now that voice was older and much more solemn.

Quickly, you shake the thought from your head. Setting your bag back in your old room for the night. A quick glance at the old space shows that someone's been in it recently. Probably your old friend Mae, judging by the amount of clothes spilling from your closet and dresser. She was always stuffing things in here for you. It makes you smile fondly to know that she missed you despite your phone calls early every day.

As you walk back down the hall, you find Jean-Luc standing outside your parent's old room.

"You wanna come with me to see them?"

"Yeah." The word soft, full of unshed grief as you both walk out to the back. There's an old live oak with Spanish moss out there, and two dead people that were loved and buried underneath it.

"Daddy always liked it when you made it rain when it was sunny out." Lukie whispers, recalling all the times you won the water-gun fights.

You remember the summer showers. The snowy Christmases. The way you used to blow the pollen away. The hurricanes you tamed. The tornadoes you saved the town from . The memories make causing the rain difficult. But, when you walk through the slightly overgrown grass towards the two stones the tears fall easy while the rain falls hard.

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"I pulled up all the weather patterns for that region and the theory is starting to look more factual by the second." Tim's already taken the helm, old weather radar scans on the screen. Files on Smalltown and it's people pulled up for display.

And, an entire screen dedicated to you. You. You. YoU. yOU. YOU? YOU

"So, it's confirmed they caused the storm. But, why?" It's Stephanie that asks while pacing back and forth next to the all of gear. Her worry and disbelief illuminated by the display lights.

"Princess was probably pissed." Jason says while cleaning his guns. The parts neatly laid out on the table while he shines and greases each piece. Twice. Thrice. Over and Over.

"But, why?" Dick is finally in motion, tapping his foot as impatiently. He knows they need all the information and a plan before they can get you back. But, the wait is straining him.

Barbara gives him a single look in reply. One that they've all shared often enough to know the meaning of.

"They hid it pretty well." Duke mushes. Strangely enough he's happy with this information. Everyone else in this family is technically a normal person, just with maxed out skill stats and trauma. Now, you two can both be normal childhood bros and meta buddies together.

"Cass, did you suspect anything?"

"I didn't ask." Which translates to, she knew, but didn't want to say anything that would drive you away. Seems kind of pointless now that you're gone, though.

The bitter silence reigns once more, before Tim speaks up.

"Incoming. The Asshole is getting a call from Nana." A few clicks and they're listening to the sound of your old childhood crush and your dearest Nana speak. The topic? You.

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That night you curled up with Jean-Luc in your parents old bed. Like you both used to when nightmares made cowards. You had to dig the old bedding out of the storage. The scent of the detergent Momma used to use faint on them. But, the two of you burrowed underneath the duvet like you were trying to hide from the world.

"How you feelin'?" You whisper to him, the room only illuminated by the stars in the window and the faint bathroom light.

"It's weird without Momma and Daddy. Everythin' is weird now and scary." He mutters in reply. He practically plants himself into your side.

"I know. I feel that way about it too."

"No, I mean… here. In town it's weird. Eveybody be actin' weird since you left." There's something in the way his voice shakes that makes you think he's not making this up

"What do you mean about everyone actin' weird, hun? I thought you were spendin' time with everyone. Nana said you were hanging out with Mae and Tanner. I know Mae is odd, but-"

"Nana's being weird too. And, Grand Daddy. She don't let me do nothin' fun at all these days. Says everything's to dangerous, and if somethin' happened to me you'd be upset." The child interrupts, sounding remarkably like his age with his complaints. But the low sound of his voice sounds less like mutterings and more like a cautious whisper.

"Well, that's cause Nana loves you. She don't want nothin' to happen to you, baby." You try to reassure him, as you've always done.

"But, she's always going on and on about you. She's almost as bad as Tanner." The way he says that name makes you pause. Tanner's been mention quiet a lot since you've been back. And, you've only been back for a couple of hours.

"Tanner's gone on about me?" You try to sound bashful, try to sound like its a compliment. But, the blush doesn't come.

"Yeah." Lukie practically roots himself into your chest where your heart is beginning to pound. "Always going on about you and the future and ranting about Gotham. He… he's kinda scary. I saw him and Grand Daddy a few months ago dragging something into the swamp. It looked… it looked about as long as a gator, but it wasn't a gator. It had clothes on."

"Baby, what do you think it was?" You somehow keep your voice steady as your arms wrap around him. Clinging to him and shielding him.

"I don't think I wanna remember. I just want everything to go back to normal."

After that, you let the wind outside the house howl. The way it blows through the trees with your fear keeps you up. Eventually you force the rain once again. Trying to lull Lukie-boy and yourself to sleep. For a brief moment, a flicker of a thought before you drift off into an uneasy slumber you think...

Should I have stayed?

And, your not certain if your talking about here or Gotham.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I'd say there's about two more parts of this left, then we'll be really focusing on Pregnant!Reader for a bit. Got a blurb list in the works for it and a few ideas. And, I really really really need to clean out my ask box. Oops.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist

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