#your telling me a dragon headed this stew???

[candythemew]

Pitaya Dragon Cookie and the quest for STEW.

You’re telling me a shrimp fried this rice????

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧❝𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 3.7k (each individual around 220~ words) | Read on Ao3

TWS : Faramir's self esteem issues (Faramir)

Notice : This is a scenario set before they have confessed to you.

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𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Overall, Aragorn still thinks it’s a good idea not to tell anyone about his feelings for you - but that doesn’t stop him from getting irritated when others try to flirt with you.

✧ Especially when his older brother decides to flirt with you.

✧ Realistically, Aragorn knows the two of you are joking around - but the idea of you two smiling over something he cannot do (or at least does not come as naturally to him) is unnerving.

✧ Aragorn tries not to hover over you when this happens and instead focuses on something more productive, like trying to teach the hobbits how to spar.

✧ It isn’t until you and Elrohir come to the training ground, clearly looking to train together, that he finally does something about his jealousy.

✧ “Brother! I have sparred with the hobbits for so long I worry they are growing used to me, would you care to make sure they are prepared against more enemies than just the Dúnedain.”

✧ By the smile that suddenly shows on Elrohir’s face, his sibling can see through him, but the son of Elrond doesn’t complain as he goes to the hobbits. Instead he steps aside to allow you and Aragorn to spar.

✧ It’s only after the spar that Elrohir makes a comment. “Jealous of me, Estel? That really isn’t very noble of you.”

✧ (It’s also probably not noble when Aragorn kicks him in the shin after, although it is satisfying).

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Realistically, Legolas knows that you don’t have any interest in Boromir. You’ve been around him long enough that the two of you would already have formed a romantic bond, and the two of you haven’t.

✧ But you also share bonds that he hasn’t got. The two of you are both from Gondor, and there’s a light in your eyes when you talk about your home that he will never fully get. And the two of you are both human.

✧ It never gets too bad, mostly manifesting in anxious looks between the two of you from far away and when no-one is watching.

✧ The only time it ever gets bad is when you and Boromir are both on the archery course together, attempting to outscore each other.

✧ Because that’s the thing that you two do together.

✧ He watches for a while, and eventually his feet take him to the archery course subconsciously. Announcing his presence by shooting an arrow from behind into your target, hitting a perfect bullseye.

✧ It’s petty, but he still lights up when you turn around and greet him - almost as if it’s just the two of you there.

✧ (Until you invite him to join yourself and Boromir.)

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo isn’t a very jealous person naturally, and it’s this lack of jealousy is only reinforced when he’s one of the only people you talk to in the Shire.

✧ As you visit more often you eventually interact more with other hobbits, even if it’s just a dipped head or a few words, but everyone knows you're just here for the Baggins' family.

✧ (Although Frodo is very happy when you immediately bond with Sam, and that Pippin and Merry can make you laugh easily.)

✧ The only issue arises when a fellow ranger greets you, showing up on one of your walks together and immediately trying to hijack the conversation.

✧ It’s a little intimidating, more because of the height than anything else, and Frodo is reduced to stewing in the corner of the Green Dragon as you two catch up.

✧ When you step away to get a new drink, it’s just Frodo and the ranger there as he tries to channel Bilbo’s inner pettiness.

✧ “I’m very sorry, but I fear I’ve forgotten your name. Hobbits meet so many people, you see, and I don’t think (y/n)’s ever mentioned you.”

✧ You come back before anything else is said, and this time Frodo launches into conversation with you. He feels a little bad about the incident afterwards, but not enough to try and apologise.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sam also isn’t a very jealous person, at least not when it comes to the people that he’s close with and them being around you.

✧ He’s glad when you can smile and laugh with his friends or with yours, because it shows you have people who care about you - and that’s what he really wants for you. People who care (like him).

✧ What he takes issue with is flirting and messing around from strangers who neither of you know.

✧ Because they don’t have your best interests at heart.

✧ They’re looking at you and only seeing looks, they’re not seeing the smile you make when you see the first flowers bloom or Sam’s found a recipe for just the right amount of sweetness and you’re tasting it for the first time. They don’t actually like you.

✧ He’s still generally confined to glaring from across the room, but every now and then - when someone gets too rowdy - he’ll come over to you and place his arm around your shoulders.

✧ It’s more a show of protection to support you than it is being jealous, but a small part of his heart is happy when they stop trying to get with you because of him.

✧ Always apologises for it and asks if you’re ok after.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Everyone in the Shire could tell that something was going on between the two of you - everyone.

✧ (In fact, it had been a lot of people’s rumour of choice yesterday. Which Pippin certainly made sure he heard about.)

✧ Which made it even more egregious when someone had started flirting with you the second Merry had gone to get you drinks.

✧ In about twenty seconds, someone had managed to weasel their way to your side and was very badly attempting to flirt with you.

✧ The second you saw Merry re-appear, you had looked from him to the random guy in an obvious ask for reinforcements.

✧ Coming over with a smile, Merry puts on his biggest grin and holds up the drink for you before taking a look at the person next to you.

✧ “I’m sorry, are you the one who’s been guiding them around all day and is paying for their drink?”

✧ He leaves it at that, although he could go on, and is quite satisfied to see them immediately go back to the corner of the bar.

✧ You thank him for helping you, and he only feels a little guilty about the selfish reasons he’s done it.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Doesn’t get jealous about the Fellowship being around you. You’re all going on a quest to save Middle Earth together and it would be childish of him to be upset about you hanging out with the people you’re going to be travelling with for months.

✧ However, he does get a bit jealous when some of the elves of Rivendell speak to you, such as one of the tall dark haired ones whisking you away to discuss something.

✧ Not that he does anything or complains - because they’re all slightly terrifying. He just waits, patiently, then insists it was no bother to wait before cursing hobbit-politeness that doesn’t allow him to complain about his hosts.

✧ Merry notices his stewing, it’s very obvious when Pippin is just standing outside a doorway and impatiently tapping his foot.

✧ Pippin only actually stands up for himself once. The dark-haired approaches you two, twice in the same day, and this time he puts himself in front of you.

✧ “Actually, we were about to train together…. If you don’t mind of course, only this is a prior engagement and-”

✧ He ends up going on a bit of a tangent, unseeing of the fond smile on your face as you watch him, before he finishes awkwardly.

✧ Erestor lets you two go in peace, and the two of you quickly head out to train - you pretending not to notice Pippin’s blush.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ As custom with the rangers first day back in Minas Tirith, the taverns are soon filled with soldier’s of the White Tower - swordsmen and bowmen alike.

✧ You and him both end up in the same one, along with recruits from both sides. It’s tradition for the captain to cover the first round, and Boromir has deep enough pockets to fund it, so he gladly puts the coin down and takes drinks out himself.

✧ Looking around, he tries to spot you as a second ranger suddenly comes out with two drinks, one for you and one for him.

✧ It’s a small gesture, but one that he wanted to make for you. A gesture that he wanted to make you smile with, not for a random soldier to brighten your day.

✧ Taking the drink you smile before seeing Boromir, raising your glass to him and mouthing he can’t quite make out.

✧ He gives the drinks away as quickly as possible, going up to you - his heart skipping a beat as you immediately move up for him, gesturing to a spot by your side.

✧ The gesture instantly warms his heart, almost enough for him to forget about the perceived slight, and the warm atmosphere that soon takes over everything is more than enough to keep the rest of the negativity at bay.

✧ (Him being close to you for the rest of the night certainly helps, too.)

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ In all honesty, there’s such a small period between you knowing each other and you starting to court that there really isn’t that much for him to be jealous over.

✧ Except when he learns of your potential betrothal to his brother.

✧ It’s never been a tradition his fond of, Gondor’s hopefuls giving away their children to the stewards, but it’s something he’s endured. Faramir knows his brother will never find someone this way.

✧ Until you are a candidate. Because who would not choose you, if they had a chance for your hand?

✧ He certainly would, and he expects Boromir too as well. He watches as, for another time in his life, he is forced to be on the sidelines even as his new love is a few feet from him.

✧ When Boromir greets you, it takes Faramir biting down on the inside of his cheek - only enough to distract - so that his disappointment and jealousy will not show.

✧ Faramir now envies little for his brother, but when your heart is involved it becomes fiercer than ever.

✧ (The insecurity of him being almost convinced that people will always choose Boromir over him does not help with these emotions either.)

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ As the dawn has finally risen on Helm’s Deep, and the noises of war no longer echo in the gorge, Éowyn is finally allowed to leave the cave and search for her loved ones. She is delighted to see all her loved ones alive, and Éomer’s return, and it is even better when the Golden Hall is decorated for celebration.

✧ When you all return from Isengard she is the first to greet you, and you gladly keep to her company once you dismount.

✧ It is not you leaving her that makes her jealous, but rather the large amount of Rohirrim who suddenly seem interested in one of the heroes of Helm’s Deep.

✧ She supposes a potential future ruler of Gondor must have good diplomacy, but she wishes you wouldn’t extend it to practically everyone in this hall who’s only looking for a quick flirt.

✧ Eventually, as yet another person fills the gap she takes their place, offering you a drink from the Cup of Kings. You take it, drinking a sip before meeting her eyes and whispering for her to not go and to protect you from yet another person.

✧ Éowyn gladly agrees, intervening when other people try to speak as soon as you glance her way, and the rest of the night is spent with you.

✧ (Also supports whatever decision you make when Éomer asks if you’ll join the drinking game. Either a loyal defender of your right not to drink, or the best support-woman you ask for.)

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ Even when pining for you, when in some ways it hurts him to be near you - reminding him of his love - he still goes to your training sessions, cheering just as loudly.

✧ He can more easily recognise the way his heart flutters in joy when you look for him in the corner of the room, and how quickly he smiles when all you do is acknowledge him.

✧ And then one day, he can feel your eyes on him, the smile you get when you notice him, before your eyes slip away and search for someone else.

✧ Éomer knows he should expect this, that there are other people you care for, but it’s like being plunged into cold water.

✧ Following your line of sight, he sees when your eyes light up again and immediately tries to determine who’s making you smile like that.

✧ It’s his sister, of course.

✧ The worry leaves him immediately, replaced by embarrassment. Even more so when Éowyn notices him staring before looking between you and him, a knowing smile on her face.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ He understands it’s your job to be decently polite to people, when they aren’t actively breaking the law, so doesn’t mind when you're nice and friendly with people. In fact, he quite likes it and it helps reassure him you’re the right person for him.

✧ However, he’s been on one to many night shifts where some of the residents have gotten too drunk.

✧ Knows you can handle it, but doesn’t think that you should have to handle it.

✧ Tries to let you deal with them but is certainly hovering there ominously in the background, ready to be backup should you need any backup.

✧ However, as he can see a man try to approach you during the festival, Bard decides he’s finally had enough for tonight. Tonight was supposed to be the two of you.

✧ As he gets closer, Bard simply puts a hand on his shoulder - firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

✧ He can feel the man tense up but just speaks quietly to him, a tone of forced politeness.

✧ “I assure you, they're busy.”

✧ You turn in time to see the man take hasty steps backward while Bard looks a little too pleased to be innocent, but when you tilt your head in question he just grins.

✧ Deciding to run with the string of luck, you don’t chase him further; you simply accept what’s happened and spend practically the rest of the night with him.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ Thranduil does not see it as jealousy, because jealousy implies that he is unstable. Jealousy implies he has a genuine belief that you would be interested in any of the elves that give a passing smile to you.

✧ If he had to pick a word, he would choose protective. In actuality it’s closer to ‘possessive’ but you aren’t his - not yet at least - and therefore he has nothing to possess.

✧ He does, however, have plenty to protect.

✧ Making sure never to abuse his powers, he understands that you make your own choices, he will occasionally keep an eye on things.

✧ It’s only ever subtle shifts, like the overly flirty elf you were complaining about in your talks being transferred from his doors and into a regular guard patrol. He sees your slightly lighter step, and hears no words of complaints from you.

✧ Is fine with you having relationships (such as friendships) that you’d appear to be closer to - simply because they are your friend and he is your king. Until he can truly bridge that gap, there will always be some level of formality between you two.

✧ (That doesn’t stop him from wishing you could be that comfortable around him, however. The fact he wishes for the friendly touch or wider grin you give to others.)

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ Becoming part of the royal guard is, for the most part, exactly what Tauriel had dreamed of for both herself and for you.

✧ There are a few things she would change, of course, like the two of you being able to spend more time together - but these are minor things.

✧ Then there’s the minor thing of Caraitur, an elf that you patrol with. Tauriel knows that he doesn’t actually mean anything with his flirting, but he still annoys her. The way he tries to hold the door open for you, or smiles at you.

✧ Doesn’t confront him but is actively petty. If she’s on any duty regarding taking care of helmets or weapons his are always not quite shiny. Perfectly functional, but something looks off about them.

✧ Always enjoys being very affectionate with you afterwards, hugs and lots of smiles. (Sitting right next to you while sending a smirk at him.)

✧ ✧ She’s careful to make sure none of what she does can be traced back to her, but that doesn’t mean she can’t still reap her reward.

✧ You’ll ask her why she’s smiling and she comes up with either the most nonsensical answers you’ve ever heard or just say ‘you’.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Lindir had always been very grateful for his elven qualities, and never considered the fact he was an elf to be anything less than a gift.

✧ Except for certain aspects when it comes to you. There are the more unpleasant aspects, of course, but also simpler ones that in some ways annoy him more.

✧ Like the fact he will never be able to bond with you over certain things that are small to some people (like the crunching of snow effortlessly beneath your feet), and deeper meanings.

✧ To him, you seem to light up more when around the race of men. Like how you are doing with Aragorn, the king’s heir, back to briefly visit Imladris.

✧ He’s not naturally a confrontational person, so prefers to try and ignore his envy while stealing glances from the two of you from afar. Trying to convince himself he isn’t seeing you laughing with so much mirth, or smiling so widely.

✧ Eventually, he can’t take it any more. Spying the two of you in the gardens, Lindir also moves to go there - running into the two of you with a deep bow.

✧ Careful not to stutter with his words, or allow his blush to show, he asks if he may walk with you soon as the two of you have been more distant lately.

✧ His heart is lifted almost immeasurably when he asks you to walk with him now, leaving the human behind to be with him. And seeing you smile and laugh with him, it alleviates his worries very well indeed.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ To be entirely honest, there isn’t anyone he truly feels jealous of - at any point in time when you aren’t courting.

✧ He understands that you are travelling with the Fellowship because of your duty to protect Middle Earth, and he’s glad you get along well with your companions.

✧ When the two of you are out on patrol he gets to know you more as you speak of them to him, and tell him about your thoughts.

✧ That you speak fondly of the hobbits, but in a familial way - as though they were younger siblings, or at the least ones to be protected (and not romantically interested in).

✧ Although you are more tolerant of the dwarf than he may have liked, Haldir recognises the annoyed-but-affectionate tone you employ about him to be one of friendship.

✧ He fears not for either of the men, as one is in love with an elf already and one is in love with his city.

✧ Haldir is still protective of you, trying to spend as much time with you as he can while you are in his realm, but he is assured enough to never be jealous of anyone - only the time you spend with them.

✧ Even that he can understand, and he combats these feelings by simply asking you to join him on patrol.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ Elladan knows he should not be jealous of his own brother, especially when his own brother is doing this very deliberately to make him jealous.

✧ But, now that Elladan has finally come to a realisation about his feelings, he knows that he wants to be the one with his arms around you.

✧ He knows that he wants to be the one to make you smile. He knows that he wants to be the one who makes you laugh. He knows that he wants to be the one for you.

✧ And he certainly does not need his brother to give him a ‘helpful nudge’, thank you very much.

✧ Elrohir gets slightly closer to you, and Elladan finally comes out of his hiding place and coughs to announce his presence.

✧ Trying not to smile too obviously when you brighten, he pretends to be entirely innocent before asking if he can join the two of you.

✧ You agree quickly, and Elrohir feigns annoyance before suddenly remembering something important to leave the two of you alone.

✧ As Elrohir leaves Elladan can see him mouth ‘good luck’ before winking.

✧ Unfortunately, you don’t see that part. You just see Elladan mouthing ‘bastard’ back. It still makes you laugh.

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Of all the elven figures, Elrohir is by far the most jealous. And also the most irrational with his jealousy.

✧ For him, it isn’t about who or even what you’re spending your time with, just that it’s so much more than him. And that he wants you to look at him with love in your eyes, of any kind.

✧ As you pour over more paperwork regarding Gondor for the fifth hour that night, he lets out a despairing groan that matches the look in your eyes.

✧ “Oh come on darling, will Gondor truly collapse if you take a little break? I’m going to break if you keep ignoring me.”

✧ Looking up, you give him a small smile before going back to… Gondor’s agricultural imports regarding fruits of Rohan.

✧ With a grin, he makes sure to be gentle before whisking the paperwork away from you. “We can make someone else do it. Faramir would be happy to help his twin out, or we can bully my brother-”

✧ You make a swipe for the paperwork, but he can tell your heart isn’t in it which only increases his grin. Pulling you up, he instantly begins to get you out of the door and into your city.

✧ He reasons it might be nice to see what your city looks like again after only seeing it in official documents, but both of you know it’s simply a poor excuse to spend time with you.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed! Next update is the confessions, so we're finally getting completely romantic. Also, if the writing is different then it's because this was written at 8am, 2pm, and 9pm respectively... so. Also - I now have a taglist! (feel free to fill out the form if you want to be tagged)

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[dragon-ascent]

Hi! First of all I'd like to thank you for your scenarios with our beloved Li, it's really comforting to read your stories, so please keep doing it! ❤️

Also, I was thinking about having a swim in a lake with dragon-form zhongli. Maybe he starts off a little mischievous and playful, trying to splash you/play sharks with his beloved, but then maybe he starts reeeeally teasing them and making them flustered while in his human form. How do you think he would behave?

Thank you again! You're amazing!!

I've let this one stew for like a year, so sorry for the wait! And thank you! ♡

It's a lovely day, so what's better than spending it by swimming in the lake with your husband? Swimming with him in his dragon form, of course! There's nobody around, so Zhongli is more than welcome to relax in all his adeptal glory, gliding around in the water with his beloved.

His smooth glides turn erratic soon enough - having quickly had enough of the tranquility, he splashes you, his body mass turning the splashes into straight-up miniature tsunamis for you. You erupt in a fit of giggles, desperately trying to avoid your husband's torrential onslaught.

"You're going to make me sopping wet!" you squeal, swimming away as fast as you can.

"You are already wet, darling," rumbles your dragon husband in hot pursuit. "I am simply hastening the process." He reaches a claw out and gently pulls you to him, licking you with all his usual affection he's inclined towards when he's like this.

"Eek!" Squirming out of his grip, you swim off. "Come catch me again!" you squeal, and your darling doesn't need to be told twice.

He submerges his great head underwater until only his golden eyes are visible on the surface, slithering dangerously to you like a water serpent. There's nowhere to run or hide, and your legs are starting to tire out from all the kicking, so you submit to your fate a little too fast this time. Zhongli gleefully rises from the water and gently clamps his jaw on your shoulder.

"No fair," you whine, wriggling in vain, "you're only able to catch me because you're big."

"Very well." Zhongli morphs back into his human form with ease, the same amber gaze holding your own. "I shall tip the scales to make things fairer."

Now somewhat satisfied, you once again take off in the water, swimming as fast as you can. Your movements are sluggish from exhaustion, however, but surely your husband feels the same?

Much to your chagrin, though, it seems like Zhongli's change of form hinders absolutely nothing for him: he's hot on your tail, gaining on you with every expert stroke only a god can manage...and before you can raise the white flag of surrender, he hooks an arm under your thigh and pulls you toward himself.

"Caught you, pretty one," he whispers into your ear, his other arm wrapping around your bare waist, fingers splayed in an almost possessive fashion. "Even after the scales have been tipped." His lips ghost over the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Zhongli notices this and, smiling, asks, "Shall I warm you up? You appear to be feeling rather cold, dearest."

"I - I'm good, thanks..." you murmur, heating up, gasping softly when he kisses your collarbone.

"All right." He lets you go, and you find yourself missing the contact immediately after it.

You wait until you feel like top form again, watching as Zhongli languidly floats along on the water. "One more time," you tell him, "try and catch me now before I reach the other side."

Kicking off from the bank, you rocket along in the water, arms and legs working in tandem to prove you can outswim your lover. But the lake doesn't stretch on forever, and before you can reach the other side, you chance a glance behind you.

There's nothing there. You stop, your brow furrowing. There's no sign of him. You peek underwater, too, and still nothing, just the blurry scene of aquatic plant-life.

"Zhongli?" you call when you resurface, wondering if he's already gotten out of the water. Aww, man...hopefully he saw how fast and cool you were before he-

A pair of arms lays claim on your hips, slowly spinning you around to face Zhongli whose smile crinkles his eyes, an innocent expression compared to the way his hands explore your skin.

"Oh...oh my..." you breathe, hooking your legs around his waist as his hand finds purchase in your hair, tugging it slightly so he can access your neck. "Was I...was I at least a fast swimmer..?"

He trails gentle kisses along your skin, rendered shiny and glistening thanks to the water. "Quite fast, yes. I was impressed." You moan softly at his tender touches, wrapping your arms around him. His tail is still out--did he ever even put it away?--and he coils it around your thigh, the little tuft of softness at the end caressing your leg sensually.

Toying with the elastic of your swimwear, he smiles into your skin. "Come now, dear, I would like to claim my prize."

[tyunniebbang]

oh so flirty : boyfriend enha

—💌 let's sugar talk !

content: boyfriend headcanons with ot7

no content warnings, all fluff!

little pecks, a soft head pat — heeseung would be a quiet lover. despite being well known for his extremely flirty stage persona, he realises that he likes to show his love with small actions. that way, he knows how to clearly separate enhypen's Lee Heeseung and The Lee Heeseung, himself. he loves it when you look at him knowingly, a silent conversation, telling him you absolutely love his attention. going to work? have a kiss, baby.

"do you want some dinner, love?" — jay would be such a caring lover. mothering you every other minute, you might be convinced that he's mama duck and he just loves his little duckling (you). coming home feels so comfortable, seeing jay nursing his kimchi stew meant for your delicious dinner. he scoops your portion of rice and pats your butt to tell you to hurry up. nothing swells up his heart more to see you so happy while munching down on his food.

a gift, a bouquet of flowers, a peck to welcome you home — jake is an absolute romantic. flirty is his middle name, he never stops to amaze you with his advances. it's awkward, but your cute little romantic would wait for you outside the door everyday, refusing to stay inside. it's like coming home to a puppy with a large wagging tail everyday. his eyes sparkles when he sees your silhouette nearing and calls out your name.

"aye~ i know all about you!"— park sunghoon is really an enigma. he squabbles, fights, teases you till no end. yet somehow that's exactly how he shows his love. when park sunghoon bickers with you, you know ultimately he's right. goodness me, how does he know everything about you? he's down to every detail and knows every strand of hair that makes you perfect, your personality that he loves.

yapper one and two — nothing beats a date at a quaint little cafe, sitting at the corner table with sunoo. chit chatting your woes away, sharing about the crazy things you've seen this past week at your university. maybe you don't notice, but sunoo likes to gaze at you when you go on about your long rant about... something that he forgot. none of that matters when he wants to appreciate your beauty.

fluffy this, fluffy that — everytime jungwon goes out, he has to commit himself to buy one plushie that looks like you. and cue the 30 minute yap about how he thinks you are equally as adorable as a spiky komodo dragon. everything reminds him of you, he misses you so much it's borderline attachment issues. it's probably time to tell jungwon that you don't take up majority of the space on your bed anymore. maybe he needs to find something new to get you.

"what- no, i don't like you!" — niki is a 100% tsundere. at first, you thought he was just an immature little kitten, but his feelings have seemed to slowly develop for you. he's going to explode if he doesn't do something. you wonder, why is this tall threatening emo boy suddenly bringing you coffee milk and a delicious strawberry cake? his pale cheeks turn pink whenever he sees you. does he... like you?

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part iv)

a/n: MDNI, rated 18+ ! soooo today on your weekly dose of Stark fluff, Kook Claere and Simp Cregan attempt to move their love language from acts of service to, ahem, physical touch.

The journey back to Winterfell had been quiet, the cold edge of the North still riddling them as they left the Wall behind. The vast, forlorn stretch of backvelds seemed to reflect their silence. Cregan had said nothing thereafter, allowing Claere her space to regain composure. He knew better than to provoke his wistful wife—knew that whatever mysteries she brought from beyond the Wall were hers to bear until she was prepared to unburden herself to him. And so, he let her stew in her mind's eye, his gaze wavering on her occasionally, wishing to trot his horse by her side, as she stared out the road.

He could tell she sensed his worried scrutiny, the implicit queries that clung to the air between them like her silver dragon that soared overhead. Nevertheless, he refrained. If the icy unknown beyond had terrorised her, he wouldn't be the one to pick apart the pieces. Not yet.

By the time they stopped at a small, weather-beaten inn along the Kingsroad, dusk had settled over the land, the last golden traces of daylight waning into the horizon. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the smell of bubbling broth and firewood, but neither of them seemed inclined to feast as compared to the rest of their party. The weariness of the road remained, though Cregan suspected something graver ate at his wife.

He found her later, seated on the floor near the long, narrow window, her gaze turned skyward. The room was dim, the half-moon and stars luminous through the glass, and she sat in silence, as though the world beyond the window held more comfort than the inn’s fire. Wordlessly, he joined her side, his motions unimposing, as though he didn’t want to disturb the calm that had settled over her.

Claere didn’t acknowledge him at first, lost in whatever thoughts churned beneath that placid exterior of hers. But after a long stretch of silence, she spoke, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Ask me," she murmured, still looking at the stars. "You must have a thousand."

Cregan only smiled, his lips curving into a small, teasing grin. "You can keep your secrets."

He could be patient. Whatever haunted her would come out in time, as all things did. Let her hold onto them, for now.

Her indigo eyes flickered at him briefly, and for a moment, reassurance passed over her features. "I saw nothing," she echoed from before. "Nothing clear. Nothing I wanted."

He tilted his head. "What did you want?"

"Proof of my sanity," she muttered. Her gaze paused on the stars, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Proof that I haven’t slipped into madness… or that it won’t contain me yet.”

Cregan’s teasing grin faded, his expression hardening with understanding.

“Madness comes for us all in time. Wears many disguises, but you'll feel it," he said his voice a quiet rumble. "And you're still here. That’s proof enough for me.”

She huffed lightly, not quite convinced, but something in her softened at his words. The silence that followed was thick, not with tension but with the soft comfort of shared understanding. He made space for her, and it made her want to draw closer. So she did. She shifted to him, ever so slightly, her shoulder brushing his.

After a while, she leaned in closer, her voice no louder than a whisper as she raised her hand toward the glass pane, pointing out a faint cluster of stars.

“That one,” she said. her voice quiet, “I’ve always adored it. I call it drūmā—‘the dream.’”

"Drūmā," he managed a murmur.

He turned his head to the sky, but he was hardly glimpsing at the stars. All he could see or think was her—the way her lips curved around the word, the sweet reverence in her tone as if that distant constellation held some deep, unstated meaning. Cregan felt a swell of emotion rise in his chest. She was this beautiful secret wrapped in fire and caution, a valiant princess who had crossed the Wall on dragonback and yet still found splendour in the stars.

His heart leapt to his throat as he moved scarcely, offering her the comfort of his shoulder. Claere accepted it, fitting herself into the curve of his arm, her head resting back into the burrow near his collar, her gaze still fixed on the night sky.

Then she traced an invisible path in the air, drawing with the stars. "And there. They remind me of a dragon falling asleep. Sōvīr zaldrīzes."

Cregan, however, was watching her—studying every line of her flawless face, every swift flit of her eyes as they tracked the stars. She possessed every fibre of his being. She had him entirely.

Deaf to restraint, his hand moved to her face, fingers brushing over her cheek. “And what do you call this?” he asked, almost a rumble in the stillness.

Claere blinked, a little surprised at the question. "Mēre," she answered softly, her Valyrian slipping from her lips like melodies.

He let his forefinger graze the length of her bent nose, his eyes never leaving her face. “And this?”

“Lāmas.”

Two fingers hovered over the fullness of her lips, his breath catching as her violet gaze veered to meet his, the anticipation between them taut as a drawn bowstring.

"And these?" he asked, the words a bare whisper.

“Lēda,” she answered, voice fainter now, nearly breathless.

A lopsided smile curled on his lips. "And what do you say when you want to kiss them so desperately?"

She swallowed hard; unguarded, unspeaking.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, he had waited too long for this. He leaned in, slowly, delicately, until his lips brushed hers. The kiss was gentle, glorifying—as if he feared shattering the moment if he pushed too quickly. His palm, calloused from years of wielding weaponry and enduring the ironhearted North, cradled her face with unexpected tenderness, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. When he pulled back, it was with both relief and strain that he searched her face for any sign that he had overstepped.

But Claere didn’t pull away. Rather, with a spontaneous boldness that startled even her, she lifted her hand to his, slender fingers soft yet confident as they wrapped around his wrist, holding him close, bringing it to her fluttering lips. Her touch was gentle, wavering at first as if testing the warmth of his skin.

But when she leaned in again, kissing him back, her grip tightened—not out of force, but need. Her soft moan speared right into his tongue, robbing him of his breath. The pads of her fingers squeezed into his hand, her other palm lain against his chest, feeling the sporadic beat of his heart beneath the thin layer of tunic. She could've reached right in and crumbled it to dust, he would've gladly let her.

This time, it was she who deepened the kiss, her lips crashing his with a fervour that sent a tremble down his spine. Her fingers slid up from his chest to his jaw, stroking at the hair that brushed his shoulder, tracing the line of his powerful neck, her touch both curious and loving. It wasn’t hurried, but it was deliberate—every brush of her fingers, every urge of her lips, drawing him further into her as if she was memorising him through touch alone. Cregan could do nothing but follow, lost in the sensation of her, the heat of her skin against his.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads relaxed together, sharing the same breath and heartbeat. And in the peace, the quiet between them now felt different—more familiar, more certain. It wasn’t simply a kiss. It was an oath.

His fingers threaded through her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp, drawing her closer.

"Did you like it?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper, almost unsure. Her violet eyes flickered between his, searching for something.

He grinned, the warmth of it softening the usual harshness of his features, though his grey eyes owned their intensity, locked on her as if she might vanish in the next breath.

"Aye, more than I can say," he rasped, his voice roughened with affection and awe. His thumb now brushed at her red lips, studying the little divots there. "I'd like to do it more often."

“You would?” she murmured, her breath ghosting over his hand.

Cregan’s grip tightened on her, his thumb moving from her lips to her jaw, tracing the line of her face with a gentleness that belied his strength. "If you'd allow it, I'd spend every breath seeking more."

A hint of a smile stretched across her face, her eyes flickering between his with something like wonder. “I’ve never shared much."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her at that moment—the way her features softened in the dim light, the way her presence, quiet and strange as it was, had become something he cherished.

"I will spend my time earning them." He brushed his lips against hers, with a newfound ease that urged him to stroke her thighs and waist, striking his fingertips with lightning bolts.

"One kiss at a time," he vowed.

X

The return to Winterfell was far from triumphant. There were no banners raised, no songs sung. The people did not look upon Claere with admiration or awe; instead, they continued to whisper behind closed doors and cast nervous glances in her direction. Word had spread of her crossing beyond the Wall, and in the minds of many, it had become a tale twisted by fear. How had she returned when so many before her had been lost? What had she seen? Why did she refuse to speak of it?

Still, Claere persisted. It was unlike her to make do with her quiet resolve in such matters. Especially those he knew would never concern her. She walked through the kitchens, speaking softly to the cooks, inquiring about the meals being prepared, offering a recipe she had learned in Dragonstone.

"No, my lady. That is not the way here," one of the kitchenmaids would murmur, polite but dismissive.

Claere’s attempts to suggest improvements to the weaving of the tapestries were met with similar disinterest. "We’ve always done it this way, my lady," they would say.

She was there, present in her part, yet treated her as light as the wind. She was seen, but never truly heard.

What stung more, though, was how the mothers kept their children away. The same little ones who once flocked to her side, wide-eyed and eager for tales of her homeland, were now kept at a distance by protective hands. She had shared stories of Dragonstone, of King’s Landing, of tasting exotic Tyroshi fruits and scouting for dragon eggs in the wilds. The children had adored her for it—had laughed and clung to her skirts, fascinated by Luna, the gentle beast who towered over them, but never harmed a soul.

Claere knelt in the courtyard with her harp on her thigh, and a small group of children gathered around her. Their eyes were wide with wonder as she described the hatching of a dragon’s egg, her songful voice painting pictures for them. One of the littlest girls, with a shock of red hair, reached out timidly, wanting to touch the dragon bone pendant that hung from Claere’s neck.

Just before the girl's fingers could graze it, a sharp voice called out from across the yard. "Ellys, no!"

The child froze, her hand dropping back to her side as her mother hurried forward, her eyes darting nervously between a stoic Claere and her daughter.

"It’s time we go, love," the woman said quickly, scooping the girl up into her arms. "Let's not bother Lady Stark any longer."

The girl whimpered, still looking at Claere. "But I want to hear what happened to the pink egg!"

Her mother cast a wary glance at Claere, voice low but trembling as she clutched her child. "We’ve heard enough stories."

Then, she turned and hurried away, whispering something under her breath to another woman nearby.

From a distance, Cregan observed this, his jaw tightening. He could see Claere’s smile falter slightly as the children were excused and led away one by one, their innocent excitement replaced by a quiet, uncertain look over their shoulders. He said nothing, though it tore at him. He couldn't. These were mothers, protectors of their own, and in the North, no lord could command a mother’s fears away. Not even the gods themselves.

Later that evening, as they sat together in the Great Hall for supper, Cregan caught her drifting gaze while sliding a few more slices of honeycakes onto her plate. Claere began to pick them apart with her fingers, reducing the golden pastry into small, crumbled pieces.

"Your heart shines brighter than a few whispers," Cregan said gently, his voice meant to pull her back from her inner thoughts. "They’ll see that, in time. You need to give them that chance."

Her fingers paused, holding a tiny morsel. "Yes," she said flatly, "but time isn't always kind."

Cregan's eyes softened, seeing through the mask she wore. He leaned closer, brushing his hand along the back of her head in a gesture meant to comfort, to encourage.

"Don’t give up on them, Claere. You’re their lady, and the North is not easily won, but it can be won."

Claere’s expression barely shifted, her lips twitching into a faint, thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pushed the crumb between her lips carefully.

"It does not bother me," she muttered, almost too quickly. "I have come to understand the way things are here."

He frowned slightly, knowing her well enough to sense what was left unsaid. "You may not show it, but you don’t have to carry this load alone. I am here."

She gave a small, tight nod, her voice quieter now. "I’m not giving up. But if they can’t see me, perhaps I wasn’t meant to be seen."

Cregan’s chest tightened at her words, but he stayed silent, only watching her, his hand resting protectively against her neck as she turned her gaze down, once again retreating into herself.

So Claere, ever watchful, stepped aside. She ceased trying to win the adults’ favour, knowing now that every attempt was met with indifference. Instead, she continued to watch. Like a ghost in her own home, she floated through the halls, spending hours in the glass gardens she had devised, silently overseeing their construction. Once, she had imagined them filled with life—blue roses blooming in defiance of the North’s frost—but now, they seemed as far away as everything else she touched.

It frustrated Cregan. It wasn’t enough that Claere tried, that she performed her duties with respect and vigilance. His people had judged her the moment she returned from beyond the Wall, and no amount of goodwill could shift that perception.

But it wasn’t the whispers or isolation that stirred at Cregan; it was how the distance between Claere and his people widened, even as her subtle feelings for him deepened. He was the one thing in Winterfell that did not change, that didn’t turn cold. And though she felt more and more like a foreigner in the keep, with Cregan, she had found her home.

Claere had always marvelled at Cregan’s patience—the way he tempered the demands of leadership with calm strength. But there was something else now, something more primal in her admiration, as her attention faltered on him from the castle balcony. The training yard below was alive with the sounds of clashing steel and gruff commands, yet her gaze was drawn only to him.

He cruised with effortless power, his sword sinuating around his fingertips, his broad shoulders and thick arms bared to the cold as he sparred with his men. The North had sculpted him into its image—formidable, headstrong, every inch of him hardened by years of combat and the harsh winter winds. His skin, sunkissed, stretched over taut muscles, and his stance, solid as the very stones of Winterfell, left no question that this man was the embodiment of ancient Stark blood.

Cregan had become a gentle giant of the North, the spitting image of his forebears, a regal wolf among his men. And Claere was suddenly, inexplicably lured to it—the rawness, the sheer force of his presence. She had never truly admired this side of him before, having always been more attuned to his compassion, his unfailing patience.

But now, she found herself watching him as she never had, from the eyes of a spellbound girl. Her lips parted for air, her hand curling around the cold stone of the balcony, and for a brief moment, she was lost in the sight of him. Her husband, she thought. Remarkable.

He caught her. His grey eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and though he had pretended not to notice at first, a flicker of amusement crossed his face.

With a playful grin, he raised his hand and beckoned her with a single finger.

She felt her heart skip, heat rushing to her face. Shaking her head quickly, she broke the gaze, ducking away as if she’d been caught in some intimate moment, her mind reeling from the sudden rush of feeling. She liked the excitement, the pulsations—whatever it was—a lot.

Claere had been standing so still, so intently focused on Cregan, that when she finally turned to leave, she nearly collided with a nearby servant. She staggered back, her hand brushing against the woman’s arm.

"My apologies," she murmured, eyes downcast as she quickly regained her footing. The servant, wide-eyed and unsure of how to respond, merely dipped her head, and Claere hurried off, her cheeks burning as she escaped into the corridors, her heart still racing.

Down in the yard, Cregan caught the whole exchange. He watched as she retreated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Got her good, my lord," one of his men said with a grin, leaning on his sword. "Thought she might’ve fallen right into you this time."

Cregan’s own smile was barely contained. “She’s no doe to be startled into my arms."

"A dragon, my lady is," one of them laughed.

“Yet it seems she has taken more than a few looks at her huntsman,” another chimed in, and the others chuckled.

Cregan shook his head, though the light in his eyes betrayed his delight.

"She’s got a mind of her own," he said, turning back to the practice, though his thoughts were still on her. He pointed his sword at his men. "More stubborn than any of you lads."

As they went back to training, the conversation shifted, and for a while, Cregan focused on the clang of swords and the weight of his shield. But when Claere crossed his mind again—her shy retreat, the way she had tried to disappear after that small, flustered moment—he couldn’t help but feel ten pounds lighter. The way she was beginning to see him differently was a triumph in itself. A sweet adoration that bloomed outside of auguries and omens.

As the sun began to set, his men’s teasing returned in full force.

“Mark my words,” one of the older guards called out as they packed up for the day. “It’s about time Winterfell welcomes another Stark. A summer child, heh?"

Cregan wiped the sweat from his brow, smirking as he sheathed his sword. “When it happens, I’ll let you pour the first ale—if you can still lift the barrel.”

Subsequently, as he stood before his small council, the rising tension returned. The air in the room was thick with unease, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows over the stone walls. Every mention of the dragon princess seemed to knot their nerves tighter. They were still wary, questioning what Claere had seen beyond the Wall. While she had spoken of it to Cregan in private, with words that rang true to him, the men around the table were not as easily convinced.

“What does it mean for the North, my lord?” one of the men snapped, his voice laced with accusation rather than fear. “She flew beyond the Wall, into lands none return from. Not even crows. She’s not like us. Who knows what kind of darkness she brought back?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the small council, emboldened by the man’s sharp tone. Another voice, colder and crueller, chimed in. “We’ve heard the whispers, my lord. Bloodmagic, hexes—things no Northerner should meddle with. What if she’s hiding something? What if her silence masks the real threat?”

The room stirred with growing boldness, the men exchanging conspiratorial glances as if they had forgotten whose hall they were in. One of them leaned forward, his eyes narrow and calculating.

“The people are afraid, and fear breeds rebellion. The longer you keep her here, the more they’ll question your judgment. Is that the kind of lord you want to be remembered as? One who brought a Valyrian sorceress into Winterfell?"

Their words were sharp as blades, probing, testing his resolve, as if daring him to falter.

He did. Cregan’s patience snapped. He rose to his full height, his shadow stretching long across the room as his eyes darkened like storm clouds brewing overhead. The council fell silent immediately, the weight of his authority pressing down on them. His voice, low and controlled, carried the kind of steel that had made men follow him into battle without hesitation.

“I will make myself clear once and for all. Claere saw nothing,” Cregan said, his words cold and unyielding. His gaze swept over the table, landing on each man in turn. “Nothing but ice and desolation. There is no curse on my wife. She flew beyond the Wall and returned for one reason: to feed her dragon. And that dragon now sleeps outside our walls, not as a harbinger of doom, but as her loyal steed."

The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but none dared to meet his gaze. His presence commanded the room, the force of his conviction quelling any further protest. Still, one of the older lords, his voice a murmur barely above a whisper, tried to speak again.

“My lord, we mean no disrespect, but if—”

Cregan’s hand slammed down onto the table, cutting the man off. The sound echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.

“Enough! I've had it all!" His voice was as sharp as the Valyrian blade at his hip. “Another word of dissent against Lady Stark’s sound mind, and I swear it upon the old gods and the new—heads will roll.”

A deadly silence followed his words. The men around the table bowed their heads in submission, their once-nervous glances now replaced by wide-eyed fear. They knew Cregan well enough to understand that his threats were never idle.

He straightened back up. “Claere Stark is of this house, of this land. She is your lady. You will treat her as such. If any of you think otherwise, say it now and face me.”

None spoke.

"Fair choice. Then it is decided."

He dismissed the council and as they hurried out of the hall, their whispers stilled in their throats. Yet, even as they left, Cregan stood alone by the fire, his jaw clenched. For all his power, for all his belief in Claere, a shadow of doubt clung to the edge of his mind. She had shared little of her journey beyond the Wall, and though he trusted her with his very life, the silence that followed her return weighed heavier than he dared to admit. Something remained hidden beneath her quiet resolve. Something he could not yet see.

Later, in the hush of their chambers, the flicker of firelight danced across the stone walls. Claere sat by the hearth, pricked fingers deftly stitching the embroidery she had been labouring on for weeks. It was still sloppy work, as Cregan loved to tease her about. He lay with his head in her lap, watching her more than the flames.

These evenings had become their tacit routine—a time of shared silence that he had come to treasure. The peace wrapped around him, soothing the doubts that lingered, though they rarely exchanged words. In these quiet moments, he felt most at ease, their closeness needing no explanation.

Tonight, however, the silence felt different. Claere's hands paused in their careful craft, her gaze dipping as if gathering her thoughts. The fire crackled softly, but it seemed distant, overpowered by the tension in the room.

“Are you burdened by me before your council?” she asked, her words hesitant, hedging.

Her fingers stilled on the embroidery, resting just above Cregan’s brow where his head lay on her lap.

Cregan’s brows furrowed, his eyes searching her face. He understood what she was trying to say—her isolation, her distance from the little ones, their fear. It was finally getting to her, as it did to every person despairing in silence.

But he only shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Claere, I’ve carried steel, fire, and the weight of a thousand dead Starks on my shoulders, but you?” His thumb traced the side of her leg, playful and reassuring. "Your heft is that of a feather compared to all that."

Her eyes met his, doubt still lingering in their violet depths. "I hear them talk to you. Endlessly."

He snickered. "Well, you should join next time."

She pursed her lips, dismissive.

He rubbed her knee beneath his cheek, voice lowering. “Let them talk. Their empty words mean nothing when they’re blind to the truth. What matters is what you've done despite it all. Tending to the hold, hunting... the glass gardens. Their opinions change nothing.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could, he suddenly pounced, tackling her to the ground with a fluid grace that left her breathless. His arms wrapped around her waist as they tumbled, her startled gasp filling the room before it veered to their soft, unrestrained laughter.

"Cregan!" she managed, trying to push him off with little strength behind her effort, her hands half-heartedly pressing against his chest.

“You thought I didn't notice?” he teased, hovering over her with ease, his broad frame casting a shadow. His smile was wide, mischievous, as though he held a secret she had yet to discover.

“You’ve been watching me train, princess. And rather intently, might I add. Devouring me with those enchanting eyes.”

Claere’s cheeks warmed at his words, the colour blooming faintly against her pale skin. It was an expression he loved—a rare slip of emotion that made her otherwise cool demeanour seem fragile.

“I have not—”

“Little liar,” he chuckled, lowering his head toward hers, close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips. “I caught you staring more than once. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

She tried to avert her eyes, but his hand came up, cupping her jaw in his roughened palm, guiding her gaze back to him. Her protests died on her tongue, replaced by uncertainty. The playful glint in his eyes softened, a deeper warmth replacing it. He was in no rush now, not when her heart raced beneath him, not when the space between them grew thinner by the second.

Her breath hitched, and her usual blankness seemed to melt away, giving way to the bare bones of Claere—joy, tension, the edges of a smile twitching at her lips.

“I was simply appreciating the view,” she mumbled, her eyes darting away.

“The view, is it?” Cregan’s grin widened, mischief in his tone. “And here I thought your attention was elsewhere.”

She huffed, trying to maintain her composure. “I’m capable of admiring more than one thing at a time.”

He arched a brow. “Though somehow, I think it wasn’t my swordsmanship that had you swooning. Something under my plates? Or perhaps... my breeches?”

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above hers. Their laughter had long died out, the air between them thickening with tension, but it was the kind that felt like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

He could feel her heartbeat quicken, her breath coming in soft, shallow puffs, and it was all he needed. His voice dwindled to a near-whisper, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth with deliberate slowness.

“Say my name again.”

Her violet eyes flitted up to his from staring at his lips. "Why?"

"I'd like to hear it from your mouth."

She breathed out, "Cregan."

He needed no more invitations. He closed the gap, crushing his lips to the ones that were spoken for in his name, with the care that gainsaid his size like she was a glass doll he wanted to protect. But the kiss carried more than just tenderness—it was a slow burn of the long-awaited as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. And in that kiss, he felt her response, moving her lips with his to mimic him, graceless but sweet in her own way.

As they pulled apart, her eyes fluttered open, dazed and unhesitant. She blinked up at him, lips slightly parted, and though she didn’t say a word, he could see the answer written in her expression—a soft, implicit permission.

It wasn’t long before Cregan had pulled the heavy furs from the bed, laying them out on the stone floor to make a makeshift bed. His coarse hands stretched toward her in an invitation that was far gentler than anything he had ever given her before.

Though Claere hesitated, bringing her hand to her chest, a shadow of reluctance crossing her face. “My Lord, I—"

"No, I want none of that. Speak like my wife." He abraded at her courtesy rather than anything.

"Cregan," she corrected quietly. "I don’t want to be a young mother."

An invisible fist gripped his throat. He hadn’t expected her to voice such a fear, although some of him understood. He didn’t need to hear more to know that the idea of maternity, of the expectations it carried with it, terrified her in a way she would not easily admit.

Looking at her now, so frail in her admission, he realized that what he wanted most wasn’t bound by obligation or lineage. He didn’t need heirs or any responsibilities others might want to place on them. It was her. He wanted her. Just her.

"Nor I, a young father," he shared in a rumble of breath, stretching his arms further for her.

"Until then we'll simply be us," he promised.

It was all the assurance she needed. Bearing a relieved grin, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her into the warmth of the furs.

Claere sat on her heels, back to him, and piled her thick silver braid over a shoulder. Cregan, much obliged, opened her bodice and petticoats one by one while she sat motionless, staring into the flames. He caressed the lune of her spine, his entire hand spread over the span, her skin burning under his touch, unmarred, smooth, seeming like silk stretched over glass.

She glanced at him, uncertainly gliding off her sleeves, now bare-skinned and impassive. As if prompted by the strings of a puppeteer, she slid away from her dresses and laid back on the furs, shutting her eyes. It fell far from what Cregan had envisioned, his wife lain for him like awaiting a death knell.

Rather, he raised a quizzical brow at her. "What are you doing?"

Claere opened her eyes, startled by the question. "Isn't this what you wanted?" Almost like she was trying to puzzle him out, calm and detached. "You can... take me now. I know what is expected of me. My maidenhead is unsullied."

Cregan blinked, utterly taken aback, and then a soft chuckle escaped him, one he didn’t intend but couldn’t help.

"Take you," he repeated to himself, incredulous. His grin widened, full of humour and fondness. "What do you think this is?"

Instinctively, her hands went to cover her breasts. Her brows furrowed, confusion spreading across her features as she squinted at him, her cheeks flushing faintly.

"Is this not what happens between a husband and wife?" she asked, her voice no longer carrying the confidence she had tried to summon.

He sighed, pulling her hands away from her chest, gentle but firm. There was warmth in his gaze, despite the humour. He threaded his fingers through hers.

"Aye," he said softly, "but not like this. You’re not spoils of war, Claere. I am no king to conquer you. Or your enemy to face."

Her shoulders, once tense, unwound as she looked up at him, understanding him.

"No," she agreed.

With a tender smile, Cregan reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. His hand moved down to her cheek, cupping it gently, and he looked her in the eye.

"I will have you in love, or I will not have you at all."

And so it went—their night of perfect pleasure, ruptured only by their awkwardness about what followed next. Platitudes fled replaced by yearning, Cregan ripping at his padded tunics and eager to bring her onto his lap until the distance was insignificant. She went all too gladly, bestraddling him, and he guided her hands from his waist to his neck.

Claere followed his lead with a tentative curiosity, her body flush against his chest. But he didn’t rush her—didn’t demand. Instead, he reached for her hands, gently guiding them from his thighs, where they’d instinctively gone, up toward his neck.

His fingers wrapped softly around hers, urging her to trace the roughness of his stubble and the solid strength of his shoulders. To the lines on his chiselled chest and the bow of his lips.

“Here,” he whispered. “I want your touch, all of you.”

Her breath hitched as her fingertips brushed over the nape of his neck, hesitant but trusting. He guided her the rest of the way, showing her the places that made him shiver beneath her touch, the places he wanted her to claim as her own.

He gently closed her warm hand over his hardness, her eyes flitting up to his, confused.

Their foreheads pressed together as he sighed, his eyes half-lidded, savouring the feeling of her palm around his length. It was a distinct kind of familiarity���intimate in a way that felt more sacred than godly vows. In a trail of white-hot kisses up her neck and claiming her lips once more, he adjusted her over his lap, until she was centred right over him.

Their eyes met—he melted, burned, raged, all but perfection until mending and finding the right symphony. At that moment, no one could've loved someone the way he was loving her.

In a single movement, she plunged down, perhaps some inherent impulse, and he buried himself deep inside her. Deeper, until every fragment of space in that heat between her legs was swelled with him. Her face strained as she welcomed him, and a rasping cry muffled into his neck.

"I have you," he reassured breathily, past the stars that roiled behind his eyes, holding her at her head and waist. "I have you now."

She nodded hard against his shoulder.

"Move for me, my love," he urged.

It wasn’t possession in the slightest, not when they made those noises, not when they collided like that; especially her, like she had mounted her dragon and taken to the skies. No, this was release. This was frustration that needed to end. This was her coming undone before him, subject to sensations like she was untethered from the world itself, weightless in a way she never knew she could be. The wrath of fire and the patience of ice found a way to coexist between them. They simply were fire and ice.

Cregan's hands slid up her sides, panting in husky grunts, rough nails digging into the smooth skin on her back, anchoring her deeper into him. He revelled in the way she responded, the way her lips parted for a breathless gasp, her fingers twisted in his hair, and how his name fell from her lips like a prayer. He bore her unravelling braid like a pearly rope around his wrist, tugging her back to grant him access to her throat. Sweet and sweeter, like nectar. He expected smoke and soot when he kissed her skin.

Every gentle rock of her saintly hips sent a shiver down his spine, her breath growing shallow, her violet eyes fluttering closed as though the world had fallen to ash around them. Here, in the bare intimacy, Claere was simply herself, vulnerable and powerful all at once.

For once, there was no restraint, no hesitation. She wasn’t holding anything back, and neither was he.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice rough and ragged, needing to see her, to meet her gaze as the distance between them disappeared entirely.

Her eyes fluttered open, heady with lust but shining with something more—conviction, maybe, or something even deeper, something he knew they both sensed but hadn’t quite named.

At this moment, they weren't simply lord and lady, wolfblood and dragonblood—they were something else, elsewhere entirely. Bound not by titles, but by the intensity that had grown between them since the first time they met. She was his match, his equal, and he swore he would follow her to the ends of the earth if only to touch her like this again.

It was as though every wall she'd ever built came crumbling down. She didn’t resist it—couldn’t, really—because with him, there was no need to hold on. The pace became feverish, rushing quicker, desperate to chase that high. Her breaths came faster, and her heart raced, but none of it felt overwhelming. She let herself fall apart for him in a sharp, trembling cry, clutching him tight.

He smothered his gruff groan and expletive into her shoulder, getting a mouthful of her hot skin, conscious of the consequences through the dizzying drop, and gently pulled her off him to empty his spend into his breeches. The waves of pleasure ravaged him, he could hear the blood coursing in his ears as he embraced her to him with an arm, coiled taut yet loosened soft, all at once.

They came down together, back to their continent, back to Winterfell, back by the fire, as a tangle of limbs over the fuzzy down, slick in sweat and gasps. Claere’s arms stayed wrapped around Cregan’s neck, her breath still coming in soft, dreamy puffs against his skin. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, not easing her grip, as if reluctant to let go of the warmth they shared.

Cregan’s tough hand continued its slow, soothing path up and down her back, tracing the soft ridges of her spine and the delicate curve of her ribs. He kissed her jaw, her temple, the spot just below her ear.

“Claere,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm, “I could stay like this forever.”

Again, his words went by unheard. It so happened that he got used to it, that sometimes she just refused to leave her head.

As they lay in the warmth of the furs, the world beyond nothing but a memory, Claere’s fingers moved dreamily through the air, tracing invisible lines as if drawing constellations on the weathering ceiling. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as though her thoughts had taken flight somewhere beyond the stone walls of the keep.

Cregan’s eyes followed the gentle dance of her fingers, the way her hand swayed back and forth, almost in a trance, lost in some quiet reverie. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breath against his chest, each exhale like a whisper of the wind, and yet her mind seemed elsewhere, reaching toward a distant idea.

“Do you ever wish we could just… fly away?” she asked softly, her voice drifting like her fingers, her words delicate.

Her eyes remained on the imperceptible path she was tracing, not daring to look at him just yet. Cregan felt a small tug at his heart, the way she asked not with fear but with the consequence of hope, a dreamer trying to keep her visions alive in a world that so often crushed them.

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to catch hers mid-air, stopping the slow, swaying motion of her fingers. He grasped it gently, his thumb brushing the back of it in calming strokes.

“Fly away?” he echoed, a teasing smile curving his lips as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “With Luna or..." his voice dipped lower, "have I replaced her as your favourite mount to ride?"

A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "The wolf in the North indeed."

He bit at the skin of her jaw and pulled. "I strive to please, princess."

“Not leave for long. For a while,” she murmured, as though speaking of some impossible place, a dream she couldn’t quite grasp.

Cregan’s brow softened, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. He understood that yearning in her voice—the wish to escape Winterfell, the duties, the judgment—but he couldn’t help but grin at her. Sometimes, he'd think the same.

“Well then,” he said with a playful glint in his eye, “perhaps one day I’ll steal you away to Dornish warmth. Summer beneath a blood orange orchard. But I’m not sure the wolves would forgive me for that.”

Her lips quirked, a soft smile touching her face, though her eyes remained far off, still seeing that distant place. For a girl who owned a dragon, she ought to be well-travelled. Dorne must've been one of the many places she must've flown to.

Cregan leaned in, his forehead resting on hers, their breaths mingling.

“Tonight, I believe you belong right here,” he whispered, his voice low and affectionate.

Her fingers, no longer suspended in the air, curled around his, the trance broken but the dream still lingering in her gaze. She shifted closer, her bare skin brushing against his, her head resting on his chest, the far-off look in her eyes slowly fading.

"Yes," she eventually said, soft and certain. "Here is good."

Cregan kissed the top of her head, his lips brushing the silken strands of her hair, and as she nestled deeper into his embrace, he whispered. “Always here.”

She traced wistful, circuitous patterns on his chest, a fleeting touch that soothed the storm inside him. The words were unnecessary now. He knew, and so did she. The quiet between them was no longer a vacuum—it was full, full of everything understood, a second sight they both shared, woven between heartbeats and breaths.

Outside, the winds of winter howled, but within, they had found their haven. Now, that was enough.

X

still a little to come, I promise! hope you felt luuuuurv!

question of the day for those of you still here: what song reminds you the most of claere? what song reminds you most of cregan & claere?

taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @lv7867 , @cosmosnkaz , @beingalive1 , @piper570 , @tigolebittiez

thank you all so much for your support and comments! it's what drives me to write these days <3

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

No longer yours to keep

summary: what happens when you and Xaden bond with mated dragons but you're already dating Garrick?

warning: pretty suggestive, some iron flame spoilers.

Kind of part II

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For as long as you could remember it had been you three against the world. Your families had been extremely close so it was inevitable for your three to end up being best friends. And it was like that until you all started to grow up. And once the teenage years kicked in so did the desire to explore and learn new things.

You mingled in this relationship with no boundaries, no labels for a bit. Until Xaden had to uphold his duties. Had to agree to be engaged to a girl just for the sake of power. That of course meant that you and Garrick had been slightly pushed to the side. Xaden was barely free to spend time with you, barely there for your usual nights out. Meaning that you and Garrick fell into this easy rhythm. This bonding over losing a friend you two loved dearly. And without any big gestures. Without any grand signs had fallen in love.

Garrick had always been made of sharp edges, similar to Xaden. Just Xaden used that as a form of self-defense when he needed to be out in the public and Garric... He had always been on the rougher side. Had always been harder to read. To predict. But he was an amazing lover. There wasn't a moment where you felt unseen or unheard. Yes, he had his moments but once he stewed over them, he would always come to apologize. To make it right. And he was so protective. Boy, was he protective. It was both a charming thing because it empowered you even more but... it was frightening too because Garrick's heart was in your hands, he had let you in deeper than anyone else. And you had planned to keep it forever. Had planned but...

But then threshing came. You three were at the top of your squad. Ready to grasp the best spots in the section. Garrick and Xaden were already waiting when you emerged. They had remained close friends throughout the years. Lost had changed and in all honesty it was you who bitched to Xaden the most. "We can do the next shipment after we bond with dragons", Xaden said quietly. There was a revelation brewing. And surprise, surprise Xaden was at the top of it. "I'll get the boys to take the boxes tonight", Garrick said, as his arm sneaked around your waist, "Hey", he muttered pressing his lips to your temple. "Everything's okay?", you asked, earning a nod from them both. "Excited to bond?", you looked across the field as the wind picked up.

"I have my eyes set on a dragon I want", Xaden said firmly. "Of course you do", you rolled your eyes, suddenly feeling the urge to cling to Garrick as if this might as well be the last time you two were gonna see one another. "You're okay?", Garrick wrapped an arm over your shoulders, you hesitated for a moment but... they were your childhood friends after all.

"I just have this weird feeling", you breathed out, "Like something is about to change". Xaden snicked from beside you and Garrick threw him a glare. "We will be bonding with dragons today, princess", Xaden mused. "Might be. Don't be too full of yourself", you bit back, Garrick instantly brought you closer to him, hands on your hips, "Don't bite his throat out, baby". Xaden pushed away from the wall, "I'll see you two there".

You huffed out a breath. You didn't want to be a bitch but that man was grinding your gears at times. He was also putting himself in so much danger and for what? A fucking title? "Tell me about what's worrying you", Garrick cupped your face. Your eyes met his. God, you loved this man. "I just have a bad feeling", you muttered, "I don't think that anyone is dying today but... I think that things are going to be different. Really different". Garrick tilted his head to the side as he watched you. "All I care about is that you come back to me", he muttered, "with or without a dragon, I just want you back by my side". His words clenched at your heart because somehow deep down you had an inkling that that was exactly what wasn't gonna happen.

You had crossed paths with burnt flesh multiple times. Guess this year's threshing theme was roasted cadets for dinner. You were so tired. Sure, this had to end soon and you would have to admit your defeat. And just... A puff of hot air hit your back making you still. You could feel its presence behind you. You took a deep breath in before turning around. And here it stood. The biggest black dragon you had ever seen. "Holly fuck", you breathed beneath your breath.

Your head was buzzing. Every fiber of your skin was on fire. You could believe that you had bonded with a dragon. A black one at that. Black dragons rarely bonded. Lower your ego he snarled in your mind. You slide down his leg ready to give your dragon's name so you can be officially linked when an overwhelming sense of emotions hits your chest. You faltered slightly. Gripping the edge of the table a huge scroll will names was placed on it.

You hand fell on your chest as the edges of your vision blurred. You let out a pained breath as your eyes snapped up and here he stood. On the other side of the field. A blue dragon by his side. Eyes burning holes into you. Hands in fists. What the fuck... you felt an arm wrapping around your waist. Oddly enough wanting to pull away because it just didn't feel right only to find Garrick inches from you, cupping your face. And then everything went black.

Your eyes snapped open with a jolt. The moon was casting faint light over the room. Garrick was passed out beside you. His hand wrapped around your middle. You brushed your fingers through his messy hair when a wave of need rushed through you. Need that wasn't however in any way related to the man that was next to you. Come to me. The voice rang in your head making you jolt. And even if you didn't want to. And even if you tried to fight it. Tried to fall back asleep. Tried cuddling into your boyfriend. Not even fifteen minutes later you were padding through the quiet corridors.

You didn't even have a clue as to where you were going and yet here you were, standing right next to the person that had taken over your mind. "Why the fuck do I feel you in every fiber of my body, Riorson", you said through gritted teeth. Your body grew warm just from the sight of him. "Our dragons are mated", he said bluntly, puffing out a cloud of mirth-root. You instantly crossed the distance between you too, snatching the blunt and taking a hit yourself. The overwhelming feeling eased slightly, but your body still yarned for him.

"We need to sort this out, get this fixed", you muttered, brushing your fingers through your hair in frustration. "How do you plan on doing that? They have been mates for centuries. Fuck, we hadn't even been born back then", Xaden huffed out. "I'm with Garrick, I won't leave him, I...", you muttered in panic, but Xaden's hand that sneaked up your throat made your voice die down.

"They are fucking", Xaden said through gritted teeth, eyes hazy as he looked at you. You could feel it too. Gods, even the smell of him. "We can't... I can't do this to him", you pushed back, trying to keep distance between you two. "Do you think it's not eating me alive?", Xaden growled, cursing under his breath, "I watched Garrick falling head over heels for you. You're it for him, and now...", Xaden turned around, bracing a hand on the wall as he breathed. Please hold your pleasure to yourself you snarled at your dragon. But it's like your words didn't even reach him.

You took in a shaky breath, right as your eyes met Xaden, and within the blink of an eye you were pressed against the stone wall, legs wrapped around Xaden's hips. His teeth buried in your neck as you dug your nails into the back of his neck. It felt as if your body was on fire. As if only with him near you could finally breathe. "We can go back to having an open relationship", Xaden breathed against your ear. You shook your head, "Garrick will never share, we're in too deep", you muttered. Xaden let out a growl, "If he'll want to keep you, he will share, baby". His hands moved up your shirt, Garrick's shirt, and that was a reminder enough for you to push against Xaden's chest. You wiggled till he finally lost his grip on you. "If you'll challenge him for a claim of me, I swear to everything I believe in, I will suffocate you in your sleep", you pointed a warning finger at him. Xaden only chuckled, "You'll be crawling to me", he breathed out. Dark eyes watching you. "Fuck you, Riorson", you huffed, "You'll do that to baby", he mussed right as you turned around. Practically running back to your room. Heart beating in your chest so loudly that for a while it was all you could breathe.

[merlyn-bane]

Codywan Cuddling

I heard my friend @dontbelasagnax wasn't feeling good tonight so I asked her if I could write her a little drabble or something and she asked for Codywan cuddling. Lo! I have returned with approximately 550 words of Codywan having a nice domestic evening in when Cody isn't feeling too good himself featuring cuddling, the Galactic Public Broadcasting Service, and lineage soup recipes as a love language <3 Ficlet under the cut.

Obi-Wan had known that his poor former commander wasn't feeling well when he left that morning for a day of tedious–but necessary–Council meetings. Cody had already had a low-grade fever if the back of Obi-Wan's hand was any gauge, and the way he'd squinted against even the low light of their bedroom had spoken to at least the beginnings of a headache. But he'd insisted that he would be okay and that Obi-Wan should attend to his duties, and the Order's finances were certainly important if not necessarily glamorous, and so Obi-Wan had gone–after securing his partner's promise to rest.

He's quiet as he lets themselves into their quarters, careful not to let the door slam against its frame the way it's become wont to do in recent years in case Cody's migrated to the main room since he left. From the glow of the holoscreen, it seems likely. "Codylove?"

"On the sofa," Cody rasps, holding up one hand in a sort of half-wave over the back of the couch, and Obi-Wan softens even further with sympathy. He sets his armload down on the counter carefully and starts unpacking it.

"I picked up latemeal for us from the refectory, darling."

An inquisitive head pops up over the back of the couch like a grass weasel, clearly interested in whatever Obi-Wan has to offer. It makes Obi-Wan smile, even as he notes that Cody is still squinting and privately wonders just what–if anything–he's managed to eat today.

"What'd they have today?"

"Grandmaster Yoda's specialty, rootleaf stew." Obi-Wan carefully brings the two flimsifoam soup containers and a couple of spoons around to the living area, chuckling softly as he sees Cody's nose scrunch up rather adorably. "I promise it's not as bad as it sounds, my darling. And there's nothing better for chasing away a bug, believe you me." The Jedi's eyes crinkle at the corners with humor. "And best not tell Master Yoda that I snuck enough red sauce in yours to down a krayt dragon while his back was turned."

"I love you," Cody breathes out, all relief, and Obi-Wan deposits the soup containers on the caf table in front of the sofa before Cody can inevitably ensnare him around the waist and drag him back into the (wonderful) cage of his arms. He manages just in time and of course puts up no resistance, going lax in Cody's secure hold as a nose buries itself in his hair.

"I love you too, my darling, but I'm afraid we cannot actually eat the soup in this position." Cody grunts, making absolutely no effort to actually move anywhere, and Obi-Wan laughs softly before using the Force to draw the remote to himself. "Very well then. Shall we see what's playing on GPBS?"

"Alderaan Outdoors," Cody murmurs into his hair. "It's not as much fun to watch without special Kenobi Commentary."

Warmth blooms in Obi-Wan's chest at the light, unbearably fond teasing. Cody tends to have that affect on him. He takes one of Cody's hands in both of his own and brings it up to press a whiskery kiss to his palm. "Alderaan Outdoors it is, commentary and all."

"Then soup."

"Yes, darling. Then soup."

[lilbardrhi]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 14: What Do You Do?

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; dehumanization

Author's Note: How about something more gentle before we get into 13 starting to explain things? I feel a bit bad about part 13 x'D have some cute, fluffy things uwu

I settle on to the couch just fine and Selene joins me, as Simon said she would. It doesn't take him long to return from the room - blanket in his arms, as promised.

"Lay down." His voice is gentle still but I can tell he's no less tense. I do as he says without argument and Selene jumps up to the back of the couch, curling up directly above my head.

"Are you ok?" I ask as he places the blanket over me.

"I'll be fine. Didn't cut deep."

My hand pops out from under the blanket, fingers wrapping around his wrist carefully.

"I know you know that's not what I meant, Simon."

He freezes at my touch, eyes locked on mine, but doesn't say anyhting. Not right away at least. His fingers twitch slightly before gently sliding over the inside of my wrist.

"Just... angry for you. And the other omegas that Salvation has or has had in their hands. No more talk of it tonight, though," he says firmly, eyebrows raising to emphasize his point. "I'll bring you a plate when dinner's ready. Call for me if you need help with the tv, but otherwise stay put and hang out with Selene."

My grip on his wrist loosens and he pulls away, making his way back to the kitchen.

The tv and remote are fairly simple to work so I check various streaming servies before settling on soem random cartoon. Something about princes and dragons? I'm not sure. Half of my attention was on listening to Simon work in the kitchen.

I find it silly. I've known the guy for a couple of days, probably not even a full twenty-four hours at this point, but I feel more comfortable around him than anyone I've been around in a long time. Or maybe my self-preservation skills aren't as nice as I thought they were. I'm also just used to surviving Salvation's-

No more talk of it tonight. Simon's words ring through my skull and I frown.

Guess that means no thinking about it any more tonight either. Oh, well- oh, elves. Cool!

My attention is drawn to the tv, the story and characters pulling me in easily. Magic and magical beings have always fascinated me. Kind of like the little friend I saw in the sunr-

No. No, that was a rat. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Here," Simon says softly as he puts a bowl down on the coffee table. "Not my best dish, but it is comforting to me."

"What is it?" I ask, sitting up so I can eat.

Inside the bowl seems to be a stew, at least from the looks of it.

"Just what I used to throw together when I'd have a bad day and just needed something easy to cook and eat. Something warm but still good for me. Try it," he nods to the bowl in my hands.

Don't have to tell me twice; it smells wonderful. One bite has my taste buds exploding and my eyes wide.

"This isn't your best dish? Somehow I don't believe that," I argue through a mouthful of the stew.

He chuckles and shakes his head.

"One of the simplest and quickest things I could make. I take it you like it then?"

I groan as I take another bite and his chuckle grows to a quiet, shoulder shaking laugh.

"I'm almost scared to know what else you're able to cook," I admit as a joke through another bite. "When did you learn to cook?"

"Had an involuntary leave a few years back," he shrugs and settles back into the couch. "Needed something to do with my hands so I decided to learn to cook and bake."

"You bake too? Jeez, are you sure you need an omega?" I scoff, smiling.

His head turns so he can look directly at me. He almost looks irritated.

"There's more to life as an omega than 'household duties'. We'll save that discussion for tomorrow, though. Would you like me to teach you? Then, if you'd like, you can practice while I'm out for work and surprise me with any new-found skills when I get back."

"You're offering to teach me to cook and bake? Do you even have time? From the way you and Johnny have been talking, you'll be gone the majority of the time."

The omega in my head is unsettled by the idea of him not being around often, but the rest of me doesn't mind. I'm not big on human company constantly anyway.

"Price, my captain, knew I'd be searching for an omega so I'm on leave right now. Plus we're in-between missions right now anyway." Simon pauses for a moment, expression neutral. "You haven't asked what I do for work."

The unspoken question of 'Are you going to ask?' lingers in the air. I take a couple more bites of my food, finishing what's in the bowl and placing it on the coffee table.

"I'm curious," I nod. "But is it really my business?"

"It is as much as it can be. I can't go into full detail, but I can give you the general information."

I shift on the couch, turning so my legs are tucked under me and I'm facing him. The blanket also gets moved so it's over my shoulders and head as I pull it closed in front of me. This seems to amuse Simon considering the small crinkle near his eyes.

"I'm a lieutenant, SAS. My team consists of four individuals, including myself, but we occasionally recruit people from other branches of the military. Sometimes even people from other countries' militaries - like Jeanz, she's part of Ireland's military."

"Who else is on your team? Johnny?" I prob for more answers, curiosity taking over.

"Johnny is one of the two sargeants in my team, yes. The other is Kyle and Price is our captain. The three of them are the people who know me best in this world," he adds the last sentence with almost a sad tone to his voice.

"Are Kyle and Price who I'll meet tomorrow?"

"Yes. If you and I want to do something about Salvation, I'll need to involve them. Are you ok with sharing your experieinces with more than just me?"

"It might take me a moment to get settled with them around, but I'll do my best," I offer with a shrug. "Fourteen years is also a lot of 'experience' to cover so this may take more than just tomorrow."

"It'll take time," he agrees with a slight nod. "I don't want you to think or worry about tomorrow, okay? They're good men and they'll be here to help. If at any point you're uncomfortable or need a break, you can tell me. Until then..."

He trails off as he adjusts and motions for me to come closer.

"Grab the remote and come here. Had a relization while cooking and woud like to fix my mistake."

I do as he says, but I give him a confused look as I scoot closer.

"Mistake? Simon, you've not done anything-"

"That's the problem. Lay down with your head on my lap. You may be an independent woman, but I'm sure the omega side of you is feeling rather nelgected. If it makes you too uncomfortable, you can move, but please try."

A soft blush warms my cheeks at his words, but I lay down just like he told me to. It feels... awkward, but still comfortable. I curl further into the blanket - his blanket - and glue my eyes to the tv.

Cinnamon and cedar fills my senses and I relax further, letting myself roll slightly towards him to truly rest against him. It doesn't take long for Selene to curl up near my chest. It takes even less time for my eyes to slip closed and for me to drift into a truly relaxing sleep.

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname @jeanzoriley-cod

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Another City To Wreck - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Butch Babe Fumbled...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Are you going to tell me?" she asks.

"Tell you?"

"About the big picture. The real big picture."

"Sevika—"

"Don't." The single syllable slices their closeness like a headsman's axe.  "No more dancing around it, Silco. If you want me in on this job—this whole fucking circus—I need the truth. Not to run your city, or back your deals, or buy time with bullshit. I need to know where it ends. And I need your trust that I'll live to see everything in-between."

"I've given you my trust." 

"You've given me excuses."  Her lip peels from her teeth, white, even, fearsomely sharp. "Told me half-truths about Mages and Guardians. Half-truths about Noxian warmasons. Half-truths about the Medardas. Half-truths about your plans for our home, and her place in the greater map."

She stops, but not for breath. A loaded, dangerous pause. 

"You know what those half-truths add up to, sir?" 

"No."

"Nothing."  The glaze in her eyes isn't the precursor to tears, but a bone-deep fury. "I'm risking my life on nothing. And that means if I go down—if everything goes down with me—that's because I bet my skin on the word of a liar."

The air shifts, as if the temperature itself is rising to her emotions. 

Silco says nothing.

He is acutely aware that his own capacity to harm or heal is a single word away. One that will alter everything. Sevika will make that alteration count. She is the only living soul as relentless at the art of grudge-nursing as Jinx. She'll drag out those hurts in the dark hours to stew on. When she's in need of fuel to burn on the long nights ahead, she'll revisit them with the fervor of a pilgrim trekking through the wastelands. They will stoke the furnace in her temper, and make the moments she loses it that much hotter. 

Because that's the only heat worth clinging to, for people like them. Because rage—real rage—keeps a heart beating, when the cold might just kill it.

Except the truth's a colder killer yet. Colder than any Silco's dared to touch.

He'll spare Sevika the cold, if nothing else.

"It's not my secret to give," he says. "Not yet."

"What?"

"Believe me, I'd offer it." And because it's not a lie, it's delivered without his usual circumspection. "Not just to soothe the bruised ego you're so determined to nurse. For Zaun. For everything I'm asking you to shoulder. But that truth, Sevika—it's a double-edged blade. And there's a right way and a wrong way to reveal the full scope of its edge. Right now?" The Monster, that shadow, seethes a little. "I won't risk it. Not even for your sake."

The spark in her eyes dies out.

"For my sake," Sevika says, as if fascinated by the new flavor of falsehood. "That's a first."

"You're dead wrong."

"Or just plain dead." Sevika's eyes slit. Her voice deepens a degree below anger. "Wouldn't make a difference to you either way."

"That's not—"

She shakes her head. Her features, downturned with disappointment, smooth out. She shifts, a casual realignment so Silco's hand slips off her arm.The dark eyes meet his own, and the woman fades away.

Only the dragon remains.

"You're right," she says, and she means something else. Something final, finite, fatal. "You need an answer, Silco."

"Sevika—"

"You've got one. Your terms are set."

"Is that yes, or no?"

"Guess."

Silco keeps his expression a closed circuit: nothing in, nothing out. But the need—it's a different beast altogether. It roves, hungry for blood, behind his eyes.

"...yes?"

She nods.

Silco lets off a breath, indistinguishable from a hand unclasping his throat.

The space between him and Sevika steeps. Sickles of late-morning sunlight cut through the air. Then Sevika reaches out. Her mechanical hand touches his chest. The fingertips linger over his heart. No shorthand, but a double-edged message.

She's not going anywhere. But the look she's leveling him—the disappointment—isn't going anywhere either.

"Understand that you owe me," she says. "Understand that I will collect."

Silco does understand.

Cost and reward.

The gestalt he moves through perpetually, an almost subconscious system that divides risks by gradation or bleeds them together like water. Now he wonders if such things can even be quantified. What calculates cost? Who reaps the rewards?

Sevika's fingers remain over his heart.

"Kiss me," she says.

The imperative is like her touch. Steady, but still capable of slicing through skin. The reflexive gratitude that guts Silco is the same. He thinks of last night, a blue lagoon in a tide of calamity. The warmth of Sevika's skin won't cancel out his mindless paranoia for Jinx. But its animal simplicity reminds him that he operates on a low-level paranoia so constantly that other parts of him have begun starving.

It's a starvation best fed in small doses.

Seizing a handful of Sevika's hair, he drags her in. Their mouths collide like an attack. His tongue fucks her open; she shudders, throat giving up a bleed of sound. Their bodies sway closer. Sevika's mechanical hand strokes his skull like last night, tracing its contours. Her other arm winds around his torso, a tightening lockdown as if every other part of her threatens to go unmoored. He sucks out all the heat from her mouth and takes it into himself. Gives back nothing but teeth and tongue and the slow drag of friction that yet tastes of tenderness.

The kiss breaks, renews, deepens. Sevika sighs low in her throat. For a moment Silco can think of no better solution than drawn blinds, a bed, a locked door.

Sevika breaks away.

In the breathless silence, they regard each other. Sevika's heavy-lidded features verge on surfeit. As if she's stumbled past familiar territory and into an unmapped shadowscape, only to find him there: a compass that no longer points True North. Silco drags a hand over his own mouth, an instinctive gesture to ensure that his composure remains failsafe.

The Monster, a red-toothed rictus, smiles: Too late.

"I'll man the frontlines," Sevika says. "You hold the homefort. Three months."

"Sevika, I—"

"Three months," she repeats, cutting off any attempts at further negotiation. "That's it."

That's it.

The subtext jars the wheel of Silco's equilibrium: the slow-boil of schemes that's nearing completion suddenly tips sideways. He stares at her: the brute finality stamped into her familiar visage. Her grave expression; those grim lips; the eyes dark with fatigue.

The toll his choices have exacted on her—and what they've cost him without him realizing.

"Sevika," Silco begins.

She's already stalking to the doorway. Her stride's as supple as a coiled whip. The sunlight from the high windows slants, gold to molten, off her cybernetic arm. The fractals striking across the copperplate hurt his bad eye. He doesn't know if it's migraine or emotion: only that it burns, and it's not the usual slow-creeping simmer of a premeditated murder, or the spiking fury of a spontaneous strangulation, but something more visceral.

A death that goes bone-deep and marrow-raw. Not a shred of warning to spare.

"Sevika," he says, more forcefully.

At the threshold, she stops. Her shadow, stretching towards him, is inlaid in brightness. She resembles a warlord at the crossroads: a razed city at her back, a horizon that's hers to claim beyond. She resembles a queen, with a barbedwire crown on her dusky brow, and an old blindfolded king left gutted in her wake.

Even for the Eye of Zaun, the gift of foresight cannot preclude the pain of parting.

"We're still in this together," Silco says, because that, at least, is an absolute. "We'll see it through."

She half-turns, but doesn't look his way.

"We will," she says, with the ghost of her old self. "It's not like either of us has got another city to wreck."

She crosses the threshold. The door falls shut.

The midday sun is a spotlight, and Silco's left stranded in its eye. The burn's a high flame. It swallows the Monster, and himself with it. It swallows everything.

Everything but the silence.

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hiiiiii omg your head canons for the fellowship are so cuttteeee I love it. Do you think you could write how the members of the fellowship would be around a character who has a dragon companion? I’m sorry I know that is soooo weird but I literally love dragons so much and Lotr so y’know. Preferably a f reader or just Gn. Sorry if that’s weird and no pressure!!!!🫶🫶

What a fun prompt! I’ve literally thought about this before. I’m picturing you show up at Rivendell just casually with your dragon. Totally breathes fire because that’s cool as shit.

How the Fellowship reacts to a dragon companion

Aragorn:

-Has to do a double take

-wtf

-He’s a chill dude, but this feels unhinged

-He will introduce himself with you only once you’re not with your fire friend

-Once you introduce the two he’s back to his chill self and act like this is totally normal

Legolas:

-Fascinated, and immediately introduces himself to you and your dragon

-Elves have a way with nature and animals so I don’t think he would be scared

-Wary, maybe, but he just wants to pet it

-He sees is as a big puppy

-Will tell you a billion dragon facts

Gimli:

-Listen, dwarves have a bad record with dragons

-Doesn’t trust you, and certainly can’t believe the “beast” could be friendly

-Keeps his distance and is definitely a bit cold to you like he is to Legolas, at first

-He eventually warms up to you but still doesn’t like your companion

-The dragon wouldn’t hurt him, but he doesn’t know that, and the dragon totally takes advantage of that and will scare him

-“I don’t like the way it looks at me”

-Big “it don’t bite, yes it do!” energy

Boromir:

-I just feel like he would not care

-He would be casual about it like the cave troll

-Totally sees the advantage of having a literal fucking dragon on their team

-Talks to it like a person

Frodo:

-You thought his eyes were big before? Well guess what? They are literal saucers

-Mostly knows only of Smaug so he doesn’t have a particularly positive view on the species

-But he’s also nothing if not curious

-Asks you so many questions

-This I think applies to all the hobbits except maybe Sam, but it would be so cute if they cuddled up with the dragon at night to keep warm

Sam:

-Big nope

-He’s heard Bilbo’s stories

-His main priority is keeping Frodo safe

-Probably wouldn’t warm up until he saw Frodo petting it with a big smile

-Would ask if it wants a bowl of stew when you all settle for the night

-Worried it might eat him if he doesn’t keep it fed

Merry:

-Guess what?! You now have a new biggest fan! Congrats!

-No fear in this hobbit

-Maybe that’s not a good thing, but he’s a confident boy

-“Hypothetically how would one go about acquiring such a creature?” “You can’t have a dragon Merry” “…I was asking for a friend”

-Will brag about knowing you and that he’s friends with a dragon when they eventually get back to the shire

Pippin:

-?????

-So confused

-He must have smoked too much and is now hallucinating

-Once he gets over that shock, he’s probably the type to watch from afar, but weary to ask to pet it

-“Do you think we could roast marshmallows with its breath?”

-It’s a genuine question. And yes, the answer is yes

-That is if you like your marshmallows burnt and basically disintegrated

Gandalf:

-He probably invited you to the council

-Wary because he knows what dragons are capable of, but trusts you so therefore he trusts your judgment

-He’s got his eagles, you’ve got your dragon, unstoppable duo

*Bonus Elrond:

-“Um…whatcha got there?” “A smoothie”

-Wouldn’t let you in until Gandalf convinced him

-Then he just decides he’s seen so much shit that he shouldn’t even be surprised anymore by anything

I definitely don’t love all of these answers, some feel ooc, so as always I may edit when I get a different idea. It’s like how my mind will be blank when doing an assignment but the second I submit it I have so many better answers

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a companion banter episode 5 : Taash

Banter written with my Rook in mind, read more about him here!

Part 1 (Neve) | Part 2 (Bellara) | Part 3 (Davrin) | Part 4 (Harding) | Part 5 (Taash) | Part 6 (Emmrich) | Part 7 (Lucanis) |

-

Taash: “Cal.” Cal: “Taash.” Taash: “You want food tonight?” Cal: “Ideally. What are we eating?” Taash: “Hearty chum. It’s fish stew.” Cal: “Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever had that. That'll be exciting!” Cal: "I liked that Hearty chum. You wanna do food again sometime?" Taash: "Sure. Your turn to cook though." Cal: "Sure. Nevarran flatbread with yogurt dip and candied sage leaves, how does that sound?" Taash: "Make it spicy." Cal: "Hmm.. maybe I can add some spices to the flatbread, sure." Cal: “Taash.” Taash: “Cal.” Cal: “You seem tense, around your mother.” Taash: “Yeah.” Cal: “I think she’s just trying to be supportive, in her own way.” Taash: “I know.” Taash: “So Cal, are you interested in dragons?” Cal: “Yeah. Who isn’t?” Taash: “Your death mage colleague.” Cal: “Oh, what? I’m so disappointed in him.” Taash: “Well, at least not all necromancers are boring.” Cal: “Will you tell me about them? Dragons, I mean. Not necromancers. I know about those.” Taash: “Uh, yeah. Of course!”

Taash: “So, blue and white scales, red markings, frost breath, no horns.” Cal: “Uhhh.. Mistral?” Taash: “Nope. Mistral has yellow markings.” Cal: “Damn. Come on, think...Oh! Kaltenzhan!” Taash: “Nice, you got it!”

Taash: “Wide horns, copper hide, green accent, firebreather.” Cal: “Sandy Howler?” Taash: “Nope, that has downturned horns.” Cal: “Then it’s an Abyssal.” Taash: “Yeah, nice! Getting better.”

Taash: “Curved horns like a ram, dark purple scales, orange markings, lightning breath.” Cal: “Gamordan Stormrider.” Taash: “Yes! Good job, got it in one go!”

Taash: “So what’s your favourite dragon?” Cal: “Hivernal. I love it’s colours, it’s flat head is kinda cute, too. That whole genus without horns is so unique. The Kaltenzhan, the hivernal, the mistral..” Taash: “You like the hornless dragons?” Cal: “I guess I identify with them being a little different.” Taash: “Huh. I guess I get that. My favourite is the Frostback.” Cal: “Good choice. Is it because their horns look like yours?” Taash: “Yeah. And they’re the biggest!”

Taash: “Cal. You ever struggle with your gender?” Cal: “Oh yeah, I grew up telling Vorgoth I was a boy. Transitioned when I was pretty young.” Taash: “So.. you understand struggling with your identity.” Cal: “Yeah. I still do, sometimes, even if I’m happy with myself now.” Taash: “Huh. You mind talking, later?” Cal: “Of course. But only if you bring snacks.” Taash: *chuckling* “Sure.”

Taash: “Cal?” Cal: “Yes Taash?” Taash: “What do you see when you look at me?” Cal: “I see confidence. I see power. I see a dragon who has been tied down all their life and now they long to spread their wings. And your cooking isn’t half bad either.” Taash: “...Thanks.”

Cal: “You know Taash, I think your mother was just trying to relate to your struggle when she compared it to- what did she say- ‘Qun Atok?’” Taash: “Aqun Athlok, yes.” Cal: “So what does it mean?” Taash: “It means to be born as one gender but live as another. Like you.” Cal: “Still a little one or the other, isn’t it?” Taash: “Right, that’s why it doesn’t quite apply to me. I’m neither. There’s no word for it.” Cal: “Well did you know certain mushroom species have over a thousand separate sexes? Maybe we can find a word with one of them.” Taash: “Huh. Yeah. Maybe.”

Taash: “So you like mushrooms huh?” Cal: “Yes! I love mushrooms. Both to eat and to learn about and study. In Nevarra, it’s common to be vegetarian, so mushrooms are used often as a substitute for meat.” Taash: “But you do eat meat.” Cal: “Yeah, I don’t identify as a vegetarian.” Taash: “Good, ‘cause tonight is Armada Special night.”

Taash: “I think you’re right, about my mother. She was trying to relate to my issue by drawing from something she knew. It just wasn’t what I wanted to hear from her at that moment.” Cal: “What did you want to hear?” Taash: “I accept you as you are. I love you as you are.” Cal: “I do.” Taash: “Thank you.”

Taash: “So, you banging Lucanis?” Calais: “Banging? Bit of a crude descriptor. We’re in love.” Taash: “Aww. What about Spite?” Calais: “He’s there too, usually.” Taash: “Kinky.” Calais: “He goes away if we ask.” Taash: “Do you ask?” Calais: “Sometimes."

Taash: “So, Lucanis. How big is he?” Calais: “Maker’s breath, I will not be telling you that.” Taash: “Alright. How big are you?” Calais: *chuckling* “5’5.” Taash: *laughing* “Perfectly average.”

[typhoons-mess]

On The Edge Sneak Peak

Here is a sneak peak of a story an anon requested. Really excited to show this off soon. This is a Dagur X AFAB Reader

Authors note: Also, if you would like to be tagged in any Dagur content I do please let me know!

[Update 9/29/2024: My hyper fixation is pulling me back in-hopefully I’ll actually work on it since I got two stories going at once!]

It felt good being back to the edge after that strenuous training session, as Hiccup would put it. He’s been focusing more on accuracy to make sure we all can hit Vigo’s ships since the double in the last few days. We can’t afford to fail. Astrid landed next to me and dismounted Stormfly landing her feet on the hard wood beneath us. “Well, that session could have been worse.” She sighed out moving a piece of hair out of her eyes.

Letting out a snort as I patted my dragon. “Yeah. The twins could have accidentally set Snotlout on fire from their terrible aims.” Astrid shoulders shake from her laughing.

We continue our chatter as we head down to the ‘hall’ to have dinner with the others. Taking a seat in between Heather and Snotlout we all dig into our meals as Tuff tells us another one of his jokes. “-But somebody better explain how Yak stew got into my pants!” Hitting his palms on the table as he laughs hysterically. The others around laugh as I cover my mouth to contain my chuckles, even Hiccup joins in.

“Hey! Speaking of soggy pants, you ever wonder what happened to Dagur and his crazy pants?” This makes everyone stop laughing and give a confused but stern look to Hiccup’s inquiry. The though of someone mentioning Dagur makes me choke on my drink, which prompted Heather to look my way.

Back on Berk when we were younger, first time Dagur arrived, me and Hiccup were playing together by the cliff sides. Dagur asked if he could play with us, and of course we both agreed since he was a guest. It was nice to have someone different than Hiccup to play with, even if he was a bit rough. One time we decided to race, by choice of Dagur of course. We would run all over the village with Hiccup being in last and Dagur and I running head-to-head with each other leaving the small boy behind. Turning the bend to go into the forest I remember tripping over a branch and scraping my knee. Looking down at the tore in my pants I can see scratches start to weep some specks of blood out. The strangest thing happened though. It was the first time I ever saw Dagur-well concerned for another living being.

“Look your f-fine! Just stop crying and-just here!” He tore off a piece of his clothing and wrapped it around the small wound as I wiped the tears from my eyes. It seemed hard for him to find the right words to comfort me. Looking up at him he blushed as he held out his hand for me to take, lifting me up off of the foliage. Seeing that I was now ok he stomped away as Hiccup came around the corner, panting as he stopped next to me.

“What-what happed?” He asked out of breath.

“I have no clue.” Puzzled I watched as Dagur stormed off to the great hall.

I whipped my mouth as Ruff slightly turns her head to look at Hiccup. “No not really.”

“What brings Dagur up anyway?” Fishlegs says looking puzzled as he puts down his second piece of Yak.

“Nothing!” Putting up his hands in defense,”-but since were on subject of Dagur now-uh-do you ever wonder why he helped Heather escape form Vigo?” Hiccup questions looking at all of us.

“Probably to make a distraction so he could escape himself.” I chimed in wiping my mouth as Astrid nodded with what I said.

“Maybe. I don’t know-“Heather raises her eyebrow in question, “-but was if it was actually the first step toward a new life.” We all tensed up knowing that this would cause an outburst with Heather.

“Hiccup-“I try to warn him to not bring it but got interrupted with Heather slamming her fist down onto the wood of the table.

 “A new life? Dagur? A dragon doesn’t change its marking Hiccup.” The force from the hit knocking her drink onto her lap and mine. Fishlegs tries to intervene with knowledge of some dragons who can actually change their markings.

“You get the point!” She says looking down at her axe in frustration.

“Well, you are probably right, but look at Stoick! Who would have thought he would have ever learned to ride a dragon. I mean it could be possible that he’s changing.”

“Y/N’s right. Y-You never know, next time we see Dagur- “

“I’ll SPLIT THE FATHER KILLER IN TWO!” Slamming her axe into the table right beside her, splitting into into two.

We all stared in silence for a good minute. Afraid saying anything else might make that axe split one of use into two. “Yep. Ok. I-I think we get your point.” Hiccup says a bit frightened like the rest of us. Noticing the thin tension, she makes her way to the door of the clubhouse. “I better go I have island patrol tonight.”

“Actually! I will take that. I have a way more important mission for you and Snotlout! It’s-uh-one final recon mission to check out our target”

“What are you talking about? We went last time.” Snotlout as confused looking between Heather and Hiccup. “I know, that’s why I’m sending you two again to be one the lookout for any last-minute changes. And you should leave. Tonight.”

“Tonight?!” Shouts Snotlout.

“Jeez Hiccup. Are you trying to get rid of us?”

“Yes-NO no that’s crazy why-why would I- “

Heather chuckles, “I’m kidding Hiccup. Relax. Come on Snotlout sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.”

“Take your time! And by that, I mean be safe!” He sighs looking back to me and Astrid. We both look at each other puzzled as to what was going on in Hiccup’s head.

When we all left to go to our respected huts for the night, me and Astrid headed out together. “Something seemed off didn’t it. ”Astrid looked puzzled as she asked me. “It could he is just nervous about what’s going to happen soon.” I shrug. Looking at me she mimics the same response, “I guess you could be right.” I give her a sympathetic smile and I put my hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be alright Astrid. We just have to trust him.” She looks at me and chuckles. As we near our huts we bid each other goodnight and headed inside. Even though I trust Hiccup something did seem off. He never mentioned Dagur this much before. But that could be thought more tomorrow as I sluggishly made way straight to my comfortable bed.

Tomorrow.

I can ask him questions tomorrow.

[mama-qwerty]

Dark Mirror

Behold, what grabbed me to write last night and today.

Okay, this came out WAY different than it started in my head. It was supposed to be one of those "What if this character were EVIL??" kinda things, but morphed into . . . this.

I still like how it came out but it's surprising how different it is from what it started as in my head.

What if Dread and Scarlett had both been taken by Harper all those years ago?

~~~~~

Jonas Flynt, captain of the Devil’s Chariot, wanted on half the continent, and one of the most feared pirates on the seas of No Place, knelt on the hard wood floor of an unsuspecting cabin nestled in the outskirts of the thick jungle on the isle of Dragon’s Fang.

Actually, ‘cabin’ was a generous term for this dwelling—as far as Flynt could tell, there was only this single room. The only light casting long shadows across the floor was from two lanterns mounted to the back wall. Their wicks were turned low, throwing the barest amount of light across the dark wood surrounding him.

He’d been ushered in and ordered to kneel by a large purple cat, one who stood almost his height. Not a small feat when comparing humans to the non-human species that shared this pathetic planet. Normally humans like him towered over these sapient animals. There were only the select few species who could come close in size.

Always on alert, Flynt took in the size, shape, and layout of the room. No furniture. No other doors he could see. He’d gotten a quick glimpse before the door closed behind him, delving the room into the almost black only marred by those two lanterns.

A single figure stood between those two lanterns, and the flickering yellow light cast it into mostly shadow. It stood still, the silhouette seeming to sway as the light on either side danced and moved.

“You tried to pass without payment.”

The figure spoke, her voice low and sharp. Each consonant was pronounced clearly, crisply. Like ice cracking in a glass.

Flynt kept his expression hard. “Big ocean. Hard to place a toll on open waters.”

Her head tilted to the side. “When you come to my island, you are no longer in open waters, Captain.”

The man shrugged. Flynt was a man who didn’t take kindly to being told what to do. Never had been. “Don’t see your name on the place, lass. Not sure why I should do anything more than run my blade across your pretty little throat and be on my way.”

A deep growl sounded from one of the dark corners behind him, and he turned in time to see another figure move from the black shadows. He’d never even known there was anyone else in the room. This figure was stockier, and moved as though it wasn’t used to walking upright.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He’d heard rumors about this place, but thought they were exaggerated, as most stories were when passed around in pubs and taverns once sailors had had one too many pints. Words like ‘haunted’ and ‘cursed’ and ‘deathtrap’ were sprinkled around, like spice in a stew. Always good to embellish a story, and make even the most benign place seem like the stuff of nightmares.

But right now it seemed as though the tales were true. That Dragon’s Fang was under the control of a pair of demons that required payment for passage, and if an agreeable deal wasn’t met, your ship was sent to the bottom of the sea before you could fire a single cannonball in return.

Still, he’d been around enough to know that some tales, as true as they may seem, were merely tricks and misdirection.

The second figure came closer, leaning in to growl in Flynt’s ear.

“Watch yer tongue.” The words hit his ear like hot gravel. “Else I’ll rip it out an’ feed it t’ ye.”

Flynt didn’t move. Didn’t so much as flare his nostrils.

“Attacking me is neither advised, nor possible, considering your weapons were confiscated before you entered here,” the female said, and stepped closer. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and Flynt’s eyes flicked to the cutlass strapped to her hip. “And should you decide to try anyway, well, my Dread can be a little . . . overprotective.”

The second figure, Dread, growled again in Flynt’s ear, before retreating back to the shadows.

Steady, Jonas. You’ve faced worse foes before.

“What do you want?” His voice came out steady, though not as strong as he would have liked.

The figure before him lowered her head slightly. “Two thousand gold coin and half your food supply.”

“Fuck off.”

It was out of his mouth before he realized it, and before he could blink a large hand grabbed him by the throat. He could feel the power in that grip, the tension. The fingers squeezed just enough to make him hold his breath.

“I don’t give second warnings, mate.”

Flynt flicked his eyes to the side and came face to face with a creature that shouldn’t exist.

The second figure, this ‘Dread’, was an echidna. An honest to gods echidna, a species that had long been thought died out. They were a dangerous and formidable people, with stories of their atrocities going back generations. The last had been seen back when Jonas’ grandfather was just a boy of eight, but here was another, in the fur and flesh, staring at him, grinning with its sharp teeth, and blowing its rank breath into his face.

Speaking of breathing, Flynt would very much like to keep doing that.

“Dread.”

The single word fell like ice from the female’s lips, and the echidna reacted instantly. Its grin faltered, and it flicked its purple eyes toward the other. Rather reluctantly, it withdrew its hand from Flynt’s throat, and Flynt sucked in a breath as quietly and with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I won’t stop him again, so you’d do well to mind your manners.”

Flynt cleared his throat, swallowing hard and wisely keeping his mouth shut.

“That is your required payment for safe passage through Dragon’s Pass. If you do not wish to pay, you are free to sail around the bluffs that surround us and take your chances with both the jagged rocks and reef below the water, as well as the remains of past ships that also did not agree to my terms.”

Dread gave a huff that was more of a snort.

She continued. “Some have made it. Not many. But some. You may be lucky.”

The captain contemplated his options. “And what would happen if I decide to go through your pass without paying?”

Another huff from the echidna. Only this time it sounded more like an amused little laugh.

The female didn’t laugh. When she spoke again, her voice was cold, hard, and low.

“You will die.”

It was Flynt’s turn to snort out a laugh. “The Chariot isn’t exactly defenseless, lass. We’ve taken down tougher foes than your little island, here.”

“Then try it.”

Something about the way she challenged him set Flynt’s teeth on edge. There was no fear in her voice. No warble or hint that she were bluffing. No edge to indicate a threat.

It was an invitation. A gentle command, given as one would offer a glass of water to a thirsty man. A meal to one who was starving.

An offer of something that seemed so simple, so wanted. Yet was laced with poison. With danger.

It was possible she simply had a very good poker face . . . or voice, as it were. He still couldn’t make out her face in the dark room.

He’d heard the tales of this place. Told in hushed, frightened tones over mugs of ale and rum. If the price isn’t paid, and the ship tries to pass anyway, it seems as though the very waters themselves seek vengeance. The sea boils. The crew falls, one by one, until only the captain remains. And then he is hunted by the beast held under the witch’s control.

The echidna was likely the beast of those stories. But Flynt didn’t think this woman was a witch.

“Captain. Your answer, if you please.”

Jonas Flynt stared at the shadowed figure before him, his mind working quickly to consider his options. The Chariot was fast, there was a possibility they could get through the Pass before whatever trickery this woman possessed could touch them.

Going the long way around was also an option, but one that didn’t sit well with Flynt. It seemed the coward’s way, and Flynt was no coward.

His eyes flicked to the cutlass on the woman’s hip once again. If he was fast enough, he could steal it from her and strike her down before her beast came near. Or at least hold her hostage until his ship was through.

Movement to his right, and the echidna came around to take a protective stance near the female.

Its fists were massive. Muzzle pulled into a snarl, showing fang. Eyes narrowed.

“You would be dead before you hit the floor.”

The echidna growled as if in agreement, but she sounded almost bored. As though this were something she’d said countless times before.

“Try if you must. I’ll simply call for your first mate to continue negotiations.”

Flynt looked between the beast and shadow.

He could try anyway. He was human, taller than either of these creatures. His height could give him an advantage.

The echidna moved to place itself squarely between Flynt and the woman. Fists clenched, quills bristling, hackles raised.

It was almost daring him to make a move.

Dragon’s Pass was the only way to avoid the treacherous waters surrounding the Devil’s Lighthouse. The straits of Dragon’s Fang were calm and offered a direct conduit to the isle, where the Lighthouse’s own traps awaited. But the treasure that sat atop that mountain promised legendary rewards, and many a pirate had made for it at least once in their lives. For some, it was the last thing they’d ever done. Others had lost their ships and crew in their pursuit of it.

To seek it was to court death.

To have it was to gain everlasting life.

Flynt took in a breath.

“I agree to your terms.”

He grimaced as he spoke, the words feeling bitter as they fell off his tongue. Jonas Flynt had never given in before. Never simply agreed to terms that didn’t give him an advantage, or leave him the victor in the interaction. This made the bile burn his throat.

“A wise move, Captain.” The female nodded, and stepped back to stand where she’d been in the beginning. “You will be given instructions on where to bring your offering. A pleasure doing business with you.”

The door behind him immediately opened, bathing the interior of the room in blinding light. The purple cat was back, and lifted Flynt to his feet as he was escorted from the room.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

~X~X~X~

Dread watched as Catfish led the bastard out. This one had been one of the more stubborn captains they’d dealt with, and the whole encounter left him feeling antsy and frustrated.

He straightened to his full height, giving his shoulders a roll. Moving hunched over like that increased the intimidation factor, but left his back grumbling for a while after. A quick turn of his torso gave a loud pop as his spine slipped back into place.

Dread turned, his pupils dilating in the low light to make out the manx cat, standing near the back of the room.

“Ye shoulda let me kill ‘im,” he growled, moving closer. “Didn’t like the way he spoke t’ ye.”

Her lip curled in a little smile, and she shook her head. “You’re too sensitive.”

A little frustrated huff left him at that, followed by a soft amused hum. He stopped before her, hands on hips. “Aye, I’ll remember that next time ye need me t’ bash someone’s head in, Scar.”

She snickered. “Business before pleasure, Dee. He saw reason. That’s what’s important.”

“First mate woulda prob’ly saw reason, too. Dunno why we had t’ keep him alive.”

“Because, my love,” Scarlett said, reaching up to rest a gentle hand on his chest. “Jonas Flynt is a powerful man. A feared man. If he were to talk about what he saw here today, the scary witch and her beast, those words would carry more weight than those of a dozen others. And the more afraid people are of us, the more they’ll either leave us be, or agree to our terms without batting an eye.”

Dread leaned into her touch automatically, and raised his own hand to rub her muzzle with this thumb. “Always thinkin’, ain’t ya?”

She turned her blind eyes up to him. The scar Harper had given her, when he’d dragged his blade across her face and taken her sight, glared at him even in the low light of the room.

“One of us has to.”

Dread snickered as he leaned down to nuzzle against her temple. “Ye she-devil.”

A soft purr reached his ears, and he wrapped her in his arms, holding her close. They were all they had, for so many years. The only thing they could trust and rely on, as they suffered under the hands of Captain Benjamin Harper and his equally cutthroat crew.

They’d both been taken by that bastard when they were children—just snatched off the streets at six years old.

If life had been hard before that, it turned absolutely hellish after.

Put to work on the ship. Beaten. Starved. Tortured for the amusement of the crew. They stuck together, even through that hell. But they were only children, and there were times they were forcibly separated, and Scarlett dragged below deck. Her screams sometimes still haunted his nightmares.

Scarlett had only been a child of twelve when Harper took her sight. She had accidentally seen something she shouldn’t have, some deal between him and another captain, and as punishment, Harper blinded her.

She was different after that.

Colder. Silent to all but him.

He couldn’t help her. Couldn’t save her.

His anger grew. So did his strength. When he injured a crew member during a sparring match, the captain ordered his knuckle spurs filed down. He’d passed out from the pain, and when he awoke, Scarlett was tending to him.

“They’re afraid of you,” she’d whispered as she wrapped his shaking hands. “I heard them talking. They think this will make you more controllable. Less dangerous to them.”

Dread had stared at his hands, the pain radiating up from those gaping wounds.

“They be wrong.”

“You can’t fight them. There are too many. Too loyal to Harper. They’ll kill you.”

“Let them try.” He grit his teeth, trying to force back the tears from the pain. “I don’t need me spurs t’ be dangerous. They’ll see.”

Silence settled for a moment, and when she spoke next, she sounded resigned. “I’m a danger to you.”

He startled. “What?”

“I’m your weakness. If you start getting out of line, they’ll just use me to control you. You’ll never get off this damn ship as long as I’m around. I’m . . .” She paused, lowering her head. “I’m a liability to you.”

“No.” The word was out of his mouth before he could think. “Scar, ye’re talkin’ nonsense.”

She pulled her lips tight, ears flicking back. “I should throw myself overboard so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Dread’s chest tightened at that, and he lifted a bandaged hand it to gently nudge her face up so he could look at her fully. The scar Harper had given her months ago was still healing, an angry red stripe across her face. His heart twisted at the sight.

“Listen t’ me, lass, and listen well,” he said, his voice soft and firm. “The only thing that’ll happen if ye toss yer fool self overboard is I’ll be right behind ye t’ haul yer arse back aboard. An’ then I’ll be givin’ ye an earful ‘bout it.”

A little smile ghosted her lips, and she flicked her ears forward.

“Ye be the only thing that keeps me fr’m losin’ me mind. It be ye an’ me against the world, aye?” He gave her a little brush on her muzzle with the back of his trembling fingers. “Aye?”

Scarlett pulled in a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky exhale. “Yeah.”

He nodded, and leaned forward to press their foreheads together.

“I’ll get ye outta here,” he whispered, and his heart clenched when she let out a little sniffle. “I swear t’ ye, by all the gods above and below. I will get us out o’ here, if I have t’ kill each an’ every one o’ those bastards with me own hands.”

She nodded against him, but the tears were already falling. He pulled her to him the best he could, and she wrapped her arms around him in return. They had held each other for a long time, the reality of their situation weighing heavily on their minds.

It had taken the better part of ten years before they could escape. Dread grew stronger and stronger, but Scarlett had told him to keep it secret so the others wouldn’t realize the extent of his power.

Everything came to a head when Harper decided to sell Scarlett. He’d declared her ‘a drain’ to them, and thought it more worthwhile to sell her for a quick coin the next time they made port.

Dread killed him that very night. Then he’d gathered Scarlett and as many supplies they could fit in a lifeboat, and set the ship on fire, with the rest of the crew trapped in their cabins. The two had sat in the water nearby as the ship sank, the screams of those who’d tortured and ruined them fading into the black night.

That had been five years ago. Since then they’d made a new life for themselves, but the scars of the past still remained.

Now Dread gathered Scarlett into his arms, holding her close to him as he nuzzled against her neck.

“What was that ye said?” he purred, his lips brushing against her. “Somethin’ about business b’fore pleasure?” He growled out a little laugh, gently nipping. “Think business be done, aye?”

She hummed, an amused sound as she wrapped her own arms around him. “It would seem so.”

He gave a deep chuckle, and walked her backwards until she was flat against the wall.

“Ye an’ me against the world.” His nose nuzzled into her fur, inhaling her scent.

“Always,” she whispered, nuzzling him back. “Forever.”

Dread growled, his chest rumbling with a deep satisfaction, as he brought their lips together.

~X~X~X~

The jungle burned around him.

He should have killed Flynt when he had the chance. Should have snapped the bastard’s neck. Should have crushed his chest. Should have popped that smug head right off his shoulders and punted it across the island.

But he hadn’t. Because Scarlett had been thinking ahead, planning and plotting. Seeing the bigger picture.

Except she hadn’t known just how ruthless Flynt actually was.

Dread looked down, adjusting his grip on the body in his arms.

Scarlett stared up at him. Blind eyes open wide. The gash across her throat gaping at him like a crooked smile.

Blood covered her. Covered him. It invaded is nostrils and he had to breathe through his mouth to keep from gagging.

Her blood. Spilled all over the ground.

He should have expected this. Should have seen it coming.

Flynt had ambushed them. He’d come from his ship, carrying the agreed upon payment, before pulling a pistol and shooting Dread. The shot had gone wide and only caught him in the shoulder, but it was enough to put him out of sorts for the split second it took Flynt to get to Scarlett, and run his blade across her throat.

Dread stood still for a second, his brain not wanting to accept what he was seeing.

Scarlett, his Scarlett, on the ground, bleeding out. He’d run to her, gathering her in his arms and talking to her, telling her he was there, he had her, she was going to be okay, all the while whimpering prayers to any god listening.

Holding her tight as she gasped and shook.

Holding her as she faded.

Holding her when she finally went still.

He gently ran a hand down her cheek as Flynt and his men attacked the little settlement he and Scarlett had set up here. Their crew fought hard—Catfish and Sails and Black Rose and Batten. But Flynt’s men were just as ruthless as their captain. They fell, one by one.

And Dread saw red.

He attacked Flynt, killing any who got in his way.

He didn’t hold back his strength.

He didn’t hold back his anger.

Blood soaked into the ground of the little island paradise they’d found all those years ago. He was covered with it, the stench urging him on. The crewmen tried to run, tried to get away, but Dread was faster. Stronger.

Flynt was the last to fall, and Dread took great pleasure in making sure the human’s last moments were as painful as possible.

For Scarlett.

Always, for Scarlett.

His mission done, Dread returned to his lost love and pulled her back into his lap. He sat there for a long time, stroking her muzzle, pulling her hand into his.

Ye an’ me against the world.

Now it was just him.

He turned, looking back over the jungle, where he could see the Devil’s Lighthouse standing above the trees. See the swirling storm of color from the gem that perched atop that rocky spire.

Him against the world.

Dread looked back to Scarlett, and leaned down to plant a soft kiss against her forehead. He closed her eyes, and lifted her to bury her in a spot where they loved to sit and relax. To just be together.

Once she was laid to rest, Dread had a trip to make. He’d get to the Devil’s Lighthouse, and he’d get that Beauty on top.

And the world would regret making Dread its enemy.

The world would burn.

[666writingcafe]

A Deal With Death

This week has proven that the demon brothers are completely hopeless without MC. According to them, things started out okay, but then a couple of them got in a fight, resulting in a significant part of the House of Lamentation getting flooded and everyone having to sleep in the living room.

During their visits, MC makes sure I communicate their exasperation to them, and I can't say I blame them. I mean, I'd expect seven grown men to be able to take care of themselves, but apparently not.

Today's been quiet, though. Other than Barbatos occasionally poking his head in, no one's stopped by their room today. In order to pass the time, I've been telling MC stories about me and my older sister Candy. They're amused for the most part, so hopefully I'm helping them take their mind off their current predicament, even if it's only for a few moments.

Just when I finish recounting one of many traps that have backfired on me, someone softly knocks on the door.

"It's unlocked!" I holler. The door remains shut for about a minute before slowly opening, creaking as it reveals the one brother who has yet to visit MC.

"I have food," Lucifer murmurs, lifting up a to-go bag high enough for me to see. "I wasn't sure what the state of things were, so I brought enough for the three of us."

"I'm surprised your brothers haven't kept you updated," I reply as he walks over and sits in the chair on the other side of MC's bed. He shrugs.

"After the third day, I told them to not tell me anything unless Zephyr woke up." He reaches in the bag and hands me a plastic container and utensils. I'm pleasantly surprised to find it contains stewed zombie dragon liver. It's a fairly popular dish in reaper cuisine.

"I figured you'd like that better than the demon food you've been forced to eat during your stay here," Lucifer explains softly. "I myself am still getting used to it." I take a bite. It's not the best I've ever had, but it's pretty decent. The fact that someone went out of their way to get something I might like is the important thing.

Lucifer pulls out his plastic container and sets the bag off to the side. After a few minutes of silent eating, he states,

"You must think I'm a horrible person." Thankfully, I've swallowed my food before he said that, because I would have choked otherwise.

"No, of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"The fact that I didn't stop through earlier."

"From what I've heard, you've had your hands full." Lucifer sighs.

"That's an understatement."

"So, give yourself a break. I seriously doubt Zephyr's the type of person to give you grief for not showing up sooner."

Exactly. Quit beating yourself up.

His eyes widen as he looks over at MC. Is he able to hear them?

I know you're stressed. This is a very scary situation, and you've had to remain strong for your brothers. Solomon and Barbatos have been working really hard to figure out a way to wake me up, so hopefully we don't have to deal with this much longer.

Lucifer turns away so that I don't see his face, but I still catch him rubbing his eyes.

I'm a little surprised it's taken this long for their mental connection to manifest itself. Then again, MC may have blocked it on purpose in order to avoid suspicion. I know I didn't believe them when they first told me that they were Lucifer's heir to the Ring of Light. It's only after extensive research that I accepted it to be true. For one, there's no one in the Devildom good enough to create a perfect counterfeit of that, and the ring MC gave to me for safekeeping fits every description of it to a tee. And then there's the fact that it glows whenever they expend a lot of magical energy. There's only a handful of rings that link themselves to people that way, the Ring of Light being one of them.

"You okay?" I ask him once he faces me again.

"I'll be fine. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment." He momentarily resumes eating, but just as quickly he stops, staring directly at me.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course. That's part of my job." I've learned long ago to not question people when they request my services, especially if they're in positions of power. "Do we need to step outside?" Lucifer glances over at MC, appearing deep in thought.

"That won't be necessary. Some of it relates to Zephyr, so it wouldn't be right of me to exclude them."

Your secret is safe with me.

He softly smiles, emphasizing just how tired he is. He probably hasn't gotten much sleep, poor thing. I'll have to make him some of my special tea when we're done here.

"It has to do with my sister. I gave up my freedom to ensure that she could live a full human life. It was either that or permanent death, and I love her too much to have her die unnecessarily." He takes off one of his gloves, revealing Diavolo's mark boldly seared on the top of his hand.

"Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes. He hasn't used its power a whole lot. Only to get me to relax when I'm overly agitated, and only after he's exhausted all other options." Interesting. I know plenty of demons that would abuse that kind of power. Then again, the prince hasn't exactly played by those rules, has he?

"But that's neither here nor there," he continues, putting the glove back on. "Initially, I thought that all of Lilith's soul went into her human body, but it appears as though it's split in half."

"That can happen," I tell him. "Magic has a tendency to separate from the soul when it transfers from one body to the next. Sometimes that magic ends up in an object, but most of the time it just kinda floats, waiting for the most compatible soul to latch itself onto."

"Does it have to be a fresh soul?"

"Not necessarily, although that's the most common method of transference."

"Does the soul also have to be floating in the air, or can it be inside someone?"

"There have been times when magical energy enters the soul while it's in a body, but that's very rare."

"But not impossible."

"No, not impossible." Where is he going with this?

"This might seem far-fetched, and maybe my grief is making me see things that aren't really there, but I feel like part of Lilith's soul has made its way inside Zephyr."

Shit, shit, shit. How the fuck am I suppose to dig my way out of this? Solomon told me that Barbatos, Diavolo, and I are the only ones that are allowed to know MC's full backstory. If Lucifer found out the truth...

"Merely asking out of curiosity, what makes you say that?"

"Have you ever seen a demon produce white energy?"

"Well, no, but--"

"And then there's the time where I glanced at Zephyr's face, and they looked exactly like her."

The energy is left over from my days as a human. That was one of the only things the organization couldn't change. I'd have ended up dead otherwise. As for your sister, it probably is your mind playing tricks on you. Grief can be rather cruel sometimes.

Damn. Solomon's never been able to lie that well. I'm not surprised that Lucifer buys it. If I didn't know better, I would have as well.

"You know, one of the last things she ever told me was that someday I'd meet someone that I loved so deeply that I'd be willing to throw everything away for them, and then I'd finally understand how she felt," Lucifer recalls. "At the time, I dismissed it as immature angst, but now I think she was actually telling my future." He takes MC's hand and wraps it with both of his.

"The truth is, I miss you, Zephyr. It's lonely without you around. Please, wake up." Suddenly, MC's surrounded by a bright, white light that forces me to close my eyes. Even then, I can still see it. It lasts slightly longer than a flash would, and I open my eyes just in time to witness MC quickly sitting up, gasping for air.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

[vodika-vibes]

Those inexperienced smut prompts make me feral 👀 How about #18, “I can’t wait to take your innocence," with Jesse and a shy/nervous female reader? Maybe something sweet, but also deliciously feral??? Pleaseeeeeeeeeee

First

Summary: You have a confession to make to Jesse, and it's making you very nervous.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Word Count: 1692

Warnings: Uh Spicy almost smut, but no actual smut

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I had an idea, but I couldn't make the smut work, so I might make a sequel to this one with the actual smut. I'm so tired, I can't stop yawning.

For someone so anxious all the time, especially around strangers, Jesse has always been surprisingly easy for you to talk to, and to spend time with.

And sure, there were times when you were sure that he was only spending time with you out of a dare or because he had nothing better to do, or no one else has shown an interest in him, but at the same time, you’ve seen some of the people who flirt with Jesse.

People who are prettier, or smarter, or more confident, and Jesse always, always, firmly turns them down, and then turns his gaze back to you. Often with a kiss, or a tight hug, or some combination of the both.

It’s weird, and flattering, but mostly weird.

You’re not used to being anyone’s first choice. Let alone someone who’s as handsome and amazing as Jesse.

And yet, everytime he returns from a deployment, you’re his first visit.

And so, with time, you’ve relaxed around him. You no longer think that he’s going to ditch you the first time someone more gives him a look. 

Which brings you to today.

Today you and Jesse were supposed to go out for dinner and a movie, but the movie was canceled, and so you canceled your reservations, deciding that you want to spend time with Jesse in private rather than out in public, and he hadn’t minded, when you sent him a message to inform him several hours earlier. 

Of course, then he had to turn his comm off for training, so you haven’t heard anything from him since.

And, honestly, you’re a little nervous. Because you need to tell Jesse something. Something that he’s probably already guessed, since he knows you, but you know you still need to tell him. And you’re worried that telling him will make him treat you differently.

After all, you know that some men can be…funny…about finding out that their girlfriend is still a virgin.

You don’t really expect it to be a problem, but it still might be, and it’s that might that’s making you so nervous right now. Because you honestly don’t know what you’re going to do if Jesse does have a problem with it. 

Anxiously, you gnaw on your lower lip, even as you try and focus on the stew that you’ve been slowly cooking for the majority of the day. Honestly, Jesse just needs to hurry up and get here so you can get out of your own head.

Half an hour later, you hear your front door slide open, “Babe?” Jesse calls from the hallway, once he lets the door slide shut, “I’m home!”

His never fails to settle your nerves, and a small smile crosses your face as you cover the stew, and you poke your head into the hallway to watch him strip his armor off. “How was your day?” You ask as a greeting.

“Ugh. Rex had us running drills all day because of something stupid a shiny did,” Jesse complains, “I thought I was going to have to crawl home. Luckily, Rex showed some mercy.”

“Oh?”

“His lady came for a visit and he was much calmer when she left.” Jesse replies with a grin as he finishes setting his armor on the shelf, “I could have cried.”

“Ooh, dragon whisperer.” You joke with an easy smile, and Jesse laughs, pulling a proper grin to your lips.

He turns to you then and sweeps you into his arms, pulling a startled squeal from you as he lifts you and spins you around, before he sets you back on your feet and bumps his forehead against yours, a wide grin on his handsome face, “Missed you, cyare.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Jesse ducks his head to catch your lips in a chaste kiss, which slowly becomes more heated the longer it lasts. And the more heated the kiss becomes the tighter his grip becomes, until he’s all but clutching you to his body.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss, suddenly remembering that you have food on the stove, and Jesse releases a strangled noise as you squirm out of his grip and hurry back into the kitchen.

He follows you into the kitchen, though, and leans against the wall as you check the stew. “It smells amazing, cyare.” He says, his voice a little rougher than usual.

“I know you were really looking forward to the restaurant-”

“I was looking forward to spending time with you,” Jesse corrects, “I don’t really care where we spend it.”

You turn the heat down, so that the food won’t burn, and then you spin to look at him. You nervously play with the hem of your shirt, and your face is slightly pink, “Uhm…I need to tell you something!”

Jesse glances at your nervous hands, and then your pink face, and he smiles slowly. “Come here, babe.” As soon as you’re close enough, he tugs you into his arms, and lightly presses his forehead against yours again, “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I know. But this is…embarrassing.” You reply sheepishly.

“Hm…well, I promise not to laugh or judge you. No matter how embarrassing it might be.” Jesse says with an easy smile.

“Um…okay.” Your face burns a little hotter and you realize that there’s no way you’re going to be able to say what you need to say with him looking you in the eyes. So you shift and press your face against his neck, pulling an amused chuckle from his lips.

“That embarrassing, huh?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. I know you’re shy.” Jesse smooths his hand down your back.

“Um…I want…need…to tell that I’m…I’ve never…” You stumble over your words, and then you heave out a sigh of frustration. It shouldn’t be so hard to say this.

Jesse presses his head against the top of yours, “It’s okay, sweetling. Take your time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I’m still a virgin,” You blurt out, very quickly. And then you press your face firmly against his neck and nervously wait for his response.

Jesse doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then you feel his hand so soft, and so gentle against the back of your head, “Cyare. Sweetling. Will you look at me? Please?”

You really don’t want to, but this is Jesse, so you slowly pull away to look up at him, your face still burning with embarrassment. 

He’s smiling at you,  there’s no judgment in his gaze, “My beautiful, wonderful, amazing girl.” Jesse coos, as he reaches up and caresses your cheek, “I guessed that you were, and it doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“...it-it doesn’t?”

“Of course not.” He ducks his head and presses a feather light kiss against your cheek, and then drags his lips to your jaw, “I’m willing to wait until you’re ready for me, sweetheart. No matter how long that might take.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, “Um…so…I was actually…” You hesitate and trail off.

“Go on, baby.”

“I want-”

Jesse’s gaze locks with yours, and something eager slides through his eyes, “You want-?” He prods, gently.

For a moment you avert your gaze, and you take a deep breath to steel yourself, and then you look back at him, “You.” You whisper up to him. 

You’re barely able to get the word out before his lips are against yours, the kiss immediately more heated than any previous kiss. “I can’t wait to take your innocence.” He murmurs against your lips. Your nose scrunches slightly, and he laughs, “Too much?”

“You’re not taking anything,” You mumble as your hands slide just under the hem of his shirt, “I’m giving it to you.”

Jesse grins at you, “Dinner isn’t going to burn, is it?”

“Of course not!”

“Good.” Jesse crashes his lips back against yours as he sweeps you out of the kitchen and through the apartment and into your bedroom, and he kicks the door shut behind him. 

His hands dip under your shirt, and he swiftly peels it off your body and tosses it to the side, and your bra quickly joins your shirt on the floor. 

Jesse pauses then to slide his hands across your breasts. “Kriff, you’re so soft.” He mumbles against your lips. “I knew you would be. I’ve been fantasizing about this for months now.”

“Um…sorry…”

“Nope. No apologies allowed.” Jesse kisses you quickly and then guides you to sit, and then lay on the bed, so he’s able to lavish your torso with adoring kisses and lazy flicks of his tongue. “All my fantasies did was make this actual moment so much sweeter.” He wraps his lips around one of your nipples and lavishes it with attention, and he doesn’t move to the other side until you’re moaning softly.

He trails his lips back up your body, and sucks a mark against your collar bone, and then he moves up to your neck where he lavishes all of the exposed skin with kisses, taking his time to leave marks anywhere he can. 

You squirm under him, gasping moans falling from your lips as he bites and sucks marks against your neck, “Jess-”

He pulls back and grins at you, “You look so pretty covered in my marks, sweetheart,” Jesse breathes out as he drags his hands over your exposed skin, “You’re so soft and warm and so much better than my fantasies.”

“Am I?” You ask.

He groans, “So much so.” He kisses you deeply, “Eventually I’m going to make all of my fantasies come true, but I wanna hear yours, baby. What do you want?”

You shake your head, “I don’t-”

Jesse regards you thoughtfully, and he very gently kisses you, “It’s okay baby, I’ll take care of you. And we can figure out what you like together.”

Your face heats at the way he’s looking at you. 

And he laughs softly, “I have to keep reminding myself to go slow,” He murmurs as he lowers himself to press flush against you again, “You’re making me absolutely insane, gorgeous.”

“I haven’t done anything?” You whisper.

“You’re you. That’s enough.”

[zeldaelmo]

Congratulations on your two milestones!

Have fun:

“What do you mean you ate it?”

Hey B! Thank you for your prompt! This was fun. 😆 Thank you @flutefemme for betareading!

Imagine Link speed ran both games for this. He didn't do the tears quest apart from the one Impa half-dragged him into. Crack fic, kinda, takes place after the ending.

Of Rocks

Link peeks into the cooking pot and then back at Zelda who sits on a log and scribbles furiously in a notebook. He speaks up anyway; she usually gives him her attention if he keeps talking. Old habit from when he hardly got words out.

“I'll have to admit, I was a little confused earlier, you know, back with Rauru and… his wife. What did you say was her name?” He shakes his head to himself. Sometimes he thinks his memory took more damage than they thought.

“Sonia,” Zelda breathes absently and continues taking notes.

“Yeah, Sonia. Anyway, maybe you can tell me more about this Light Dragon thing.”

That makes her look up. She rubs her ink-stained fingers at each other, frowning when he underlines his words with the sign for ‘noodle’. Another old habit.

“Did it… swallow you?" he asks. "Kinda like the Calamity?”

The fire under the cooking pot pops and Zelda sighs like she always does when he brings stray animals home or weapons that are too good to be tossed away (they are!).

“You didn’t search for the geoglyphs, did you? Just like you ignored the pictures on the slate the first time. I even made them easier to find this time, they’re glowing in the dark and all.”

He narrows his eyes on her. “Zelda. You fell into the abyss when we accidentally stumbled over the mummy of the Demon King. You were gone. Poof, swallowed by golden light. So, no, I didn’t feel like searching for anything but you.”

She stares at him for a moment, but then she puts her notebook aside, and faces him fully. “The secret stone here”—she taps the golden, tear-shaped gem on her necklace—”it amplifies the powers of the wielder. It can also be used to perform a forbidden ritual that turns the wielder into a dragon who isn’t bound to the limits of time. Performing that ritual was the only way to heal the sword for you.” Her gaze searches the small clearing where they’ve set up camp on their way to Hateno. It's not far from where they fell from the sky.

Link points his thumb in the general direction behind him where the sword leans against his pack. “I got it, no worries. Didn’t forget how mad you were the last time when I rushed to the castle with a soup ladle.” He lifts the stew-covered one currently in his hand for good measure. Then, he mulls over what she said and tries to piece it together with the strange things that happened in the sky. Or realm. Might as well have been a different realm with the clouds, the hovering, and all that. He stirs the soup, watching her through his lashes. “So, the Light Dragon, that was you?”

“Yes.”

Now that answer came quicker than he had expected. “Huh.” He scratches his head. “So, the other dragons, Naydra, Dinraal, and Farore…”

“Were once priestesses who swallowed a secret stone to guard the springs eternally, yes.”

“Wait.” He leans the ladle against the brim of the pot and frowns.

“What do you mean, you ate it?”

“Well, it’s part of the ritual.” She crosses her arm in front of her, voice growing impatient.

Yes, yes, he should have tried to find more of the geo-thingies. They would probably have explained everything, but they've been through this before; he doesn't feel like dabbling when her life is on the line. And he didn't even have amnesia this time!

“So when you eat a stone that's fine but when I do it, you get mad?”

She blinks and blinks and blinks. He clicks his tongue. Seems like she has been mad at him so often that she can’t even remember it.

“Goronia,” he jogs her memory.

“Oh!” she calls and leaps up, the notebook toppling into the grass. “Oh, now that was completely different!”

“Is it now? You ate rocks, I ate rocks. Seems pretty similar to me,” Link says, unwrapping a dark clump directly in front of her eyes. His little diversionary tactic nearly works out when he drops it into the cooking pot and the whole content shifts to a dark blue, but she shakes off the urge to investigate.

“You ate the rock roast for sports. For me, there was no alternative to this measurement. I took the risk of losing myself entirely to give you a fighting chance!”

“Well, I saved diplomatic relationships with the Gorons, as you surely remember. And just for the record, it was a Rock Roast Flambé.”

“You are ridiculous and you know it.”

“Ridiculous, huh? The Princess of Hyrule causing a scandal by refusing to eat traditional food prepared especially for her? I saved your ass back then.” By now, he can’t help the grin tugging at his lips. Her eyes flash dangerously when he passes her a bowl of dark soup. "What?" He laughs. "It's true and you know it. Just admit that you're just as unhinged as I am."

"It was a sacrifice," she insists, blowing over her spoonful of blue soup. "For Hyrule. And you. Although you make me second-guess myself about the latter."

"Ah, come on. You seemed pretty happy to see me earlier although it has hardly been two weeks."

"Two we—" she starts, her spoon freezing mid-air and soup dripping back into her bowl.

"I know, I know, last time I only needed a couple of hours after I woke up. Rauru kept holding me back. Tricked me into thinking you were at the sky island."

"Well," she deadpans. "It sure felt like an eternity for me."

He knows he's missing something with the way she chuckles dryly, but she'll bring it up again later. He'll feel stupid for the things he said, then, but she says it's part of his charm, so he doesn't mind.

They eat in amicable silence, fire cracking and soup simmering. Farore buzzes in the distance, climbing the skies at her own, leisurely pace. Link's gaze follows her for a while, but then he turns back to Zelda.

"Did you chew it?!"

"Link!!!!!!"