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rafayelxsylusho · 25 days ago

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The land of no return Part 5

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here Part 6 here Part 7 here Part 8 here

Headers: @bc.lay on Tik Tok

"When he comes back, don't you dare forget how you broke when he left"

Zayne

The familiarity of the entrance hall greeted him, the same furniture, the same worn rugs, but the warmth and life that once filled these rooms were gone. He stood there for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob, as he took in the silence that hung in the air.

The house was clean, too clean. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the laughter and chatter that used to echo through these walls.

Zayne walked further into his house and made his way to the living room. The space was bare, the shelves that once held her books and trinkets now empty, a gaping hole where her presence had once been. He could still remember the way she used to curl up on the couch, nose buried in a book, eyes sparkling as she told him stories she'd read. But now, the couch sat empty, a silent sentinel in the barren room.

He climbed the stairs, each step a monumental effort, his heart growing heavier with each passing moment. As he reached the top of the stairs, he turned towards the bedroom, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the door handle. The room was just as he remembered it, the bed neatly made, the curtains drawn back to let in the fading light of the day.

He stood there, his heart aching with a pain that he thought he had long since grown accustomed to. But this was different, this was a new kind of anguish, a fresh wave of sorrow. The walls seemed to close in around him, the air growing thin and stale, as if the very essence of her had been sucked out.

He sank down on the bed, his legs giving out beneath him as the weight of his actions, of his past mistakes, crashed down on his shoulders like a crushing burden. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers tangling in his hair as he fought back the urge to scream. How had he let this happen? How had he allowed the one person who mattered the most to him slip away, to build a life that didn't include him?

The silence was a suffocating presence that seemed to whisper the truth he had long since tried to deny. He had pushed her away, had driven her to a point of such despair that she had nearly died, and for what? His refusal to confront the demons that had haunted him for so long? The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, a truth that cut deep into his soul.

He remained there, lost in the darkness of his own making. The house grew colder, the shadows lengthening until they took over him entirely, a fitting reflection of the icy emptiness that had taken up residence in his chest.

He knew he should leave, should give her the space and time she needed to heal, to move on. But the thought of walking away again, of losing her forever, filled him with a terror that he had never known before.

So he stayed, trapped in the prison of his own regrets, a silent vigil keeper in the empty house. In the end, all he could do was pray that it wasn't too late, that somehow, someway, he could find a way to make things right. For now, he would wait, a patient and penitent supplicant, hoping for a second chance at the love he had once thrown away.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Terror grips him, his heart seizes in his chest, a vice tightening around his racing heartbeat as he sees her go down, the force of the blow knocking her off her feet and sending her crashing to the ground.

Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as he watches her crumple, her body folding like a rag doll as gunshots echo through the chaos of the street. The sound is deafening, a thunderous boom that drowns out the screams of the panicked crowd, a symphony of fear and destruction.

His blood runs cold as he sees the blood blooming across her chest, a crimson stain spreading across the fabric of her shirt. The sight of it, the knowledge of what it means, sends another punch of terror through his veins. He starts forward, his legs moving on autopilot, his heart screaming at him to go to her, to get to her before it's too late.

But she's already surrounded, a circle of people closing in around her, their faces etched with the same horror and anguish that claws at his own heart. He sees her friend, the one she's worked with for years, drop to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her before he starts to check for a pulse, his fingers pressed against her neck, his eyes wild with desperation.

The man's face pales with shock. "Fuck, come on. This isn't fucking funny, Y/N. Wake up. Please get up. Get up." he hears him shout

Zayne's voice cuts through the chaos as he screams for the medical team. "CPR kit! We need a CPR kit now!" His voice sounds foreign to his own ears. The words feel like shattered glass in his throat, each word a razor's edge that tears at his vocal cords.

He sees the medical team, their faces focused as they push their way through the panicked crowd. They're close, so close, but the seconds stretch into an agonizing eternity as they run through the obstacle course of fallen bodies and fleeing civilians.

Zayne can't take his eyes off her, locked on her still body, willing her to move, to breathe, to give him any sign that she's still with him. But she remains motionless, her skin already starting to pale.

He sees Xavier look up at his scream, the man's eyes locking with his own. In those seconds, Zayne sees a hatred, a pure and visceral loathing that he has never seen directed at him before. It's a look that speaks of betrayal, a trust shattered, a silent accusation that cuts deeper than any physical blow ever could.

Zayne drops to his knees beside Xavier. "Please, let me help her, we can't lose her, not like this. I have to try."

Xavier's eyes narrow as he hesitates for a moment. But the urgency of the situation, the desperate need for every second to count, wins out. He nods once, sharply, an acknowledgment that allows Zayne to lean over her body.

His hands tremble as he takes the defibrillator pads from the medical team, his fingers fumbling slightly as he attaches them to her chest. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows he must do, before hitting the button.

The machine beeps, a high pitched warning as it charges. Zayne's eyes close for a brief moment, a silent prayer, before he shouts, "Clear!"

The shock runs through her body, her back arching slightly off the ground as the electricity jolts her heart.

For a moment, nothing happens. The world holds its breath, the silence stretching into an agonizing eternity. Then, a faint, rhythmic beep fills the air, the sound of her heart struggling to beat once more. It's a small sound, barely audible over the chaos of the scene, but to him, it's the most beautiful music he's ever heard.

"Get her to the hospital!" he orders. "I want the best trauma team assembled, stat. And get me a fucking ambulance, now!"

He sees her eyelids flutter, a faint movement that sends hope and relief coursing through his veins. He leans closer, his hand coming to rest gently on her cheek. He sees a faint, sour smile tug at the corners of her mouth. It's a weak smile, barely there, but a smile nonetheless.

As the medical team starts to wheel her towards an ambulance, Zayne falls into step beside them, his eyes never leaving her face, his heart pounding in time with the steady beep of the heart monitor.

His body tenses as he feels a firm grip on his arm, fingers digging into his flesh with a strength that speaks of barely controlled rage.

"Stay the fuck away from her," Xavier growls "I did let you get close because it was needed to save her life. But now, I'm telling you, leave. Before I make you leave."

"I... I can't," Zayne stammers, "I can't leave her. I love her, I..."

"You think love is enough?" Xavier snarls "You think you can just come back and pick up where you left off, after everything you've put her through? She's been destroyed by your so called love, and I won't let you hurt her again. You lost the right to love her when you walked out on her. You lost the right to be a part of her life when you chose to be a selfish bastard."

Xavier climbs into the ambulance, taking a seat beside her stretcher and grasping her hand tightly in his own.

"I'm not going to give up on her," Zayne calls out "I'm going to talk to her, to explain..."

Xavier turns to face Zayne one last time, his eyes hard and cold, a glacier blue that holds no warmth or mercy. "I sure as hell would like to see you try"

The ambulance doors slam shut and he staggers back as he struggles to process the bitter exchange.

He paces the hospital corridor, he's been there for hours, a restless, anxious energy propelling him forward as he waits for any scrap of news.

He tried, God knows he tried, to see her again, to lay eyes on her, to hold her hand. But her friends, her protective friends, had beaten him to it. They had descended upon her room like a flock of angry birds, their eyes flashing with the same fury that Xavier had directed at him.

Rafayel and Sylus had been the ones to confront him, to block his path and level him with a glare that could have melted the paint off the walls. They had been serious, deadly serious.

"I am taking over her care again. Dr. Elijah has done an excellent job, but I feel it's time for me to step back in, to ensure that she receives the very best treatment and attention."

Sylus scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief. "You think you can just waltz back in here and take over? After everything you've done?" He steps closer to Zayne, his eyes flashing with contempt. "You lost the right to be her doctor when you lost the right to be her partner."

Zayne's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he struggles to maintain his composure in the face of Sylus's taunts. "This isn't about me, Sylus. It's about what's best for her," he says, "I have the experience, the knowledge, and the dedication to ensure that she makes a full recovery."

"And you think she wants you anywhere near her after what you did?" Sylus retorts, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "She'll probably ask to keep seeing Dr. Elijah because she doesn't want to know anything about you anymore. Face it, Zayne, you're just trying to control her, to make yourself feel better about losing her."

Zayne's hands ball into fists at his sides, the urge to strike out at Sylus's mocking words almost overwhelming. But he forces himself to take a step back, to put distance between them as he meets Sylus's gaze with a level one of his own.

"This isn't about me wanting to control her or make myself feel better, It's about me doing what I know is best for her, as a doctor and as a man who still loves her more than anything. And I won't stop fighting for her, no matter what it takes."

Rafayel steps in "Caleb's orders are clear, he wants you away from her. It doesn't matter what titles or qualifications you have. As far as Caleb is concerned, you're not welcome anywhere near her."

Zayne turns to face Rafayel as he steps forward. He knows he is speaking the truth, that Caleb has the final say in her medical decisions when she cant make her own. The knowledge sits heavily in Zayne's gut, a bitter pill to swallow.

"I understand that Caleb has made his wishes clear. But as the head of cardiology, I have a responsibility to ensure that she receives the best possible care. That means me. I'm the most qualified cardiologist in this hospital. I should be the one to oversee her care, not..." He falters, unable to bring himself to say Dr. Elijah's name, unable to accept that anyone else could take his place.

Rafayel's eyes narrow "Dr. Elijah will be the only doctor seeing her from now on."

"I know I've made mistakes, terrible ones, that have hurt her deeply. But none of you will keep me away from her."

He takes a step forward, a determined glint in his eyes as he faces the two men who stand as a barrier between him and the woman he loves. "I won't abandon her, not again. I'll find a way, somehow, to be there for her. I owe her that much, and so much more."

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"Not for long..."

Zayne and Dr. Elijah stood frozen, their heated discussion fading into stunned silence as the door creaked open.

There she stood, a vision of fragile beauty, her hair dark silk that framed her pale face. She was thinner, he could see that now, the angles of her cheeks and the hollow of her throat more pronounced. But to Zayne, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, a vision of fragile, heartbreaking perfection that made his pulse race and his palms sweat.

He watched, helpless and horrified, as the steaming coffee slipped from her grasp, the dark liquid splattering onto the floor. His eyes flicked downwards, his heart clenching in his chest as he saw the heat of the liquid searing her delicate skin.

"Y/N," he breathed, taking a step towards her, but Caleb was faster when he stepped forward and closed the door of the office.

Zayne stood frozen inside Dr Elijah's office, his heart pounding wildly as he listened to the muffled sounds of panic on the other side of the closed door. Caleb's voice rang out, his tone commanding as he instructed her to breathe.

Yvonne's calmer, steadier voice joined Caleb's, the two of them working together to help her.

When he decides to step out of the office he sees Caleb and Yvonne disappear into an examination room close by. Without hesitation, Zayne followed, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

He was so focused on the need to check on her and assure himself of her well being, that he failed to notice Caleb was standing by the door.

Caleb's fist connected with Zayne's jaw, a blow that sent a shockwave of pain exploding through his skull. Zayne's head snapped to the side with the force of the punch, his teeth rattling and his vision momentarily blurring from the impact.

Zayne staggered back, his hand instinctively coming up to cradle his injured jaw, his fingers brushing over the already swelling flesh. He could taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.

He gasped, the air leaving his lungs in a rush as Caleb's second punch landed squarely on his ribs. The force of the blow was immense, a crushing impact that sent a searing pain radiating through his chest.

Through the ringing in his ears and the haze of pain, Zayne heard Yvonne's urgent voice cutting through the chaos, her words sending a chill of fear down his spine. "She's unconscious"

Zayne tried to push past Caleb, to force his way into the room and to the woman he loved. He strained forward, putting every ounce of his strength and determination into the effort.

But Caleb grabbed him by the front of his shirt, his fingers twisting in the fabric as he hauled him up and off balance. Using the force of his gravity evol, Caleb sent Zayne flying, his body slamming into the far wall.

Zayne crumpled to the ground, his vision swimming and his ears ringing even more from the force of the blow.

He struggled to sit up, his ribs screaming in protest with each labored breath, as the sound of hurried footsteps and urgent voices filled the hallway.

Security personnel, alerted by the commotion, rushed to them. They approached Caleb first, their hands hovering over the weapons at their hips, a silent warning for the man to stand down.

"I'm going to need you to step away from Dr. Zayne. Now."

Caleb, still trembling with rage, took a step back, his eyes never leaving Zayne. "He needs to stay the fuck away from her," he growled "I won't let him hurt her again."

The officer nodded "I assure you, sir, we will handle this appropriately. But for now, I need you to leave the premises. Immediately."

As Caleb was escorted out of the hospital, his shoulders hunched and his fists clenched at his sides, Dr. Elijah pushed past the gathering crowd and into the examination room. Zayne watched, a desperate ache clawing at his heart, as the door closed behind the cardiologist, shutting him out from the one person he needed to see.

"Dr. Zayne," one of the officers said "you're coming with us. We need to get you checked out and away from... this situation."

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Zayne crept down the hallway. He had waited patiently, biding his time until he was certain that the hospital staff and visitors had cleared out for the night. The last thing he needed was to draw any more unwanted attention or intervention.

When he drew closer to her room, he paused outside the door, his ears straining to pick up any sound from within. He heard Dr. Elijah's voice, his tone of concern and hesitation, a rare vulnerability that sent a flicker of unease down Zayne's spine.

"Are you really okay?" Dr. Elijah asked, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. I didn't want you to worry while you were still recovering."

Then, he heard her. "Yes, I'm fine, Elijah," she said, her words slightly choked and uneven. "You don't need to worry so much about me. You don't have to stay. You can go. Run away from this, and don't look back."

"That's something a coward would do," Dr Elijah said, his words ringing with a quiet, unshakable resolve. "I'm here, next to you. I will not run away from you. I will be running to you, instead."

Zayne had felt jealousy once before in his life, a memory from his childhood when Caleb would wrap her in a warm hug, leaving Zayne to watch with a painful longing that he never fully understood.

But this, this green eyed monster that now gripped his heart, was something entirely different. It was a jealousy that threatened to eat away at his insides until there was nothing left.

He forced himself to walk away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

He walked down the long hallway, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, a broken man haunted by the ghosts of love lost and dreams shattered.

As he pushed through the doors and walked out into the cool night air, he paused, his eyes lifting to the sky above. The beauty of it, the vastness and the peace, seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the serenity he had once found in her arms.

He knew that he would never stop fighting for her, for a second chance at the love they had shared.He would not rest until he had earned her back. Of that, he was determined.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"Astra couldn't reach him, so he took all the happiness out of my life and made it a living nightmare"

Y/N

"Can you get the door, food is probably here?" Sylus asks, his head popping out from the kitchen.

The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time, as you make your way towards the door.

You open the door, a polite smile already forming on your lips as you prepare to greet the delivery person.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you take in the sight of Zayne standing before you, his dark hair plastered to his forehead by the rain, water dripping down his face and onto the welcome mat beneath his feet. He looks disheveled, exhausted, and utterly miserable.

Before he can say a word, you find yourself speaking, your voice tight and wary as you take a step back, putting some needed distance between your body and his. "What do you want, Zayne?"

He opens his mouth to speak, and for a moment, you're terrified that he's going to pour out his heart, to lay bare the depths of his feelings and beg for your forgiveness, your love. But instead, he takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as if steeling himself for what he's about to say.

"I... I need to talk to you, Y/N," he says "There are things you need to know, things I should have told you long ago. Please, can I come in? Just for a few minutes?"

"No." you say, your voice stronger now, more resolute even as it trembles. "You can't be here. There is nothing to talk about. You ended things, remember? You made your choice."

"Y/N..."

"Please don't" you start to close the door.

"I know I fucked up, I know I hurt you. But I never stopped loving you, not for a single moment. I need you to know that. It was a mistake"

But you're already shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to keep your composure. "A mistake isn't the same as a choice, Zayne, you had a choice, and you chose to leave me. You chose to walk away. Please go away" your voice grows louder, more insistent, tears are rolling down your cheeks, as the pain and anger that you've kept bottled up spills out.

"I'm sorry..."

You flinch away from his outstretched hand, a violent shudder wracking your body as you recoil from his touch. "Don't touch me!" you scream. Tears blur your vision, obscuring your view of the man who once meant everything to you.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. Please, just let me explain..." But his words dissolve into a strangled, desperate sound as he sees the devastation etched onto your face.

Suddenly, you feel strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you back and away from Zayne. Sylus's firm grip anchors you, keeps you from launching yourself at the man who shattered your heart and shattered your life. Your body shakes in his hold as sobs wrench themselves from your throat, tears, snot and saliva mingling together.

"Go away, Zayne," you scream, your voice hoarse and ragged, barely recognizable even to your own ears.

"Please, don't do this..." Zayne begs, his eyes wide with desperation and fear as he sees anguish and rage consume you. He takes a step closer, his hand outstretched, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

Sylus tightens his grip on you, holding you back as you continue to scream and struggle "Go away!" you scream again, your voice raw and brutal, a shattered, broken thing that barely sounds like your own.

As if summoned by your desperate cries, Xavier appears behind Zayne and without hesitation, he reaches out and grabs Zayne by the arm, his grip unyielding as he hauls the struggling man away from the door.

You watch, as Xavier drags Zayne backwards, the doctor's shoes scuffing against the floor. Xavier pulls the door shut, the latch clicking into place with a finality that makes your heart seize in your chest. The sudden absence of Zayne's presence, leaves you gasping, shaking and broken.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lads x you #lnds x you #love and deepspace reader #zayne x mc #zayne x reader #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x you #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne #love and deepspace death and rebirth

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fawniswriting · 2 months ago

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𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

This is the official masterlist of fics I've written for Bucky Barnes.

The content of this masterlist is sorted from newest to oldest except for interconnected one-shots (these will be sorted based on the story's chronological order).

I do not consent to my work getting republished and/or translated without my prior agreement.

My stories may include heavy themes, and I encourage everyone to please read the warnings I've added to each fic before reading them.

My fics are mainly intended for female readers, but I do have ones that are gender neutral (the individual story will state as such).

I intend to write very inclusive stories with as minimal physical descriptions of the reader as possible. If you think a story of mine isn't inclusive enough, please let me know! I'm always looking for ways to improve 💞

I am not taking requests at the moment.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are very much appreciated ❤️ (support your writers!!!)

Series

Faithfully Yours

Knight Bucky Barnes x Female AFAB Princess Reader (Historical Royal AU)

Marrying the King of Asgard is one of your duties as a princess, even if your affection belongs to another. When tragedy falls upon your kingdom, the life as you knew it is lost. With Sir James Barnes by your side, will you finally be able to prioritize your heart, or will there be even more things at stake?

One-Shots

The Quiet Side of Thunder

CEO Husband Bucky Barnes x Wife Female AFAB Reader

When a visit to his office leaves you shaken, Bucky becomes determined to take care of you.

Domestic Warfare

Bucky Barnes x Female AFAB Reader, Platonic Thunderbolts x Female AFAB Reader

After a mission filled with close calls and bad decisions, the team comes home to find an even bigger threat waiting at the door—your wrath.

Even Fallen Things

1940s Bucky Barnes x 1940s Female Reader (+ Soldat Bucky Barnes + TFATWS Bucky Barnes)

The story of a girl and her fallen flowers, and a boy who can't seem to forget either of them.

Mr. Congressman

Congressman Bucky Barnes x Female AFAB Reader

After Congressman James Buchanan Barnes buys you a drink at the bar, your night takes a turn for a more passionate one.

Before I Could Say It

Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

This fic can be read as a standalone or as a prequel to After I Was Too Late.

The three times Bucky almost confessed his love to you, and the one time he finally does.

After I Was Too Late

Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

This fic can be read as a standalone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Sources: header by me, flowers divider by me, line divider by @saradika-graphics

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thenameswinterfics · 9 months ago

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SCIAMACHY

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: Cregan Stark x DragonDreamer!Reader Settings: Season 2 and post season 2 Summary: As the second child of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn, your father arranged your marriage to the young Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark, in the guise of an arranged marriage that would strengthen the bond between your Houses. But you are haunted by visions of a bloody war shaking the Seven Kingdoms, and the seeds of your doubt are sown when your sister's claim to the throne is challenged. Word Count: 4,4 K Warnings: Angst, mention of death, mention of grief, mention of character(s) death(s), mention of child loss, mention of sibling loss, major spoilers from the book "Fire and Blood" (if you're only following the show please do not read this fic). A/N: I'm back! (sadly for you) This is my very first fic I've written for the HOTD fandom and the very first fic of Cregan. I'm nervous, maybe even more than when I posted my first Sihtric fic, probably because the fandom is vast. It came out different of what I've planned in my head and I lowkey hate the last part, but I hope you still could enjoy it! A special thanks to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with clearing my outline and for the title, and for her and @legitalicat for the quick beta reading.

Dedicated to my beautiful Cregan wife @sylasthegrim

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

Sciamachy: (n), a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadows.

An unfamiliar chill ran down your spine as you walked through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, the place you were born but never called home. The soft crunching of the snow under your boots was the only sound you could hear as you juggled in the darkness, the faintest light in the form of rays filtering through the cracks in the walls and allowing you to see a little.

The sight was vivid, far too vivid, and all you could do was rub your eyes vigorously, hoping that when your vision cleared you would find yourself surrounded by the crackling fire and warmth of your room in Winterfell, the place you were sent against your will but would be forced to call home once you became its new lady.

But no matter how hard you tried to clear your vision: you would still recognise the long, oppressive corridors you had walked as a child, emptied of the countless soldiers of the Kingsguard that guarded it. Each step became an echo of the memories you thought you had buried with time, but which rose to the surface like a breath of fire from the dragon's jaws.

You could still hear the voice of King Viserys, the father who despised you from the moment you took your first breath, guilty of stealing your twin brother's life and living in his name. A father that neglected you for not being born as a man.

You could still hear the voice of your sister Rhaenyra, sweet as honey and warm as a mother's embrace you had never known. You were the little sister she always wanted, the glimpse of freedom amidst her duties to the Crown and the relief from the pain of losing a childhood friend. And it mattered not that you were the quietest of her family, avoiding banquets and receptions in the throne room and sneaking out whenever you could, collecting the brightest bugs and muttering meaningless words, flinching when someone touched your hand: you were still her perfect little sister in her eyes.

And her love was all you wanted right now.

Your bittersweet thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar from outside, the sound so loud it made your head spin and your stomach churn. You quickened your pace, hoping to find a larger crack in the wall to see what was happening outside. And there you found a vision that made you freeze.

You saw two dragons, an older one and a younger one, chasing each other across a stormy sky, their dragon scales glowing under the lightning and thunder as their bodies pursued each other in a majestic yet macabre dance. It seemed an innocent game between them, but the claws and talons of the older dragon prevailed over the younger, and you watched helplessly as he fell to the ground like a comet from the sky, swallowed by the sea.

You walked on, your eyes never leaving the scene outside, wanting to help the little dragon disappear into the water. But the more you crossed the corridor, the heavier the air you breathed became, and roars of pain, of burning lands and clashing swords filled your ears like a cursed chant.

You covered your ears and closed your eyes, stopping your journey towards the throne room. When you opened your eyes again, you saw a room far different from the one you were accustomed to: the vibrant and noisy ambience turned into a ghostly one, the faint rays of moonlight illuminating the Iron Throne. A bloody crown, Jaehaerys' crown, lay abandoned on the throne, rivulets of blood running down to your feet, two dragons lying restlessly behind it. Two children stood before it, their backs to each other, holding each other's hands; you could feel their tortured gaze as they watched the bloody chair, and your heart broke at the sight.

As you approached, trying to touch the crown, soft footsteps made you turn and you heard a wolf howling in the distance.

And then you woke up.

Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honour must pay its price.

These were the words that came out from Cregan Stark's mouth as he escorted Jacaerys to the Wall. They were a testament to how the men of the North were bound by his rigid code of values and honour, and how none of them had ever forgotten or wavered from an oath.

And when the Stark were called upon to renew their allegiance to House Targaryen, nothing would make them waver.

His father Rickon had already done so when he was summoned to King's Landing and bent the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and a few years later it was Cregan's turn to renew the oath by accepting King Viserys' offer of marriage to the new lord of Winterfell. The young wolf had recently been freed from the regency of his zealous uncle Bennard, and an arranged marriage to a Targaryen princess would strengthen the bond between the two houses since the times of Aegon the Conqueror and Tohrren Stark.

But when he saw the melancholy in your lilac eyes, Cregan realised that politics was nothing more than a sweet lie masking a more sinister purpose: you were no longer welcome at the court of King Viserys, no matter how much your sister begged to keep you under her protection, or how much Alicent Hightower dared to show a glimmer of mercy. You would have been a young dragon raised by a pack of wolves, and as his future wife it would have been his responsibility to look after you.

And now he was called to be sworn to House Targaryen again, on the brink of a civil war that could involve the North in Southern affairs.

“The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oath sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir,” Jacaerys announced solemnly, walking through the narrow corridors of the Walls, Cregan at his side. The Lord of Winterfell was holding Ice over one shoulder, the sword as heavy as the title inherited from his father.

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” Cregan retorted, occasionally bowing his head to some members of the Night’s Watch, “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South,” he added, a hint of heavy responsibility in his voice. The threats in winter were much greater than in summer, with the Night's Watch and the men of Winterfell stepping up their activities on the Wall, ready to turn back any outside threats. Furthermore, it was rare to see the intervention of the North in matters concerning the South, but Cregan could not ignore that oaths were broken. And traitors had to pay for it.

“War is coming to the whole realm, my lord,” it was the Prince of Dragonstone’s turn to retort back, “Whilst your men plan to raise guards against wildlings, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. My mother’s claim has been compromised, and little I believe your lady wife could turn her gaze away,”

The words that escaped Jace's mouth left Cregan in a state of astonishment, his brows furrowing and hardening his already stern face. He had never expected the prince to use his wife so cleverly, even though she was a trusted member of his house whom he had sadly never met in peaceful circumstances.

“The Queen has not forgotten the love she has for her sister, and King’s Landing will welcome her again once my mother succeeds in keeping the realm united,”

“My lady wife has her sister's fate very much at heart,” Cregan continued, his gaze softening a bit at the thought of you, “and you arrival put her in a state of worry, my prince,”

The two young men then stood on the Wall, looking out over the untamed land, now covered in white snow. A biting wind whipped around them as Cregan explained how such powerful creatures as the dragons refused to cross the spaces beyond the Wall, highlighting the dangers of the unknown that folded these lands, while he and Jacaerys negotiated the number of men willing to aid Queen Rhaenyra's cause. Cregan himself knew the importance of keeping an oath to a man's moral integrity, and while his duties were tied to the Wall and the threat of the wildlings, he could not ignore the dispute over the king's word.

“My lord,” one of Cregan’s men arrived, forcing the two young men to interrupt their conversation, “Urgent news from Dragonstone,”

The Wolf of Winterfell took the parchment in his hands, and from the brief glance he shared with one of his men, he knew the contents were far from frivolous. He let the paper slip from his hands to read the message, and a sense of astonishment struck him like the chill of the North: his lips curled into a grimace, his eyebrows furled slightly as his grey eyes scanned the words printed on the paper. He could have thought it was an unfortunate joke, but the seal of House Targaryen only confirmed what he had read:

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Cregan lifted his gaze to rest on Jacaerys' brown eyes and watched as the young prince's face contorted in confusion, then grief as he glanced at the parchment in Cregan's hands, and hot tears watered his eyes, streaming down his sharp face until two small rivers crossed their path on his chin. The young lord watched helplessly as the Prince of Dragonstone staggered backwards, clutching his chest in a tight fist as if trying to hold it together; it was a sight familiar to Cregan, for he had also lost his younger brother and remembered the same sense of helplessness creeping through his veins.

But as Jacaerys collapsed in grief, a new weight hit Cregan's chest, a sense of dread blossoming in the centre of his stomach as he steeled himself for what was to come.

He would have to inform you and to bring the news of Lucery’s death. And it wouldn’t be easy.

The bright orange sun hid behind the imposing mountains of the North, its last rays illuminating the tops of the peaks and tinting the snow a soft pink. As the light faded, a few amber rays filtered through the windows of your chambers, illuminating them with a soft glow - the gentle warmth of the sun blending with the heat of the great fire in the centre of the room, accompanied by the soft crackle of the wood.

You sat quietly at the foot of your bed, embroidery hoop in hand, watching your son Rickon play with his wooden toys beside you. A few handmaids moved about your chambers, preparing the large table for the dinner you and Cregan would share that evening. Your lilac eyes rested on the small figure of your son, who returned them with a broad smile. But as you raised a hand and gently rubbed his swollen cheeks, you were seized by a sense of unease.

It had been a long time since you and Cregan had been married, and from the first night you spent in Winterfell your mind had been haunted by dark omens hovering over your family name. Glimpses of what had happened in the past and what would happen in the future passed before your eyes like dancing shadows, sometimes appearing even when you were fully awake. You could still hear cries for help filling your ears, dragons fighting in the sky with claws and breath of fire, and sinister whispers plotting an overthrow of power, the image of your father's bloody crown on the throne still vivid in your mind.

The people of Winterfell had always regarded you with suspicion, for you were far from the Targaryen princess they had always imagined. But Cregan had never dared to question your tastes, however strange they might sound, and whenever the duties of lordship allowed him a moment's respite, he would gladly accompany you to the far reaches of the North and catch whatever bugs you wanted. In winter, when the temperatures were too harsh and the bugs were nowhere to be found, he would wrap his great arms around your form and listen to your strange rhymes as he gazed into the fire.

Your prophetic dreams ceased after you gave birth to Rickon, but they returned when a raven came from Dragonstone with grim news: the death of your father the King, the usurpation of your sister's claim by the Hightowers, and the loss of Rhaenyra's only daughter. Fear settled in your heart as you remembered the figure of the young dragon swallowed by the waves of the ocean, and you wondered if even innocent children would fall victim to this dangerous game of power.

The doors of your chambers swung open and Cregan appeared. The handmaids greeted him with a nod of respect, and you gave him a small smile as you watched Rickon rise and reach his father, who scooped him up with his free hand and kissed his little forehead.

But it was when he looked at you that you realised something was wrong. His eyes, softened by the sight of you, held a pain that seemed to be fighting him. It was as if he were carrying a burden too heavy for him to bear, heavier even than his duties as Lord of Winterfell, and the sight surprised you: you had never seen Cregan so troubled by anything.

"Leave us alone," your husband's voice echoed in the room, once again wearing his mask of severity, "I need to have a few words with my wife in private,”

The handmaids bowed their heads and quickly left the room, one of them holding Rickon in her arms. There was an unspoken tension in the air as Cregan cautiously approached you and sat in front of you. He had always been an attentive and protective husband, showing a side that differed from the stern image he gave his men.

“You seem quite troubled, husband,” you spoke softly, your voice faltering slightly. Cregan replied with a heavy sigh, covering your hands with his larger ones and rubbing them with his calloused thumbs.

“Dreadful news came from Dragonstone, my love,” Cregan said in a hoarse voice, choosing his words carefully, as if talking to a wounded puppy, “Your sister, the Queen, lost a child again,”

You felt the ground beneath your feet, surroundings had become as muffled as your husband's voice as he recited the contents of the parchment:

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Feeling like you were about to pass out, you rolled over onto your side and gripped the wooden footboard in a tight vice. You immediately covered your mouth and looked down at your feet as your mind slowly processed the news, but the shock was so strong that no tears came. Your mind raced back to the dream you'd had weeks before Jacaerys' arrival, seeing pieces of a puzzle you couldn't quite understand until now: Lucerys was the dragon that fell from the sky, and Aemond was the other one who sank his jaws into his flesh.

You felt Cregan's worried gaze on you as one of his hands moved to your arm, rubbing it gently in a soothing way. “It pains me to see you so devastated, my sweet wife,” he spoke quietly, breaking the wall of silence between you, “but you must know that House Stark will stand against-“

“I need a moment, please,” your trembling voice interrupted him as you found the strength to stand at your feet, your thick robes swooning with every step you took in the room. You paced back and forth, one hand rubbing the bridge of your nose while the other supported your lower back, grief and confusion mixing in your head as you felt like you were about to succumb to madness: for a moment you wondered if Rickon would fall victim to the Dance as well, but no bad omen was attached to him and that brought you a moment of peace.

Your restless walk ended as you approached the large window of your chambers and saw Vermax flying restlessly outside. It pained you to see such a magnificent creature as a dragon so distraught over the loss of his kin, and it pained you even more when a flash of his fate crossed your eyes as you saw the dragon dancing among hundreds of arrows.

“It is said that dragons can feel their masters’ emotions,” a rough voice came from behind, and you saw Cregan looking outside like you, “They feel their pain, their turmoil, and they share the same grief.”

“He is preparing for his last flight,” you murmured quietly, turning your head slightly and locking your lilac gaze into his grey one. You felt Cregan’s hand resting on your waist, allowing him to pull you closer and join your foreheads together.

"Winter is coming, my love, and I need my men here to defend the Wall," he spoke softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the warmth of your skin against his, "but House Stark will pledge its support to Queen Rhaenyra by sending her thousands of Greybeards to fight in her name. Your sister's claim will be upheld and your nephew will succeed her,"

"Jacaerys will never be King of the Seven Kingdoms," you confessed defeatedly, looking down at your feet, "the only kingdom he will see is of sea and salt. He will never see his mother sitting on the Iron Throne. I have seen it,"

Your words brought a heavy silence to the room and you both withdrew into your thoughts. You saw how quickly Cregan and Jacaerys had bonded, how they spent their days hunting and drinking together while they negotiated the terms of war. Luke's death would not be an accident, and you hoped your words would reach your husband, that he would understand the destructive force dragons could be once they went into battle.

Instead, Cregan's only words were his arms wrapped around you, sealing your body in a protective embrace. He whispered words of comfort, kissed your temple and promised victory over the usurpers.

But deep in his heart, he knew it would not be easy.

Grief and anger were the emotions Cregan felt as he rolled the parchment in his hands, his eyes darting over the words written in pitch-black ink. He cursed himself for not believing the signs of your dreams, for thinking that fear had created them for you. But even this time you were right.

The Battle of the Gullet had been costly for the Blacks, and the death of Jacaerys Velaryon was a low blow the queen would not forgive her usurpers. It was Cregan again who had the task of bringing you the unfortunate news, and his eyes would forever be haunted by the sight of your grief: he saw you holding Rickon as the news of blood and cheese reached Winterfell's ears, and those same dull eyes came back to you as you leaned against the wall at your nephew's death.

Not even the news that King's Landing had fallen into the hands of Rhaenyra and Daemon could ease the paranoia you lived with, but it only served to fuel your dark prophecies. Few letters were exchanged between Cregan and Rhaenyra, with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms constantly asking for her beloved sister and inviting her to return to court and serve if she wished. But Cregan always refused her invitation.

For the truth was that you were safe in the great lands of the North, surrounded by nothing but the love of Cregan and Rickon, far from that viper's nest that was the Red Keep. It took time for you to adjust to the harsh cold of Winterfell and the coldness of its people, but your calm and gentle nature opened a breach in the heart of his hardened lord, and with it, the people began to love you.

The night was cold, and the heat of the fire was not enough to protect them from the blizzard raging outside. Cregan could not sleep, tossing and turning, hoping that the Old Gods would grant him some much needed rest. It was only after tossing and turning on his side for the umpteenth time that he saw you awake too, your platinum curls falling gently to your shoulders and your lilac eyes gazing absently at the small bed where Rickon rested.

The young wolf wrapped his naked arms around your waist and pulled you close, his chest pressed against your back, the layer of your nightgown the only thing separating your bodies. "Sleep seems to have left you too," he said in a harsh voice, his lips brushing against your neck. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

"I have no reason to be asleep, dear husband," you replied absently, the softness of your voice melting his heart. Cregan knew that your mind was far from him, and he feared that your prophetic dreams had imprisoned it again. He let out a long sigh before speaking again.

"A raven came from King's Landing in the morrow," he spoke quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Rickon, "your sister will be pleased to welcome you to the capital and give you all the honours of a Targaryen princess,”

He felt a small chuckle escape your mouth and lowered his head, resting his newly bearded chin on your collarbone, "If it is your wish to reach her, I will order some of my men to arrange a safe journey south for you." Cregan went on, his voice faltering at the thought of leaving you alone while Rhaenyra dealt with her opponents. But you were his wife and the light of his eyes, and if you wished to regain your lost time with your sister, he would accept it without objection.

But the slight shake of your head surprised him, "It wouldn't change anything. Rhaenyra would be dead the moment I reached King's Landing, and the gods know what horrors await there.”

Cregan's brow furrowed, and for the first time he seriously considered the words of your prophetic dreams: if the Dragon Queen was indeed about to die, what would happen if he left his wife alone in the grasp of the Greens? A shiver ran down his spine, anger boiling in his chest at the thought of you being taken prisoner by Aegon the Usurper.

"That will probably not happen," the Lord of Winterfell scoffed, tightening his grip as if he secretly feared you would disappear in his arms, "You have nothing to fear, my dear woman. Your sister is Queen now. Once the usurpers and the breakers of the oath have paid for what they have done, there will be a reign of peace and prosperity.

"It will not be her," you murmured, rolling to the other side to face Cregan. You leaned your hand against his cheek as you looked at him with your melancholy eyes, "Rhaenyra is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but a crown of ashes will adorn her head and a cloak of fire will wrap her body.”

Cregan leaned into your touch, but he could not quite relax at the grim revelation you gave him: he wanted to find comfort in your presence, but your words were as hard as boulders, carrying a heavy weight he wanted to lift from your shoulders.

"I can hardly see it," he murmured, his voice tinged with doubt, "Rhaenyra is a strong woman, gathering as many noble men as she can for her cause. The kingdom will be stable under her leadership."

You shook your head slowly again, your eyes filled with sorrow, "But the Dragonfire is stronger than she is, and what she has built will crumble with her," you paused for a moment before continuing, "A throne of iron swords will give way to a wooden one, and only when the cripple breathes his last will a child step in, wearing Rhaenyra's crown like a burden.”

Cregan closed his eyes and tightened his grip, a mixture of emotions flickering across his face as he slowly digested what you had told him. He had learned over time that your dreams were not mere hallucinations of a daydreaming mind, but a prophecy destined to come true, no matter how hard you tried to alter the course of events. The deaths of Jacaerys and Lucerys were living proof.

“I swear on my honour that I will keep raising my banners for the rightful queen, no matter how gruesome our fates will be,” Cregan retorted, lowering his head more until your foreheads met again, “What will be of us?”

"You are bound by your honour and will fight for Rhaenyra until your last breath, my love," you murmured, absently tracing circles on his cheek with your thumbs, "The wolf will cry in the dragon's nest, and his wolf will be heard in the darkest hour. And only when order is restored will the wolf return to his pack."

Cregan stood in silence, his chest rising slowly as he held his breath, the realisation dawned on him: the intense activity on the Wall and the organisation of the harvest had always prevented him and his men from making a proper march on King's Landing, hoping that the Greybeards he had sent would be enough to fight for Rhaenyra's cause. But your words have confirmed that his men will march on King's Landing, and he hopes to find a less devastated city than the one his wife has described.

“Cregan,” your gentle call awakened him from his thoughts, his head resting on your hands, “promise me you will come back to me and Rickon. Swear it,”

The young wolf stood silent for a moment, his eyes drinking in your beauty: it would be painful to leave you behind, but if your prophecy came true, he would be forced to honour his oath and fight for his queen. And so he took your head in his hands, closing the distance and sealing the promise with a long, bittersweet kiss, tasting of farewell but full of hope.

“I swear it.”

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Cregan Stark Taglist: @sylasthegrim @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

#who would have thought that I would write a HOTD fic...#cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan fic #cregan stark fic #cregan fanfic #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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monktwo · 2 months ago

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Part 1 of the Missing piece series

The first encounter

The late summer sun painted Ullevaal Stadion in gold and fire, a Norwegian flag whipping high above the stands.

You stood in the center of your team’s huddle, your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

Around you, the girls you had fought and grown with — strong, sun kissed, calloused hands from years of work.

Bønda i fra nord.

Farmers from the North. Fighters, most of them having grown up on a farm.

You steadied your breathing. Time for the pep talk.

“De er raskere,” you said, voice steady. “De er bedre trent.”

Some heads dipped slightly. Doubt.

“Men ingen — ingen — har mer sjel enn oss. Hvis vi står sammen, kommuniserer, og nekter å gi oss…”

You swept your gaze across them all, voice rising.

“Da kan vi ta dem. La oss vise dem hvem vi er.”

Sofie bumped your shoulder, grinning.

“Bønda i fra nord!”

“Bønda i fra nord!” the team shouted back.

The whistle blew.

The world snapped into motion.

Barcelona pressed high from the first second — sharp passes, cutting runs.

But you had a secret weapon.

You caught every clipped Spanish command.

“Izquierda, cuidado!”

“Centro abierto!”

And you fired back instantly in Norwegian:

“ Dekk opp venstre!”

“Press midtbanen nå!”

Your girls responded like lightning. They didn’t know how you knew — they just trusted you, like always.

Across the pitch, Ingrid Engen’s head lifted in surprise.

Mapi León shot you a curious look.

Fifteen minutes in, you drew first blood.

You scooped a loose ball deep in your half, spun past the first marker like smoke.

• One feint — defender wrong-footed.

• Sharp cut — two more beaten.

• A burst of pace — free and flying.

You slipped the ball past the charging keeper calm and composed.

1–0.

You kissed two fingers to the sky, bowed low to the roaring stands, a grin splitting your face.

Barcelona struck back, fast and sharp.

1–1.

Frustration boiled up inside you.

“Faen!” you barked when you lost a sloppy touch.

“Fitte!” when a pass didn’t come off.

Your coach’s voice ripped across the field:

“Y/n ikke la deg påvirke, pust og spill ball!”

(Y/n don’t let it get to you, breathe and play the ball!)

You squeezed your fists, pulled a breath deep into your lungs, and reset.

Your second goal came minutes later.

Sofie tore down the wing, ball glued to her foot, and floated a perfect cross into the box.

You exploded forward, timed the leap. You rose, muscles flexed, body stretched to the sky, and slammed the header into the net.

2–1.

You sprinted to the corner flag with Selma and Emma at your sides, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, mimicking the old “MSN trio” celebration.

The crowd thundered their approval and you were loving it.

But the battle raged on.

Barça found the cracks.

2–2.

You were tiring, you could feel it , but so were they.

You pulled a clever switch, dragging defenders out and sliding a perfect ball through for Ella to smash home.

3–2.

And then the breaking point came.

You snatched a turnover near their box, spinning toward goal and Alexia Putellas, frustrated with your excellent attempt at beating the, so she lunged.

You felt the studs rake across your shins and you hit the ground hard, skidding across the grass.

The whistle shrieked.

You slammed your hand into the grass, chest heaving.

“FAEN!”

You pushed yourself up, fists clenched, rage painting your vision red. You lunged toward Alexia but Selma and Leah caught you, strong arms pulling you back.

“Ro deg ned!” Selma hissed in your ear.

“Ikke lag noe tull nå!” Leah added.

You struggled against them for a second, breathing heavy with rage.

As you were dragged away, you caught Alexia’s superior, dismissive smirk, and you snapped, your voice sharp and venomous in perfect Spanish:

“Cuando no puedes ganar limpio, ¿verdad?”

(When you can’t win fair, right?)

Alexia’s face froze.

You saw it ripple across Barcelona, the shock. She speaks Spanish.

The ref pointed to the spot: free kick, right outside the box.

You brushed yourself off, teeth clenched, stepping up.

The whistle blew. You struck it clean, pure, bending it into the top corner like it was the only place the ball belonged.

4–2.

The stadium detonated, roaring with Norwegian roars.

You sprinted toward the corner flag, white-hot adrenaline tearing through you and without thinking, you ripped your shirt off, muscles flexed, a few scars flashing across your strong back from years of labor at the farm.

“BØNDA I FRA NORD!!!” you howled.

The Norwegian fans roared it back, shaking the stadium.

Selma tackled you, laughing, pounding your bare shoulders.

The referee jogged over — yellow card already raised.

You accepted it with a grin, slinging your shirt over your shoulder, not caring at all.

But Barcelona weren’t finished.

4–3. 4–4.

Your legs felt like stone, but you could tell, so did everyone else’s.

You pulled yourself upright, chest heaving, voice strong and determined.

“Kom igjen jenter, én siste sjanse!”

(Come on girls, one last chance!)

They followed you, one more run, one more attack.

You pulled two defenders with you, drawing the trap before sliding the ball across for Ella to finish cleanly.

5–4.

The final whistle blew and you collapsed to the grass, laughing and gasping, arms spread wide.

Your whole team lay there, spent and victorious under the Norwegian sky.

You barely heard the footsteps at first.

You cracked an eye open.

Ingrid Engen.

Mapi León.

Both still shining with sweat, watching you with open amusement.

Ingrid crouched down, her braid slipping over her shoulder.

“You were… incredible,” she said softly in English.

You blinked up at her, brain still fogged, and managed a crooked grin.

“Thanks.”

Mapi smirked, resting her hands on her hips.

“We’re having a little thing after,” she said. “Food, drinks, you know. You should come.”

Still half-dazed, you pushed yourself to your feet.

“Sounds cool! Have fun, then!” you said brightly, clapping them both awkwardly on the arm and jogging toward the tunnel.

You heard a startled laugh behind you.

“Hey!” Ingrid called after you, laughing openly now. “We mean you’re invited!”

You skidded to a stop, confused.

“Oh! Uh— I can’t, I have to shower!” you blurted out, heart hammering.

Mapi snorted, half-choking on a laugh.

“It’s after showers, chica,” she said, teasing.

“Yeah,” Ingrid added, biting her lip to hide her grin. “You know — when we all smell like humans again.”

You stared for a beat — then laughed, loud and a little embarrassed.

“Right. After showers. Cool. Got it.”

You gave a clumsy thumbs-up and jogged away, face burning, but smiling so hard you thought your cheeks might split.

Behind you, you heard Mapi’s voice in Spanish:

“Es adorable, no tiene ni idea.”

(She’s adorable, she has no idea.)

Ingrid chuckled low, eyes lingering on you.

“And she’s got a temper,” she said, grinning. “I heard it. ‘Faen.’ ‘Fitte.’ Real sweet.”

Mapi laughed, throwing her head back.

“Me encanta,” she said.

(I love it.)

Keep reading

#ingrid engen #mapi leon #mapi leon x ingrid engen x reader #barca femeni #woso #reader insert #mapi and ingrid

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codename-adler · 7 months ago

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Adler's aftg socmed AU Infodump/Lore ✨

some easter eggs, stats, cast, personal faves and everything you didn't ask

→ socmed 'official' cast (but also, aftg show...)

Katya Sitak as Katelyn

Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Wymack

Willem De Schryver as the Minyards

Calahan Skogman as Erik

Sophie Turner as Allison

Matthew Daddario as Kevin

Karol Queiroz as Laila

Cascina Caradonna as Catalina

Varada Sethu as Robin

Michael Johnston as L*cas J*hnson

→ the people’s favorites

i was quite surprised to discover that the most popular parts are 1) first batch of Trojans tweets and *thunder roll* 2) PSU PETS !!! that is simply amazing. a round of applause for Joselito, Splenda, Renesmee and Dot <3<3<3<3 (honorable mention to Andrew's goat and Neil's toaster)

→ special lore/easter egg (Adler thinks she is the MCU)

on Cat's profile are the Totally Spies! as her header, because: Laila = Sam (redhead) / Cat = Alex (black hair) / Jeremy = Clover (blonde) it's an inside joke/running gag between them, and for a very short while they call Jean "Mandy" to include him <3

very sad no one picked up on this :((( bad gays, all of you. Aaron knowing and using a Drag Race/Alyssa Edwards implies that AARON WATCHES RUPAUL'S DRAG RACE Y'ALL—think about the consequences guys!!! anyhoo. boo. also a very underrated joke imo.

→ Adler's Wall of Fame of Favorite Moments (and Underrated Jokes) You Should Appreciate More

Rupi Kaur who? No no, I only know Seth Gordon

cannot get over Joselito's face

Neil calling Nicky 'Nicholas' amuses me to no end + do u get how cold that killshot was from Kevin to his precious lil Robin???

Peepaw Gordon in his Alabama enclosure

you guys actually REALLY loved this one—i was really surprised, but i will stand by feral crossten bestfriendisms!

crusty ass coconut from NEIL takes me out every time + Nicky's prose about Allison is so beautiful do you know that???

Doctor + BOL of the year fr fr

ending on a bitter(sweet) note because i cannot get over him. whoever this pinterest baby is, i love you. i am barely holding back from printing out the photo to keep Seth in my wallet. you're the greatest thing we've lost.

-> Adler’s aftg socmed au masterpost

#aftg socmed au #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #the sunshine court #neil josten #kevin day #aaron minyard #seth gordon #robin cross #joselito the guinea pig #andrew minyard #nicky hemmick #jean moreau #jeremy knox #catalina alvarez #laila dermott #aftg show #aftg cast

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stevefromupsidedown · 4 months ago

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This material is @takemetothelakes-poets’ property.

S: From stolen glances, to stolen kisses, to getting stranded in the Upside Down with an unknown threat, what could be worse for her ? Everything in between. Steve, can your love be enough to save her, your relationship and everything in between? Let's see, at the fourth chime. W: fem!reader with she/her pronouns, no physical description and no Y/n, deaths, blood, gore and violence, references to mental health issues and low self esteem, very heavy on the angst, very little comfort, basically reader's the worst pessimist, very introspective, references to sexual themes, 18+ ONLY WC: 65k+ ON GOING (rewritting and finishing the remaining parts)

PART I

PART II

[This material falls under @takemetothelakes-poets’ property. I do not give permission for this material to be copied, modified, reproduced, displayed and used in AI without my written permission. The original characters belong to their original creators, are used in fair-use and are protected by International Copyright Law.]

*fonts here and here used in graphic header.

#steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington

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sayyakii · 5 months ago

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𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑨𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Warning: Obsessive / possessive tendencies / stalking /surveillance / jealousy / anger / control / manipulation paranoia / fear, isolation / exclusion, obsession / intrusion, violent / reactive, fixation / delusion, monitoring /intrusiveness.

Pairing: Yandere assassin x gn! reader

Sypnosis: A skilled assassin, cold and precise, had one mission: eliminate the target. But everything changed when he saw you fragile, helpless, and utterly captivating. In that moment, you became his obsession. No longer a killer for hire, he now lives for one purpose: to protect you at all costs.

A/N : Hey everyone, I really hope you enjoy it! If you're interested in part two, feel free to let me know. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so don’t hesitate to share them!. <3

Dividers by : @cafekitsune Header by: @sayyakii

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Yandere assassin who's mission was simple gather the information and eliminate the target. He was a skilled assassin, renowned for his precision and lack of emotional interference. Yet, everything changed the moment he laid his eyes on you. The world seemed to stop. You were so innocent, so delicate, like someone waiting to be taken care of. There was a fragility to you, a pathetic, puppy-like helplessness that tugged at something deep inside him. He needed to protect you. It wasn’t even intentional you were an accidental encounter, a fleeting moment that derailed his meticulous plan. In that instant, you became his obsession, his purpose, and nothing else mattered.

The first time he saw you, you were laughing carefree, radiant, and oblivious to the shadow that lingered nearby. He was supposed to be focused on your friend, the mark he had been assigned to kill. Instead, his attention shifted to you, his target's companion, his entire world in an instant. Something about you called to him in a way he had never felt before, a deep yearning that began to burn in his chest. He thought it was a distraction, something to be pushed aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the stronger it became.

Yandere assassin who couldn’t sleep that night because his thoughts were plagued by you. Your image replayed in his mind, the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears. He began justifying his hesitation to act on his mission. Gathering information takes time, he told himself. But the truth was darker, more consuming. He wasn’t gathering intel about your friend he was learning everything about you.

He followed you, first from a distance, then closer and closer. He memorized your routine the coffee shop you went to, the way you tapped your pen against your notebook when you were thinking, the soft hum of your voice when you were alone. The way you would get excited listening to your favorite songs, the way you'd dance around carefree. You were everything he wasn't. Cameras were installed in every corner of your apartment, hidden so well you’d never suspect. Watching you became his new mission. Your mundane moments brushing your hair, trying out new recipes or preparing favorite dishes. Reading a book, even just breathing were treasures to him.

And your friend? He loathed him. Every time he saw the two of you together, his blood boiled. It wasn’t fair. Your friend didn’t deserve you, didn’t cherish you the way he would. He watched through the cameras as your friend leaned closer during a movie night, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made his jaw clench.

Then, it happened. You fell asleep during the movie, your head resting on your friend’s shoulder. It should have been innocent, but he saw the way your friend’s hand moved, the audacity of it, trailing toward your legs. He froze, his fists tightening so hard his knuckles turned white. Your friends hand went between your thighs. No one touches what’s mine. The thought thundered in his mind, over and over. His vision blurred with rage, and for a moment, he considered abandoning his careful plans, storming into your apartment, and making your friend pay for daring to touch you.

But no. He had to be patient. For you.

The jealousy gnawed at him, eating away at his restraint. Every moment you spent with your friend felt like a betrayal, even though he knew you didn’t belong to him yet. He fantasized about the day you would. He imagined holding you close, whispering promises of devotion, ensuring you knew that no one could ever love you as much as he did. He’d protect you, keep you safe from everyone who didn’t deserve you, even if that meant locking you away where only he could see you.

He watched as you stirred awake, your friend quickly withdrawing his hand as if he hadn’t been doing something vile. The assassin’s anger simmered, but he knew he couldn’t act impulsively. Not yet. He’d planned everything so meticulously the moment he would remove your friend from the picture, the way he would step into your life as your savior, the person who would comfort you and win your trust.

Every time he thought about killing your friend, he felt a rush of satisfaction. The idea of removing the obstacle between you filled him with a dark sense of joy. But at the same time, he worried. Would you grieve? Would you miss your friend? The thought of you in pain tore at him, even as his jealousy insisted it was a necessary step.

He was torn between wanting to rush into your life and carefully orchestrating every detail to ensure you would accept him. You were his everything, the center of his universe, and he would do anything to make you see that.

When he answered the call from his employer, asking about the progress of the mission, he smirked. “It’s going great,” he said. “I’ve made progress.” But the progress wasn’t about your friend. It was about you.

The night he saw your friend’s hand on you was the final straw. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer. The rage, the obsession, the need to claim you it was all consuming him. He whispered to the screen as he watched you sleep, his voice soft but filled with conviction.

“You’ll understand one day,” he murmured. “You’ll see that no one loves you like I do. I’ll protect you from everyone, even him. Especially him.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes glued to the monitor, a twisted smile curling his lips. Soon, you would be his. And no one not your friend, not anyone would ever come between you again.

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lillaydee · 4 months ago

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Shhh!!! Part 4

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 3

***I'm not a Barista, and I do not live in the US, much less LA. So please excuse any mistakes i might make regarding coffee and its prices yeah?***

“Okay. Work… please work…” Joel mumbled to himself, rubbing his hands together, the lack of caffeine for the past two days not exactly helping. He was standing in his kitchen, facing the 20 odd years old coffee machine he had just spent two whole days fixing. The repair this time around took a bit longer than the previous attempts, his fingers were a bit shaky. Not because of caffeine withdrawal or anything. Those damned parts were too fucking small and fiddly. His fingers were too big. They’d obviously gotten way bigger than they were the last time he fixed the machine. Fingers do that after six months, right?

To top it all off he didn’t exactly sleep well these past three nights. Tossed and turned for no reason whatsoever. His mind kept replaying the fact that you somehow managed to be so sweet to that annoying girl and then turned around and raged at him like that. He went there to apologize, to tell you he was sorry, and instead, he was met with hostility. Okay, he did bark at you, yet again, but he was pushed into it. That damned annoying girl, the grumpy guy, damn Tommy. He did nothing wrong. And what did he get for trying to be nice? You charged him 40 bucks for coffee, your sweet, smiley face darkened for his displeasure.

That, and the fact that he was in deep shit with Ellie, and somehow, Sarah too.

He went to pick her up the evening of the robbery, relieved to have the paperwork for the season over and done with, looking forward to relax and spend more time with Ellie, only to find her already waiting for him in the parking lot, face like thunder. Turned out grumpy guy from that morning was the TA in her class, and he had gleefully told the class that Lily had given pompous, self-important, ‘I’m a celebrity I get to cut the line’ Joel Miller exactly what he deserved after he barked at her for trying to give him a free cup of coffee, and then had the gall to be all appalled when she overcharged his millionaire, entitled ass.

Joel couldn’t get a word in edgewise to defend himself, Ellie was furious that he had, yet again, embarrassed her by being rude to ‘sweet, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly Lily’ who was kind enough to hire her. He’d had it then. He wasn’t an idiot. He googled the price of a shot of espresso that morning, unable to believe they would cost that much. They were less than two dollars a shot, and that was at really fancy, high-end cafés, even in an expensive city like LA. There were places that sell them for less than a dollar a shot. You had not only offensively overcharged him for each shot, but you also made it very clear that you hated him, and for that, he had to pay you an extra ten bucks for your troubles.

He was angry at you, really angry. You charged him that much money simply because he was a celebrity. That’s discrimination, plain and simple. He couldn’t see you doing that to some rude, homeless dude. You took advantage of the fact that he had money.

But try as he might, he couldn’t deny the fact that he had contributed to this hatred of yours. He was rude to you. Twice. So, he rationalized your anger and robbery as a spur of the moment retaliation, and he was ready to let it go. But when Ellie came in hulking about his treatment of you, that anger came back. He might be an asshole, but he didn’t mean to be, not that morning, he really didn’t.

The rage he had managed to supress came bubbling back up and he told her she couldn’t work with you anymore. No daughter of his would ever work for a robber, he said.

“Joel! You can’t do that! She needs my help!”

“Oh, that’s rich. She needs help to rob people? She only makes coffee for a living, for crying out loud, how hard could it be? I can do that with my eyes closed. She did just fine before you started working for her, she’ll be fine doing all her robbing solo now. You are NOT to talk to her again, you understand me?”

Ellie stopped walking, turned around, got something out of her pocket and placed it in Joel’s hands. “She said she would apologize to you in person, but in case she didn’t see you…” and then she turned around and went into her room.

Ellie slammed the door to her room so hard Joel swore the water in the pool rippled. He looked in his hand. 40 dollars. He never told Ellie how much you charged him for the coffee. So this money really was from you.

He could hear Ellie call Sarah on speaker phone, neither bothering to keep their voices down as she complained about him controlling her, how it wasn’t fair, Sarah in disbelief he would do that to you, of all people. The gasp Sarah let out when Ellie told her his remarks about you ‘only making coffee for a living’ was enough to make him wince, pressing his ear to the door to listen to her response.

Sarah told Ellie to take her off the speakerphone and go outside to her balcony to speak.

His calls to Sarah went unanswered.

Damn it.

The next day, in an effort to coax her, Joel asked a quiet Ellie if she could take the day off from work. He could pick her up at noon, maybe they could go have lunch together? Just the two of them? Maybe a movie after? No, she said, she’s working. He’d have to drag her out of your truck to get her to leave. Good luck doing that without someone getting it on camera. He didn’t have to pick her up either. She’ll Uber, she said, before slamming the door behind her.

Joel sat in the truck for quite a while, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, contemplating whether he should go and see you, wait for the coast to be clear, and really apologize. Maybe he could get that cup of coffee while he was there. He’ll even pay the 40 bucks again, to show you he was serious about apologizing.

But the longer he sat there contemplating, the less courage he had to go to you. He had met you three times, he froze the second time – seeing as your ready smile disappeared as soon as you saw him - not that he could blame you. He should have let you cool off before going over then, perhaps you wouldn’t have been so mad at him still if he had waited a few days before trying to apologize? And he managed to bark at you during the other two meetings. What if he did that again? And maybe his nerves would settle by then, he would make sure he was not annoyed at anyone or burdened by the worry that his daughter had gone missing before he went to see you next.

But he really wanted coffee. Not necessarily the ones you make, of course, but he was not looking forward to find parking during rush hour. He’ll just have to fix that machine. He could do without coffee for a day.

He disassembled the old machine and laid out the parts one by one, cleaning everything, taking notes on what needed replacing, making a list of what to get. He got everything he needed to get and picked up a still angry Ellie, who spent the rest of the day in her room, not speaking to him.

The next day was spent reassembling everything. New wiring, new everything. It took him so long he was nodding off by the time he placed the finished product on his kitchen counter, going straight to bed, hoping that he would at least get some sleep after two sleepless nights.

He didn’t. And now he really needed that coffee.

“Please work… please… I need this. Please…” he said over and over as he filled the filter with coffee, closed the lid, poured in the water and placed the pot on the warmer plate. Ellie came out of her room and poured herself some milk and some cereals to eat dry. She watched as her adopted father rubbed his hands together over and over before finally flicking the switch on, and the coffee maker came to life – well, at least the red light at the bottom of the thing lit.

Joel flicked the switch at the bottom of the machine.

The kitchen was silent for a few seconds. Joel couldn’t breathe. Ellie stopped chewing in anticipation.

The hiss came, and the next thing they knew, coffee began dripping into the pot, and the aroma of coffee began emanating through the kitchen.

Joel whooped. Ellie rolled her eyes and texted Sarah – ‘He got it to work again’.

They were still not speaking, but both were now staring at the coffee pot as coffee trickled steadily into it, Joel with a satisfied grin on his face, relieved that he could now get coffee without having to pay a small fortune to some fancy café, or a disgruntled small business owner such as yourself. Ellie was just amazed that machine refused to die, to be honest. She respected the determination that old machine had. Damn. That’s good quality machinery.

Joel turned around, struck by the silence in the kitchen, usually filled with the crunching of dry cereal. Ellie didn’t even look away, her lips turned down while her head nodded slightly, clearly impressed at this feat. He turned towards her, wanting to clear the air off the discomfort this silent fight over the situation between him and her boss once and for all.

* Hiss… crackle… hiss… POP! *

The house went dark, save for the morning light coming from outside through the curtains. The machine was smoking. Joel rushed to pull the socket out of the outlet.

‘Nvmnd, it imploded’ Ellie’s fingers quickly texted, stuffing the last of the cereals into her mouth and downing her glass of milk before placing the dishes in the sink.

Joel sighed. “Why wouldn’t you work???” he grunted at the machine.

“I dunno. Maybe cause it’s ancient?” Ellie snarked, going to her room to get her bag.

Joel poured whatever was in that coffee pot into a mug, desperate for coffee. Two days without coffee. He was dying. He took a sip, and immediately spat it back out into the sink, wiping his mouth of any remnants and gargling the taste away.

Sarah and Tommy were right. Heck, even Ellie, who had never drunk a drop of coffee in her life was right. That machine produced shit coffee. That was too bitter. Burnt. He hadn’t noticed before. He was too used to it, having consumed coffee it brewed for over 20 years.

Well, shit.

He stared at that still smoking machine, his head down. He cleaned the area quickly, wiping that machine down. He went to the utility room and reset the breaker, coming back out to a waiting Ellie. She didn’t say anything, but she could see how down he was that the machine broke, yet again. He grabbed his wallet and keys, put his shoes on and went into the garage. As Ellie closed the door to leave, she couldn’t help but notice he didn’t move the machine to the garage as he usually did when it broke, leaving it at its usual spot.

Joel didn’t speak throughout the journey to the rec centre. Ellie found herself worrying, despite her determination not to forgive him so easily.

‘He’s too quiet. I’m worried. I think the machine breaking again broke him,’ she texted Sarah.

‘Call me when ur alone’ Sarah had texted back.

Ellie grabbed Joel’s hand as she opened the door when they’d arrived, giving it a squeeze, earning her a small smile from the man before leaving. He watched as Ellie walked to the truck, no class today. She just wanted to work, determined to get that car. Joel contemplated going with her for a cup. He still hadn’t had his coffee. And going three whole days without one was definitely going to push him over the edge. But even he could tell that today was not a good day to go see you.

It’s stupid, he knew that. The machine was over 20 years old. It first gave out maybe ten years ago, but every time it did, he managed to fix it. Tommy, Angela, both had gifted him coffee machines for Christmas and birthdays, but he had always given them away, preferring to use the one he already had.

When he moved to this house all those years ago, the machine was the first thing he brought in. Every time it broke and got fixed, the time it took between working and breaking again got shorter and shorter, and today, it broke in less time than it took to make a full pot. A record by any means.

Laura hadn’t been a coffee drinker. And Joel couldn’t function without a cup every morning. Earlier in their marriage he had basically gotten by on instant coffee, and was fine with it, until Laura presented him with that machine he had kept to this day. He still bought that brand she had bought with the machine, ground coffee rather than instant ones.

She was his first love. Before her, girls were flings and one night stands, nothing more. He was 19 and still enjoying his life as a young man. She wasn’t interested in him at first but relented and agreed to go out on a date with him one day. She got pregnant when he was 20, and they got married immediately. He got a job, she stayed at home with Sarah when she was born. They didn’t have much, but they made do. He was happy.

And then, just a week after his birthday, his boss came, tires screeching to his worksite – she had been in an accident. She didn’t make it.

His world crumbled that day. And that coffee machine was the one birthday gift he had ever received from her. So he kept it, a reminder of his one and only love life, a life he didn’t want to relive. It hurt too much. But now, even he was sure that machine was dead. For good. And he was scared. Worried, that that reminder of that life he had was now gone. It made his heart beat uncomfortably, made his breathing feel off.

Maybe he just needed coffee. That ought to get his bearings right. But going to see you for a cup in this state of mind wasn’t a good idea. So he decided to brave the morning traffic and get a cup of coffee from one of those fancy chains, just to ease his craving.

He drove over, parked, and stood in the ridiculously long line, a hat on his head, keeping his eyeline on the floor, praying that he wouldn’t be recognized. He finally got to the counter, the barista asking him at least three times if he was sure he wanted six shots of espresso. He nodded and gave the boy his card and waited for his order. When it was ready, he picked it up and went inside his truck to take his drink in peace.

It was good. Certainly much better than that travesty he had somehow thought was great coffee for more than 20 years. Certainly eased his caffeine fix.

But something was missing.

He kept waiting for that feeling he had when he first took a sip of the coffees he had gotten from you. That calm, comforting feeling that made him feel all warm and fuzzy and cared for, but it never came.

Well, he thought, that was to be expected, really. The machine he held on to for over 20 years just died, maybe for good, so perhaps he wasn’t feeling too soft today.

A package arrived for Ellie that day. He didn’t open it, but when he told her about it that evening, she said it was something she ordered a few days ago. She needed it for work, and oh, by the way, she was working the next day.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he protested. He was already annoyed she chose to go to work on a Saturday, but being alone at home had actually helped him calm down about the coffee machine. He had hoped they would be able to spend time together. Maybe go shopping for a new coffee machine.

“There’s a charity thing going on tomorrow, for homeless kids. Lily is open most Sundays anyway, so she’s participating. There’ll be a crowd. I want to help her. Please? That truck is her only source of income, she needs the money,” she pleaded.

Joel sighed. Fine. But next weekend, we spend some time together, okay? Deal, Ellie said.

“Ellie, it’s almost seven. I thought you said you needed to be there 730?” Joel knocked on her door.

No answer.

“Ellie?”

No answer.

“I’m coming in,” Joel opened the door and walked in, Ellie bundled up in bed, sweaty and feverish. Joel immediately sat next to her, hand feeling her forehead. Shit, she was burning up.

“I don’t feel too good,” she croaked.

“Well, okay, you stay home and rest. Where’s your phone? We can text Lily and tell her you’re not coming.”

“No Joel, she needs the help. Her coffee grinder is broken. I need to help her grind the coffee. I even ordered one to help her. She wouldn’t have time to grind and make the drinks at the same time. I need to help her.”

“Well, you’re in no shape to help anyone right now. No, you’re staying in bed.”

“Can you help her, Joel? Please? She needs the help! Just grind some beans for her and put it in the container so she could just scoop some up to make the coffee with. Please? You don’t even have to stay long. Just fill the container. And then you could come home. Please? I’ll owe you one. Please Joel?”

If there was one thing about Joel Miller, he was a secret softie at heart. There was no way he could withstand pleas from his girls. All they had to do was say please, and he would cave. So, from the very first plea, he knew he would be spend the day grinding coffee beans. For Ellie, of course. Anything for Ellie.

“Fine, but you stay home and rest, okay? I’ll get you some Tylenol.”

“It’s okay, I’ve already taken some. Go. She’ll be waiting,” she said, pushing him off the bed a little.

She waited until Joel left to get rid of the hot water bottle she had hidden under the blanket.

You were getting the truck ready for the day. There was an event today, just a friendly soccer match between some local teams. As per every Sunday you opened, you were just doing a half day today. There was laundry to be done, some greasy Chinese you planned to order and a nice book you just got with your name on it. You had just emptied one container of coffee beans you had freshly roasted this very morning into the grinder and were getting another out when hurried footsteps approached.

Weird, you thought. It’s 735. Who was here this early? You don’t open until 8 on Sundays. The match wouldn’t start until 9.

Oh God it’s him. Oh, wait, this is good. You can apologize to him now. You had felt bad for doing what you did on Wednesday, but he hadn’t shown since. This was your chance.

Wait. Was he carrying… a coffee mill? A classic one at that. The ceramic kind. With the manual handle on top and the wooden drawer at the bottom. The one your Dad had on display at his cafés. He was half running, climbing straight into your truck, apologizing for being late, asking you where he should set up.

You just stood there, your brain trying to catch up with what the heck was going on. He placed the mill on the counter nearer to the door, asking you if that was okay? Would he be in your way? You shook your head absent-mindedly, still trying to figure out what was going on.

He reached for an apron behind you, immediately putting it on and tying the strings behind him, taking the container of coffee beans from you, pointing to the other empty container you just emptied, asking you if that’s where the ground coffee should go? You didn’t even have time to answer, he immediately scooped some beans out and placed it in the bowl, immediately grinding the beans as fast as he could, telling you that Ellie was sick, so he was here to help instead. He hoped that was okay? He won’t be in your way, he promised.

He was grinding the fourth batch of beans when your brain finally caught up, and you put your hand on his, stopping his actions. He looked at you.

“What is going on? Why are you here? I hope Ellie is not too sick, but I wasn’t expecting her today.”

He looked confused. It was only then that he looked around, realizing that there were not many people around.

“She… told me to come in her stead… she said there was a charity event today? That you’d be extremely busy. And that your grinder was broken, and you needed her help to mill some beans?”

You looked at him as if he was speaking gibberish.

“There’s a friendly soccer match at 9, but… other than that… and also…” you took a step back and turned the knob on the grinder. Within seconds, the doser was filling up with freshly ground coffee.

You looked at him, who was now sweating slightly from his milling efforts, looking confused as hell. He suddenly took a deep breath, closed his eyes and held up one finger at you, taking his phone out and dialling, his face as stern as only a father’s could be.

“Ellie! Pick up! What the heck is going on? You just wait, young lady! You wait ‘til I get home. You and I need to have some serious talks!” He hung up, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Look, Joel, I’m sorry you had to come all the way here. I swear I know nothing about this. I’m sorry you spent all that effort milling. Shit, are you okay?”

He looked at the ground coffee he had already placed in the container. “Can you use this? Did I damage your beans?”

You laughed a little, “No, it’s just unnecessary labour, that’s all. I’m sure you would rather sleep in, today being Sunday and all.”

He leaned on the cupboard behind him, his size making your truck look like a toy. He rubbed his face, shaking his head, trying to understand why Ellie had lied to him like this. And now she was not picking up his calls. He wondered if she was even sick. Wait… she bought a coffee mill just to send him here to use it? Did she concoct this whole thing? For what? His head was spinning so much he had to bend down a little to catch his breath. You slid a stool over to him, placing your hand on his shoulder, asking him to sit down.

“You okay?”

He nodded, sitting down, rubbing his face again. “Thanks for asking,” he mumbled. He took another deep breath.

“Lily, right?”

You nodded.

“Could I please trouble you for a cup of coffee? My machine is broken. Again.”

You smiled, of course, you said. You turned around and began making his coffee, using the ground he had just milled. He should be able to enjoy the fruits of his unnecessary labour, you joked, earning you a smile from him. When you finally handed him his cup, he got his wallet out of his pocket, and you waved him off. It’s on the house, Joel. Don’t worry about it.

“No, please, I insist,” he said, taking his card out. “Can’t have you losing 40 dollars every time I get coffee here.”

You laughed, embarrassed by his teasing. “I’m sorry about that. I just… I guess I had enough of people treating me like shit just because they are someone, or merely for the fact that I serve them coffee, you know? Just because I am not famous and I make coffee for a living doesn’t mean I’m below them, you know?”

He nodded, hand still holding his card out to you.

“Really, Joel, it’s okay. It’s on the house.”

Joel felt bad. “Please, I can’t do that to you. This is how you make a living. Please let me pay.”

You smiled, “Joel, I won’t go bankrupt just because I gave you a cup of coffee. Don’t worry. Keep it. I insist.”

He finally relented, stashing the card back into his wallet, and finally taking a sip.

There it was.

His eyes closed, that warm and fuzzy feeling was back, spreading into his bones. He suddenly felt calm, safe, protected, cared for. His breathing eased, his body relaxed, an unwitting smile gracing his features. When he finally opened his eyes, your smiling face greeted him, and his eases heightened. His mood just… lifted. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt happy, and it had nothing to do with Sarah or Ellie.

“Hey Lil?” Tony from the next truck’s voice chirped. “You open? The baby was up all night and I need coffee the size of my head.”

“Yeah, sure. Is he okay?”

“He seems okay, just fussy. Babies, you know. Er… Lil, customers starting to line up, that okay?”

“Give me a minute, okay? Still setting up,” you told them, an apologetic smile on your face. They nodded, asking you to take your time. People have started arriving for the tournament, and you haven’t quite finished setting up.

“Can I help? I’m here and all…” Joel got up, taking another sip of his coffee before placing the cup on the counter, rolling his sleeves.

“You don’t have to, I’m okay, really.”

“Let me help. I stalled you, let me do the easy things. Please. It’s the least I can do. Free labour for the lady I was rude to, please? Take it as a first step to the many, many apologies I plan to seek from you.”

You contemplated for a while, before asking him to take the orders. You gave him a quick tutorial of the till, and he tried totalling six shots of espresso, keying the price into the reader and tapped his card on it, grinning at your annoyed expression that he managed to pay you despite your protest. It’s confirmed. Six shots of espresso did not cost 40 dollars, he told you, raising an eyebrow cheekily.

You rolled your eyes and told him to ask you if he runs into any problems.

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat at you.

You handed Tony his drink and flipped the closed sign to open. Joel stood at the till, smiling at the first customer in line, who immediately recognized him.

“Oh my God! You’re Joel Miller aren’t you?”

“Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. I’m just Joel today, may I please take your order?”

Part 5

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #Celebrity!Joel Miller

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restlessmaknae · 6 months ago

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fire prince // sungho

One stormy night, a royal entourage arrives at the Phoenix Inn you've been running ever since your father left. Turns out Prince Sungho is as humble as one can be, and you quickly fall for him, but his visits afterwards hint that he might feel the same way.

➳ Characters: prince!Sungho x innkeeper!female reader/you

➳ Genre: magical kingdom au, royal male lead x commoner female lead, elemental powers au, fluff, comedy, one angst scene but it's a happy ending!

➳ Words: 8.9k

➳ Warning: one small mention of past wars, reader's father drank a lot in the past and eventually left, metaphorical cut and bleeding

➳ Dedicated to: @dat-town ❤️ Merry Christmas, dear! Wishing you all the best for 2025! I'll always be there for you, you know that. Love ya! ❤️❤️❤️

➳ Author's note: Check out the you are my fire, my wind, my flower // magical kingdom series masterpost!

➳ Header taken from this Weverse picture

It was a quiet, chilly day at the inn until the wind outside picked up its pace, and soon enough, a heavy storm followed. The rain was knocking on the tightly closed windows fervently, erratically, it even attacked the rooftop, so much that you felt like it was pouring straight onto the building. Sometimes the wind also made screeching noises, and the creaking of the wooden floors seemed even more ominous than usually. When the thunder struck, it felt like it was ripping off the horizon, so loud they could be heard.

You closed the kitchen already, so the staff could go home before the storm made it impossible for them to walk even just a couple of miles. Some of the staff insisted on staying though - like Intak, the stableboy, who said that it was more important to take care of the horses than himself because he was a big boy, he wasn’t afraid of storms anymore, but the horses were. Chanyoung, the porter, also stayed even though you told him that it was unlikely you would have many guests for the night because of the weather.

Even your dearest friend, Haewon – who was working with you, helping to share the burden as the innkeeper after your father had left – insisted on staying. Or more like, chattering your ears off for the rest of the night.

“Worst case scenario, we will have the most boring night in the history of the Phoenix Inn, and we will have a good laugh about it one day. Best scenario would be, of course, to have a mysterious, handsome young man walk into the inn, and fall in love with me,” she reasoned very seriously, and you had to give it to her that she had a very wild imagination.

“Because mysterious, handsome young men just fall from the trees around here, right?” You retorted after you put some more wood onto the fireplace, so that it wouldn’t die out. Not only was its light important for such a stormy, dark night, but it would hopefully provide enough warmth, so you wouldn’t need to walk around in your thickest coat.

“I’m just saying, anything can happen these days. You know, even that woman at the market who–”

Haewon was cut off by rhythmic knocking on the door. You exchanged a glance with her before you averted your eyes to Chanyoung who stood by the door. Beside him, Mr Kim – the usual night porter – looked out of the window, but due to the constantly falling rain, he could only see the shadows of four figures. Nevertheless, he was brave enough to open the door for the intruders, and all eyes in the hall went to the four strangers.

First, one muscular man dressed like a soldier came to the front, followed by one dressed in a thick coat, his face almost entirely covered by its hood. Then, they parted to make way for the third one who was dressed in burgundy-black with dark cotton pants and a pearl-dotted coat, even his dress shoes seemed polished. Even though the latter had an umbrella, a few raindrops sat atop of his locks, and he might have been the most beautiful man you had laid your eyes on.

The coated figure got rid of his hood, then cleared his throat before announcing:

“His Royal Highness, Prince Sungho of the Fire Kingdom, wishes to inquire if there is any vacant room for four people for the night.”

The room completely froze for a few seconds before everyone dropped into a clumsy courtesy. Or well, some form of it because you weren’t used to seeing royalty anywhere around here, much less at the Inn. You could see Haewon’s impressed face and mischievous glint, but you could also see Chanyoung’s perplexed reaction, and you had a feeling that yours mirrored the boy’s.

Most people around here had never seen the royal family. You were working tirelessly just to put food on the table, and you didn’t go to the palace’s events when common people were invited, simply because you lived far from the palace. Your Inn was actually closer to the Water Kingdom than the capital of the Fire Kingdom. So seeing the prince and his entourage at your humble little accommodation was more than baffling.

“P-prince Sungho?” Mr Kim blabbered, and you had never seen the forty-something man more flustered than when the young man who announced their arrival confirmed the question with a bob of his head. He was fairly young, around Prince Sungho’s age, but his expression was stern and his stance confident. You wondered who he could be.

“Y/N?” Haewon giggled as she made her way towards you, and her voice was enough to pull you back to reality.

“Oh yes. Yes, we do have enough room for four people… Your Highness,” you added belatedly before they could take your head (did they really do that or was it just the groundless rumours?), and you could see an amused glint in the eyes of your best friend.

“Can we talk to the innkeeper?”

“I am the innkeeper,” you answered matter-of-factly, and you didn’t know whether the young man in front was some sort of royal advisor, knight or administrative personnel to the prince, but he was the one who exchanged a glance with Prince Sungho upon hearing this piece of information. You knew what was coming, so you beat them to it; to have to ask the question on their mind.

“My father left about a year ago, and I’ve been the innkeeper ever since,” you confessed, not batting an eye. You knew it was rare that a young woman your age would be the innkeeper, but it just turned out this way. The reason half of your staff was also in their twenties was because without having your father around, most of the previous ones resigned. They didn’t want to work under a young woman, and some had been very vocal about it.

Awkwardness seeped into the thunder-stricken atmosphere, and it was even more embarrassing having to listen to the wind knocking on the windows when everyone was so silent. Maybe that’s why the prince was quick to dissolve the tension in the air.

“This will definitely do, Taesan. Thank you,” the prince decided as he turned to the coated figure, and you nodded, acknowledging his words.

“You said four people, right?”

“Yes, the coachman is still outside,” the so-called Taesan replied. You immediately asked Mr Kim and Chanyoung to help with the luggage, and let Intak know that he would need to take care of not only horses but a carriage as well.

“Is it fine with you if we store the carriage inside the stables? We do not ever have guests with carriages, I am afraid that is the best we can do… Your Highness,” you reminded yourself to address him properly, but he didn’t seem like he would mean harm. If anything, his eyes widened in a surprised manner when you even mentioned taking care of the carriage.

Once the porters came back with the luggage, you showed the way to the assigned rooms. The wooden stairs leading up to the first floor suddenly seemed too narrow with four of the royal guests, Mr Kim and Chanyoung bringing the luggage and you and Haewon following behind with four jugs of fresh water. You showed Taesan and Prince Sungho to their own rooms while Haewon showed the soldier and the coachman their own ones. You let them know that if they needed any assistance and no one was around, they merely needed to ring the bell on the desk in the hall, and someone would come and help.

However, the most important thing on their mind seemed to be food.

“Oh well,” you looked at Haewon who looked back at you with a slight pout. “Most of our kitchen staff went home because of the storm, so we cannot provide you with the usual meals of the menu. However, if you do not mind, you can join us for dinner. Those who are working here will have dinner together soon.”

You were surprised yet again that Prince Sungho gave in without hesitation – he didn’t seem disgusted or appalled by the lack of fancy options, and didn’t make a comment on the fact that he couldn’t choose what he was about to eat. You appreciated it because you were already so embarrassed by the fact that they were here, in your inn, and you were sure that it wasn’t up to the level of luxury that they expected or that they had been used to.

While the guests were settling in, you notified the ladies in the kitchen about four extra people joining you for dinner. On the other hand, since the headcount for the night was less than usual either way, it was fine, you had enough ingredients to make a big enough batch of hearty stew with seasonal vegetables and sourdough bread.

You were just about to let your new guests know that dinner was ready when you bumped into Prince Sungho and Taesan descending the stairs. They both got rid of their coats, and if anything, the prince just seemed even more ethereal in his cherry-red buttoned cardigan and silky white shirt with a ribbon in front. The way his chestnut-brown locks fell into his eyes recklessly made you want to toss them aside, so that you could look into his pearl-like orbs, but even just the thought seemed awfully inappropriate. He looked so elegant and chic compared to you, let alone the slightly run-down wall beside him which seemed ridiculously basic. That definitely needed a repaint.

Taesan, on the other hand, wore a black turtleneck that was tucked into his wide cotton pants. You heard that mostly royalty and people of high rank wore burgundy all the time which was the colour of your kingdom, however, you had never seen it for yourself. You yourself couldn’t care less about the colour of your clothes.

“You are just in time for dinner,” you announced when you found your voice, and the prince gave you a grateful smile in return. He turned to Taesan to say something to him, and he disappeared within seconds to fetch up the coachman and the soldier with them.

You led the four of them to the dining room where most of the staff already had a seat. This was where guests had complimentary breakfast, and they could also ask for lunch or dinner during the day. Obviously, not only guests could come and enjoy the meals as it was more profitable for the inn to welcome visitors and people from the town, too.

There was another round of awkward bowing and curtsy when the others caught sight of the royal entourage after they had been told who was here to visit. Prince Sungho merely waved his hand in a somewhat coy manner.

“Oh, no need for such formalities every time you see me. Please, take a seat, all of you!” He gestured for those around, and even though everyone was a bit reluctant to be the first to sit down, Intak took it upon himself to do so and sat onto the wooden chair with a loud thud. He decided to sit on the prince’s left while Taesan sat on his right, followed by the coachman and the soldier who took a seat across from them.

You could have easily joined the housekeeping ladies at the end of the table, but you felt like it was your duty as the innkeeper to keep an eye on the prince, to see if everything was up to his liking. To be precise, as much as your humble little services allowed.

So you took a seat beside the coachman, and everyone helped themselves to stew and bread, taking turns to scoop themselves some food from the three bowls that were placed at the front, middle and end of the table. Intak even scooped some for the prince, and though he seemed surprised, he appeared somewhat amused by the gesture, too.

It turned out that Intak and Prince Sungho were actually the same age though it was very difficult to believe it with the prince sitting there in all his glory and Intak being there in his worn-out pants and carrot-stained jumper that Mrs Park from the kitchen had knitted for him last winter. Despite the obvious difference between the two of them, the prince answered the boy’s overzealous questions about palace life in detail, sprinkled with a little humour here and there, and the stableboy made him laugh so much, it was endearing to see. His laughter was so genuine, you found yourself laughing along with them on more than one occasion.

Soon enough, you got to know more about your new guests; that Juyeon was the coachman and Leedo was the soldier; Taesan was the right-hand man of Sungho’s, his advisor and administrative personnel; how he had been chosen through six different tests while being the youngest of the applicants, and that they were on their way to the Water Kingdom to talk about trade matters.

It was all in good spirit, and if it hadn’t been for the thought constantly looming over you that they came from the royal court, thus they were obviously very different from you, you would have treated this conversation as a nice way to get to know ordinary guests.

“Thank you so much for the lovely dinner! This was probably the best stew I have eaten in a long time,” Prince Sungho announced after all of their plates were emptied, and turned to Mrs Park who blushed like a teenage girl.

“Ah, you flutter me!”

“I mean it. It was really good,” he insisted, sparks flying in his eyes, and your little heart did a somersault at the sight. How could he be like this, so genuine, so kind and getting on so well with common people when he was a prince? You couldn’t fathom it, and even though you had never had any fantasies of royalty falling in love with you like Haewon did, it was hard not to be affected by Prince Sungho’s words when he complimented the Phoenix Inn during dinner.

You were thankful that they put an end to dinner by standing up and retreating to their rooms because you weren’t sure that you would be able to take more from them. It was all just too good to be true.

That night, you watched the flames in the fireplace dance along to the rhythm of the rain hitting the windows. Even though it had been a few hours since the storm had started, it hadn’t seemed to die down. There had been quieter periods in between, but the wind had picked up its intensity and the thunder had returned, making you unable to fall asleep. Or to go to bed in the first place.

You had sent Haewon home, but only because she lived in the house across the inn, otherwise, you wouldn’t have insisted because there were plenty of vacant rooms for everyone who didn’t want to bear the storm. After dinner, you had asked everyone if they planned to stay, and helped them to more blankets, candles and lanterns for the night before retreating to your own room, only to find yourself restless by the cacophony outside.

So you decided to sit beside the fireplace in the hall in one of those inviting armchairs that you could sit hours in. You prepared a book to pass the time with, but you spent a few minutes just daydreaming and thinking about what had happened in the past few hours.

Until someone decided to join you.

“Oh, is there anything you need, Your Highness?” You got to your feet immediately when instead of Intak crawling out for some late night cookies or Chanyoung asking for more candles, you were pulled back to reality by Prince Sungho’s voice.

He had changed into looser clothes rid of any pattern or jewellery, but you could still tell that his nightwear was made of the finest material, smooth and thick, perfect for such a chilly night. He wore a knee-length night robe as well, something that highlighted his broad shoulders and slender build.

“No, not at all. I just can’t sleep well in unfamiliar places, but don’t get me wrong, it’s not because of the inn. Not at all,” he justified fervently before you could jump to the conclusion that it must be because his bed was less comfortable than his own bed at the palace, the room was smaller than he preferred it or something of the sort.

You nodded, signalling that you believed his words. He asked for your permission to sit down, and how could you say no? Still, you appreciated the sentiment, and watched with curious eyes as he sat down beside you, claiming the other armchair to himself, so now you were both facing the fireplace.

“It must be hard for you when you travel a lot,” you mused out loud, watching his expression change from slightly awkward to surprised to resigned.

“You get used to it after a while, and it’s never too bad to be wary of your surroundings and others around you,” he explained somewhat lightly, but there was a serious edge to his words. He was looking at you, but still, you had a feeling that he was replaying some memories in his head.

His words made you wonder if he could ever allow himself to fully relax, and the thought made you sad. You couldn’t imagine always being on alert even though you had that period in your life right after you had taken over the management of the inn. You had been certain that someone would break in or commit something horrible, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

However, you had gradually become more comfortable with the responsibilities and the duties, and besides, Mr Kim was a light sleeper, and probably the most masculine man in town, so no one would have dared to come in had they known he was here.

On the other hand, you couldn’t know for sure whether having someone like Leedo around him made the prince feel more reassured, but you didn’t ask about it.

“Do you enjoy leading this life?” You inquired instead, genuinely curious because it must have been a difficult life with all the rules to follow, the etiquette, even the dresses he had to wear. Sure, he had the luxury that most people around here didn’t, but still… you always thought of royalty as rather lonely people.

Prince Sungho didn’t say anything for a few seconds, he was still looking at you, looking into your eyes, but his lips parted slightly, as if he was taken aback by your question. Thinking that it must have meant that you offended him, you immediately apologised:

“I am sorry if I crossed the line with my question, I did not mean–”

“No, no, it’s not about that,” he objected, waving his hands in front of his chest after awakening from his stupor. He even let out a giggle, probably feeling silly for making you feel this way.

“It’s just that you are the first person to ask this question,” he started as he leaned back into the armchair, interlacing his fingers and dropping them into his lap. “People usually assume that I have an easy life, and don’t want to hear complaints about it. I can understand that though,” he added, and as he started talking about his life, it felt like listening to an ordinary person – despite the context of his words –, he was so open and genuine about it.

About the fact that though the pressure was there, he felt like he could be a part of change if he wanted, and that he could help out a lot of people. He also enjoyed the business and trade within and outside of the kingdom as those had always interested him. He also loved that he could practise using his powers safely within the walls of the palace, and even though he didn’t really have the chance to use it in everyday situations, he still thought of it as useful knowledge – just like horse riding or sword fights or literature.

You knew that the members of the royal family and a lot of those who worked at the palace or within the court possessed the power of fire because that was the base of the four elemental kingdoms. However, since the palace was so far away and their powers weren’t used to protect or destroy like back in the days when kingdoms had been at war with each other, it was easy to forget about it.

You listened to him in awe because he had such an eloquent way to say what he wanted. He shared enough about himself, but it never felt like too much. He was firm in his words, but there was gentleness to his tone – especially when he was talking about his younger sisters or working on distributing more to the elderly in the kingdom. He wasn’t boasting, but talked about initiatives that he was passionate about, and that he felt like were benefitting the kingdom and its people.

You swore you could have listened to him talk all day, and you would have been fine with it, but he asked about your side as well, if you enjoyed being the innkeeper. So you told him about how you had learned the ropes from your father, and how some people had already been working here before. How you had made friends with the younger ones, and how you felt like they were your little family since your father had left.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Prince Sungho said in such a heartfelt way, you almost felt bad for correcting him.

“He didn’t pass away. He just left me and the inn behind. I don’t know where he went, but he hasn’t come back for a year now,” you shared with him, averting your eyes from his face to the crackling fireplace. To be honest, it was easier than ever to talk about your father, you had learned how to navigate the topic, but it was like a cut that always bled – you might not have seen it or felt it constantly, but it was there, it was hurting.

Yet, before the prince could apologise for bringing it up, you added without further prompting:

“He actually drank quite a lot, and caused trouble afterwards. Not just in town but also at the inn, so it might be better in a way that he’s gone,” you confessed, and you didn’t feel guilty anymore for feeling this way.

Deep down, you knew that he wasn’t himself when he was drinking, but you didn’t seem to be a good enough reason to give up on it. So he gave up on you and the inn instead. There had been no big argument or a sudden realisation, one day, he had just left. It had been a similarly cold, stormy night, and since then, the rain didn’t wash him home.

“It must have been difficult for you to keep everything together, including yourself,” he pointed out gently, and your heart squeezed at his words. Now that he put it this way, you realised just how true it was, and it was scary and touching at the same time that he could understand you so easily.

Sensing that you might not be able to speak up yourself after this, Prince Sungho decided to ask about funny stories that happened at the inn. He was especially interested in ones involving Intak. You let out a joyous laughter hearing his request, but you were more than happy to share them with him.

Soon, one story turned into ten, and whilst the rain was pitter-pattering on the windows and the flames were dancing beamingly in the fireplace, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of him, until you ended up falling asleep, kept warm by the flames he added to the firewood just by a touch of his hands.

You woke to the creaking sound of the wooden floor, and opened your eyes to see who it was, only to realise that instead of your room, you were in the hall. The memories of the previous night came crashing down on you, and you felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks while Mrs Park greeted you with a gentle smile and reprimanded you for sleeping in the armchair instead of your own bed. You reassured her that it wouldn’t happen again, and she retreated to the kitchen to start making breakfast.

You went to your room to get changed and clean up a bit before going back into the hall to rearrange the furniture. Then, you unlocked the front door and looked at the remaining puddles from last night, the first rays of the Sun painting the fading green of the grass in orange and light purple. The smell of the passing rain was evident, and you took in a few deep breaths before you got started on your day.

You made yourself busy long enough for Haewon to show up for breakfast, but after she greeted you and went her own way, she came to find you again, only to ask you about last night.

“As far as I know, everyone had a peaceful night. There was nothing major happening,” you replied to her, but she sighed so dramatically, you quirked an eyebrow.

“No, I meant what happened last night between you and Prince Sungho. Intak told me that he heard you and Prince Sungho talk in the hall.”

“Ah, I knew that he would want to get cookies for himself again,” you pondered loudly, trying to dodge the question, but the girl seemed persistent, disappointed even. So you told her that you talked because neither of you could sleep, but it seemed like you couldn’t appease her.

“Did he make your heart flutter?”

“Haewon!” You shushed her, seriously hoping that the prince wouldn’t walk by the storage room right this instant. You would soon need to tell them that breakfast was ready, and you also had a feeling that with the storm passing, they would continue their journey to the Water Kingdom. There was no time to waste for them, you assumed.

“What? He seemed like a kind person, and besides, he was giving you those eyes during dinner,” your friend chatted while helping you fold a clean batch of towels and blankets.

“Those eyes?”

“Yes! You know what I mean… people look at each other like that when they are interested in one another,” she justified as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world, and despite your best attempt at hiding your contentment, you couldn’t fight the blush invading your cheeks. Surely, he hadn’t looked at you like that…

“You like him, too, I knew it!” Haewon squealed when she caught sight of your flushed face, and you were faster than ever to clear up the situation:

“No! I mean, it’s too early to say that I like him like that. As you’ve said, he seems like a kind young man, but at the same time, he’s a prince, and we might not see each other ever again. Besides, he's him, and I’m just a humble innkeeper. We would never work out,” you said it in one-go, but your hopeless romantic friend didn’t seem saddened by your train of thoughts. She shrugged off your concerns like little specks of dust.

“You know, I believe in happy endings. I’m rooting for you,” she said as she balled her hands into fists and held them high, a sign of her support. You shook your head, a smile hiding in the corner of your lips, before you told her to notify the royal entourage that the breakfast would be served soon.

In the meantime, you went outside, and fetched Intak from the stables who had been feeding the horses (and trying to charm them with his irresistible smile and overdramatic stories, too bad the animals couldn’t understand him). Prince Sungho and the others were already seated when you showed up to the dining room, and when you caught the prince’s eyes, you bobbed your head and gave him a shy smile. He smiled back, and you already felt weak in the knees just by the sight of him there, so you decided to sit with Chanyoung, Mr Kim and Taeyang - your gardener - who were sitting at the other end of the table, not beside Prince Sungho, Taesan, Leedo and Juyeon.

However, you couldn’t hold yourself back from looking in the prince’s direction from time to time, especially because he was having a great time listening to Intak and Haewon’s stories about their times at the inn, and his laughter was so contagious, you found yourself smiling into your bowl even though Taeyang was talking about the plants that had been the most hit by the storm last night.

Breakfast came to an end sooner than you would have wanted, and it was time for the guests to go. Chanyoung and Mr Kim helped them with their luggage, Intak helped Juyeon with the carriage, and the housekeeping ladies already got ready to clean their rooms after their departure. Haewon insisted that you should go outside with her and say goodbye to them, but it must have been what everyone thought because almost everyone was outside, lining up beside the carriage. Prince Sungho seemed taken aback by the amount of people, but he said goodbye to each and every one of them and thanked them for their efforts.

You were at the very end of the line, and you were sure that the slight tremble of your body wasn’t due to the weather but due to the prince’s presence. Even as he halted in front of you, you felt like your heart was crushing your ribcage, it was beating so wildly, and the prince’s words didn’t help at all.

“Thank you so much for everything, Y/N,” he bowed his head and you curtsied as much as your dress allowed. He made your name sound so elegant, so precious, you felt heat rising to your cheeks. “You should be proud of yourself, you are really the heart and soul of the inn,” he added with a smile so gentle, it felt like a feather-like touch caressing your cheeks.

“T-thank you, Your Highness. I am delighted that you had a pleasant stay,” you stuttered a bit, your voice coming out small. The prince boasted a slightly amused smile seeing your reaction before turning around and getting into the carriage.

You could see Haewon’s lips curling upwards from the corner of your eyes, and you wished you could vanish right then and there. This encounter might have been like a fairytale, but he was a prince, and you were an innkeeper, you were sure that this was it.

You were wrong, it seemed. Even though flowers already started blooming the next time Prince Sungho showed up, he did so nevertheless. Then, he came during summer and during autumn, too. He never stayed too long, only a night or two if he decided to drop by on his way to the Water Kingdom and on his way back.

One of his sisters got married to Prince Donghyun from the Water Kingdom in the meantime, so there was a lot to do in terms of negotiating. He didn’t always tell you what he was up to, after all, you were sure that much of it was confidential, and you didn’t want to pry. However, whenever he talked, he made you feel like you weren’t two worlds apart, he shared every detail and background stories. He made you feel like you were a part of his world.

It was flattering, to be honest, and it made you wonder if he felt the same way towards you. After all, he could have chosen any inn he wanted, yet, he kept coming back to yours, keeping you company beside the fireplace at nights, and he wasn’t hiding the fact that he was looking for you whenever you weren’t around. Needless to say, Haewon always called him out for it.

You enjoyed the thrill of it; the subtle touches by the fireplace, the warmth he could quite literally bring with him, the ways he cared even if he didn’t boast about it, the gazes that you shared at the dinner table, and the times you spent stargazing on the newly built patio whenever the weather allowed. All of those who worked at the inn welcomed him back warmly, and scarcely did you have a guest who knew the prince personally, so you didn’t feel like you had a reason to hide from others. Besides, they could see what was going on between you two, and you were sure that even the quiet Taesan knew about it.

You were usually very giddy to see him again, looking forward to each and every day as it held the hope of a new encounter. However, the following winter passed by slowly and full of doubts because you had heard the rumor that Prince Sungho might be getting married to a princess. You were moping, of course, because you hadn’t heard anything about a marriage the last time he had been there, but who were you to hold him back? You were just a commoner, nothing more.

You had a feeling that the reason Prince Sungho didn’t show up until early spring was exactly for the reason you were so heartbroken in the meantime, but he did show up, and nothing seemed to change about him. On the other hand, you were more wary towards the prince, and he caught onto it. He even decided to ask you about it at night when you inquired if he had anything he needed for the night. If he had just said no, you would have had the chance to escape him. He answered differently though.

You were standing by the door in the corridor while he was leaning against the door from inside his room, but you felt like there was more than distance between you two now. The looming rumour of his marital status drove a wedge between you two.

“Am I bothering you?” He asked straightforwardly, and you were sure that he used this tone of his for trade talks: firm, straight to the point yet not accusatory. He was looking at you gently – like always –, but you felt like he was pinning you to the door with his gaze.

“No. I merely believe that there are better-suited places for a prince,” you answered rather coldly, trying to keep your voice void of any emotion.

It was better this way, you told yourself. You and the prince had been doomed from the start, so it was better that you were over it before it could turn into something more. So why… why did you feel so betrayed?

He looked perplexed for a few seconds, but then, he regained his composure and confessed as if it meant nothing to him to say such words:

“It’s because I feel the most comfortable here out of all places, and I like spending time with you, too. I feel at ease beside you.”

“Prince Sungho…” You croaked out, torment scratching your throat when his name fell off your lips. Why did he have to be so genuine? Why did he have to look at you like that – like he really meant it, and he would do everything to keep it that way? Why, just why did he have to look up from his eyelashes, his deep, dark eyes boring into yours, keeping your gaze hostage?

“Hmm?”

“You should not say things like that.”

“Why?” He blinked at you, confused, as if all those communication lessons he had sat through at the palace had been in vain because he could not understand a girl like you.

“Because it makes me hopeful,” you retorted, raising your voice out of frustration. The prince seemed taken aback by it, too, his eyes widening at your sudden change of reaction, but he stayed still nevertheless. He still had no clue, did he?

“Ah, nevermind,” you mumbled and turned around to leave, but the prince caught your wrist.

“Y/N?” He called out, perplexed and desperate, and you wished nothing but to be strong enough to resist him.

His grip wasn’t hurtful, it was gentle enough, so that you could yank your hand away from his if you wanted. The truth is, you didn’t want to, so you turned back to him instead. It was a grave mistake though because he looked so hurt, so vulnerable, your heart immediately sank at the sight.

“Prince Sungho, I am afraid I cannot do this any longer,” you reasoned quietly, looking away, so that you wouldn’t have to look at him, to look at the hurt you had caused. It didn’t help though, you merely felt worse by it, so you looked back at him. Afterwards, there was no turning back, the words just bubbled up.

“I like talking to you by the fireplace, too. I like when you say my name like that. I like that you see me for who I am, and I can let go of the burden of the inn when I am with you. I also like that you make me feel more confident in myself and remind me that I should be proud of where I am instead of what more I can do, and I like how I am feeling beside you. But… I do not think it is right for me to like any of this, to like you above all. I have heard that you might get married soon, and that is the way it should be. You are a prince, and I am just… me.”

There was no need to deny it; you were so very different, and it had been so very obvious from the start, but there was always that seed of hope within you that wanted to bloom despite the harsh weather conditions around. Now reality trampled on this little flower that almost managed to bloom… but almost was never enough.

“I am sorry,” Prince Sungho said simply, his head hanging low, and even though there was no reason for you to ask for confirmation, you had to because you didn’t want to delude yourself into what ifs anymore.

“So is it true?”

He nodded without hesitation, twisting the knife that was already deep inside your heart. You felt like choking, tearing up, anything but standing there still, unable to move.

“I’ve wanted to tell you, but I did not know how. It is complicated, but…” The prince started, searching for your eyes, and you needed everything in you to be able to hold yourself together when he continued. “I want you to know that I like you too.”

Oh, how much you have wished to hear those words before, but now they seemed utterly wrong. Now, it seemed wrong to like him out of all people when he might have to marry a princess, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The only option was to minimise the pain, so after closing your eyes for a few seconds to ponder over your answer, you decided on it.

“I must ask you to not come back anymore after your current stay. I am sorry,” you said so quietly, resigned, before yanking your hand away from his and walking away from him.

Prince Sungho didn’t come back again – just as you had asked him.

The thought of going back to the way things had been before meeting him pained you, and to be honest, it would have been futile to act like nothing had happened. Everyone knew that something was up, and since everyone else heard the rumours of his possible marriage, you had a feeling that you didn’t have to spell it out for them; that the prince would likely not come back.

Days blended into weeks and then into months. Time was moving at a different pace now that you didn’t look forward to each day in hopes that you would run into Prince Sungho again. You busied yourself with renovations of the inn until there was nothing else to fix, and still, it wasn’t enough to forget about him. Haewon tried to set you up with boys his brother had become friends with, but to no avail. You didn’t feel anything towards them even if you wanted to. Each and every time, you were thinking how differently the prince would do things, he was constantly on your mind. Rainy days, starry nights and the smell of firewood reminded you of him.

Though you didn’t hear any more marriage news from the palace, you believed that it was because finalising a marriage between royalty took a long time. That’s why you were even more taken aback that a letter arrived one day, delivered by one of the royal mailmen who insisted on staying until you gave an answer based on the content of the letter.

You exchanged a look with Haewon who seemed rather excited, so much that she took the letter from your hand because you hesitated too much. She opened it immediately, and her free hand flew to her mouth in surprise when she saw the inked lines written on the paper.

“What does it say?” You raised an eyebrow in question, but instead of answering properly, the girl hit your shoulder giddily before handing you the letter to read it for yourself.

Your heart skipped a beat when you realised that the letter was from none other than Prince Sungho himself, and he invited you to attend the autumn farewell ceremony. The Fire Kingdom had a farewell ceremony for all four seasons when people bid goodbye to the previous one and welcomed the new one, gathering around a huge fire in front of the palace and giving their blessings to the kingdom and the royal family. You had never been to one because you had been too busy making ends meet, but now the prince invited you and any companion you wanted, and if you said yes, he would make sure to take care of everything – sending you a dress beforehand and sending you a carriage on the day of the ceremony.

The prince said that he was waiting to see you and that he wanted you to be the first one to know about something important, something that he must tell you to make up for last time.

“I bet he wants to tell you that the marriage was called off, and now you can be his!” Haewon squealed, and bounced on her legs, unable to contain her excitement. You gaped at her in disbelief, but at the same time, there might have been something to her words. After all, why would he invite you to the palace out of all places if he was about to get married?

A few minutes later, when Haewon’s overly excited chattering died down, the royal mailman reminded you to give an answer, and you decided to listen to your heart and give it a try. So you said yes, and that you would take Haewon – who, though touched, didn’t seem surprised at all –, and off he went.

As promised, your dress arrived a week before the ceremony, but there was another one in the box alongside it much to Haewon’s zealousness. They were both pitch-black as black represented the end of something in your kingdom – just like how flames turn to black ashes when they can no longer feed on oxygen –, and it was the official colour of the seasons’ farewell ceremony. They were so smooth, so soft, even having patterned, lacy and pearl-dotted parts, something that you had never been able to wear before. Even just looking at them made you weak in the knees, let alone on the day of the farewell ceremony when you could finally wear them, and Haewon helped to braid your hair and do your make-up.

Even though you scarcely wore make-up, your friend insisted that you should do it this time because it wasn’t everyday that you were going to the palace. Not to mention that she was set on her ‘steal the prince’s heart’ agenda, firm in her belief that Prince Sungho wanted to let you know that you could finally be together.

Though it seemed too good to be true after your last encounter, you wanted to believe her, and most of all, you wanted to enjoy this magical time. You didn’t even remember the last time you had spent a day away from the inn, but you were grateful for everyone working there because you knew you could leave them for this time and everything would be fine. Even though Intak teased you that you would likely not want to come back after going to the palace once, Mrs Park was visibly touched when you and Haewon waited in the hall in your dresses and Mr Kim almost fell down the stairs when he caught sight of you two. At these times, they really did seem like your family.

The carriage arrived in time, and even though the journey to the palace lasted a few hours, you weren’t bored because you were with Haewon after all. However, the closer you got, the more nervous you were, and it didn’t help that you didn’t know where you were when the carriage halted and you stepped out of it because there weren’t a lot of people, except for multiple empty carriages. That meant that you were probably on palace grounds, not where the ceremony was supposed to take place.

“I will show you the way to Prince Sungho. He is waiting for you,” a court lady announced with a polite smile as she walked up to you two and you exchanged a glance with Haewon before following her through beautifully crafted arches painted with the historical moments of the Fire Kingdom, giant fountains trickling with bubbling water and an enormous statue with a man and a woman holding a torch in their hands which was actually lit up with fire. You wondered if it was always burning with magic because it seemed likely here.

You were surprised that even Haewon was quiet on the way, but you could understand her silence because it was just too much to take in for people like you; all these luxuries, beauty and wealth. Yet, the most magnificent of them all was Prince Sungho when he walked up to you alongside Taesan, wearing a burgundy suit over a black shirt tucked into his cotton pants, his broad shoulders and slender waist highlighted by the waist-length of the suit.

He seemed almost relieved when he laid his eyes on you, but at the same time, he was definitely taken aback. You felt your cheeks burning up when he averted his eyes to your dress, though he did it in the most respectful way possible, and immediately found your eyes afterwards.

“Your Highness,” Haewon curtsied beside you, and you followed suit when you finally awakened from your stupor. Heart beating rapidly, you straightened your back, just in time for the prince to call out your name.

“Y/N… So glad you could make it,” he said so gently, so lovingly, and he would have just stood there smiling at you if your friend beside you hadn’t cleaned her throat, gaining his attention. He immediately looked at her too and bowed his head, albeit a bit sheepishly. “You too, Haewon. Thank you for coming.”

“It is truly my pleasure, Your Highness. What a wonderful court you have! I was wondering if maybe someone, someone like Taesan could give me a tour?”

“Me?” Taesan’s eyes widened, the bewilderment written all over his features. He looked at the prince for help, and the disapproval was evident on his face when the prince gave in to Haewon’s suggestion, and sent him away to show your friend around. Then, the royal advisor let out a long sigh, but did as he was told.

Before they would disappear though, Haewon turned around to send you a wink, and you had to hold yourself from giggling aloud. She was so unbelievable, but in the best way possible.

When you looked back at Prince Sungho, you immediately melted into a puddle – it was his effect, it seemed. You could barely register that he asked a question, you were so occupied with the swirling feelings inside of you. You managed to pull yourself together and tell him about what you had been doing since you had last met. When you inquired about his side, he was quick to confess that the marriage offer was withdrawn.

“Why?” You asked immediately, both out of relief and surprise. You thought that when such offers were made, they would surely be finalised, but it seemed that it wasn’t always the case. Not that you knew a lot about marriage proposals…

“Apparently, I was not charming enough for the princess,” Prince Sungho answered matter-of-factly, no hint of disappointment in his voice, but you were hurt on his behalf as well.

“How? She was clearly blind then,” you exclaimed totally out of character, and you were about to apologise for your outburst when the prince let out a giggle beside you. You realised that you had missed hearing him laugh, hearing his voice, just being with him, and the warmth he carried around found its way into your heart again.

You smiled coyly seeing his reaction, but couldn’t help but ask another question.

“Why did you tell me?”

You were here for a reason, you were here because the prince had invited you, so you were certain that he had more to add to the story even though you were immensely relieved hearing that. You also felt a bit guilty for holding a grudge against him all this time when he had not been set on marrying a princess, at least he didn’t seem disappointed in the slightest.

He took his time to formulate his answer, but when he did, you were just as confused as relieved.

“Being a princess is not the only way to marry a prince. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your eyebrows, your heart thumping violently against your ribcage. You didn’t want to see more into his words than could be, but you couldn’t push down that hopeful surge of energy going through your body.

Prince Sungho boasted a somewhat content grin as he continued, his words proud and also a bit playful. You liked that look on him; when he was confident and light, his features as peaceful as they could be.

“I have just made my father approve of the new rules for royal marriage within the Fire Kingdom. Actually, it was my cousin, Prince Jaehyun, who begged me if we could tweak the law a little bit, but I felt like it was my time to speak up on the matter as well.”

You didn’t want to believe your ears at first. This was what you had been dreaming about, and yet, you needed one little confirmation to actually believe it:

“Is your cousin in love with a commoner just like you are?”

“Yes. Very much so,” he bobbed his head, and suddenly halted in his steps, so he could turn towards you. He reached for your hands to hold them in his, his touch electrifying you from head to toe. He was gentle, his touch was so gentle, even the way he looked at you was so tender and loving and caring, you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Yes, I am in love with you if that is why you were asking,” he confessed, keeping the eye-contact, so you could see how genuine and earnest he was. Your lips curled upwards immediately, and you felt like you could burst out in excitement.

“I-I don’t know what to say…”

“Maybe you can say that you feel the same way and let me hug you,” he suggested a bit teasingly, a lopsided smile appearing in the corner of his lips. Despite his suddenly playful attitude, you did just as he told, confirming that you were very much in love with him and hugged him tightly, sinking into this warm feeling, soaking in this happiness that seemed so far away once, but now it was all yours.

You didn’t even want to let it go, you didn’t want to let him go again.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think! 😊

Click here for my BND masterlist

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for BOYNEXTDOOR or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here. 🥰

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

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mossgh0st · 1 year ago

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As If It’s Heaven’s Gate (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Summary | Levi is caught in a dark place following the battle of heaven and earth. Believing he’s undeserving of life’s sweetness, he deprives himself until you show up on his doorstep. Inspired by and based on Too Sweet by Hozier.

Content | Angst, Fluff. Sort of slow burn? No use of y/n. Levi is a grump, reader is shorter than him. Brief mentions of off-screen sex. Italics are song lyrics that each section is inspired by.

Pairings | Levi/Reader. Mentions of Jean/Pieck.

Notes | As soon as I heard Too Sweet, I knew I needed to write about Levi. Header is from ‘kii on Pinterest. Hope you enjoy!

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It can’t be said I’m an early bird, it’s 10 o’clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?

After the war, Levi becomes a creature of the night. His meticulous bedtime routine and eves of deep, restful slumber have become wrought with nightmares, teeming with the faces of everyone he’s ever loved having succumbed to their bitter ends. He’s forgone the tea, a relic of a previous era; he now prefers an amber liquid that stings on the way down. A balm that numbs, heavy bottomed glass filled only a quarter of the way. When he ventures beyond the confines of his home, he asks for the tippy top of the top shelf - Levi always takes his whiskey neat.

You know you don’t gotta pretend. Baby, now and then, don’t you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

Some days, he’s lucky if he retires before the sunrise peeks over the hills and pulls itself up to the high point of the sky. Letters go unanswered, bookshelves less sparse as he fills the majority of his time with thick, leather-bound tomes. The newspaper has becomes the perfect kindling, headlines boasting peace negotiations melt and turn runny with the heat of the blaze. When Levi wakes each hazy afternoon, it’s with the lingering scent of bonfire strung about the atmosphere. His once grey eyes have turned deep, a color so sharpened it resembles the water on a lake just before the claps of thunder rumble and bring down swells of rain.

But while in this world, I think I’ll take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three.

He knows he won’t live forever. He’s not at all interested. At this point, he’s pleading for the same sweet release from the world he afforded Erwin. Levi has spent so much time dwelling in the night, the darkness is threatening to become him. Then, you show up, one damp afternoon. Modest sundress, two small bags, a green ribbon tying back your hair. The glow you emanate is too much for him. He wants to be angry, filled with a rage so intense it convinces you to leave running in the midst of the spring storm, ribbon flying behind you. The pit in his stomach solidifies when he can’t bring himself to be irate, softened by the cold flush of your cheeks and the sheepishness of your smile as you stand, delicate in his doorway.

You’re too sweet for me, you’re too sweet for me.

At first, your presence does nothing to alter his routine. You rise with the sun, the first blinks of morning are spent brewing a sweet coffee in his kitchen, silent save the chattering of the birds. The dregs of his previous evening’s fire catching in the wind and mingling with the scent of bitter coffee grounds. Levi rises long after the sun has hit it’s peak, emerging in loose slacks and a half undone shirt, the sleeves rolled. You cross paths only briefly, while he pours his glass of amber whiskey and you prepare your cup of evening tea. A silent understanding has occurred - you can stay, if you don’t intervene. So you read in the overgrown garden, take your coffee with milk and two sugars, visit the bookstore, the seamstress down the block from the town’s main square, and worry about him only when you are tipping over the ledge into sleep.

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The first change is subtle: tea leaves are disappearing faster than you’re brewing them; you know he’s dipping into the store after you retire each evening. Then, when the usual night terrors creep up again, plaguing your mind and leaving your lungs in a vice grip, the second change occurs. Levi waking and comforting you after a string of particularly violent dreams, a different sort of understanding passes when he murmurs, “I still see them, too.” You find him in your bed then, most mornings. Your routines still separate, bodies occupying different halves of the day for weeks. Coffee, bookstore, seamstress, reading, garden. It continues on, life in your solitary bubbles, except the brief overlapping in the early morning when your breaths mingle in the same space between your sleeping forms.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong.

The paradigm shifts once more when he begins to rouse the same time as you. A brief wave of shame washes over you as you realize he’s already awake, you cannot observe his closed eyes and smoothed forehead, the lines of his face set in peace, the soft parting of his lips, or the slow rise of his chest beneath the thin blankets. That morning, you show him how to make the coffee, and he grumbles after burning the first pot, squinting in the bright light. He notices you smiling out of the corner of his eye and something rattles around in his chest. You add three sugars to your cup. He accompanies you to both the bookstore and the seamstress, his silent presence a new comfort. Levi wants to ask why you chose him, chose his home, when there are happier and more accommodating friends, current or former members of the 104th. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’d be better off with someone like Mikasa, in her quiet cottage by the sea. Even Jean and Pieck, or hell, Reiner and his family.

You're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain.

Within a few months, Levi’s world has changed. It’s brighter, fuzzy around the edges. There’s a few sundresses in the closet of his room, a growing stack of books on his dresser. A knit shawl is draped over the chair in the living room; and the guest bed hasn’t been used in several weeks. He lets her brew the coffee in the morning, his palate now well suited for the taste, and takes chrysanthemum tea in the evenings. The garden has a bench now, front row to the beds of geranium, lavender, and snapdragon. When you smile at him through the kitchen window, an understanding dawns on him, an awakening blooms inside of him. He’s seen this look before, many times; over a shared water jug during an expedition, sleepy and exhausted over a fire surrounded by their comrades, during meetings with military leadership, after the battle of heaven and earth, and on the day you were assigned to his squad. You would never go to Mikasa’s, or to Jean and Pieck, even Reiner, or anyone else. He would never let you.

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape.

The first touch of morning is chill, a breeze dancing its way through the open window, sheet gathered at his waist as Levi rouses from sleep. He hears your hums from the kitchen and swings his feet over the bed. He’s drawn to you like bees are to flowers, cloying aroma and sunlight and all things good. Forgoing the tie of his robe, he begins purposeful strides down the hall. Then, you’re there, back turned and hair down. The hem of your pale nightgown sways as you wait for the pour of coffee, glowing in the sunrise, hands over your upper arms to stave off the late summer air. You’re lost in a daydream. Levi comes to stand behind you, listening to the melody you hum quietly. The deprecating, nagging voice he contends with daily in his mind is quieted - it’s just you now; always you.

If you could sit in a barrel, maybe I’d wait.

It’s quiet when he slides an arm around your waist, body warm and flushed. It’s quiet when you turn in his hold, meeting his grey gaze with lingering surprise and pink cheeks. It’s quiet as he pulls you in closer still, hands coming up to rest on his chest. Quiet, as Levi brushes his forehead against yours, eyes closed, fingers flexing in their hold of you. Completely silent, as he tilts your chin up, up, up, and brushes his lips with yours. The taste of you nothing like he had ever dreamed, and oh, had he dreamed. When you push up onto your toes to deepen the pressure, sigh into his mouth, his black bitter heart nearly bursts through his chest.

Until that day…

And when he takes you shortly after, coffee long forgotten, limbs so tangled it’s near impossible to discern where you end and Levi begins, lips parted and dewy with sweat and each other; he can only think of the sweetness this life has afforded him in you, how the bitterness of his past has made way for this belonging.. well. There’s truly no such thing as too sweet, is there?

#levi aot #captain levi #levi heichou #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #levi blurb #levi oneshot #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi Ackerman oneshot #aot oneshots #attack on titan oneshot #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #user!moss writes

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estcaligo · 1 month ago

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Rainy mornings

- Sebek x oc, future life in Briar Valley, suggestive - I got lazy with the header, so I'm using a part of an old art even though it doesn't really match the fic. - A quick thing to get back to writing. - 100% self-indulgent.

The gentle rumble of thunder rolled through the skies over Dragonopolis, joined by the soft, steady rhythm of rain tapping quietly against the windows of the Castle.

In the Court Painter's quarters, everything was tranquil and still, except for the small cracking flames dancing in the fireplace, sharing their warmth. The sky outside was washed in muted shades of silver and gray, and the early light filtering through the curtains cast a cool glow across the room, battling with the fire to claim the palette of this quiet morning.

Sebek woke first. He always did.

Even now, on this still, rainy day - bare beneath the silk covers, limbs lazily entangled with his darling - his instincts stirred before the rest of him.

Luckily, today there was no urgency. No baton to reach for first thing in the morning, no patrols, no rigid training waiting.

Only her.

This maddening, mesmerizing, stubborn, strong-

His.

His beloved human.

She was curled against him, warm and pliant. Her bare skin pressed tight along his side where the half-fae heart beat. One leg was draped over his, arm tucked near his chest - as if even in sleep, she sought to keep him close.

The heat between their bodies defied the chill the storm brought to the air.

He was almost fully awake now, but he didn't move - just lay there, letting the sound of her even breathing blend with the rain outside. He closed his eyes and listened, like it was a special melody only he got to hear.

It felt sacred. Like something fragile he wasn't meant to touch but couldn't help worshipping.

"So peaceful" Sebek whispered to himself.

On mornings he woke alone, there was always a coldness - not the kind a hearth or blanket could fix. But with her - wrapped around him, held within him - there was always warmth. One that filled every hollow space inside him.

He inhaled slowly and his sharp senses caught the scent of last night's passion, still clinging faintly to the room. Sweet, lingering… the final note of a love song echoing in the quietness of this morning.

Her soft hair was a messy halo across the pillow, but a few strands shily stuck to his shoulder. Sebek's heart gave a quiet stutter. Even now, after so many mornings like this, he still wasn't used to seeing her like this.

He brushed her hair back from her cheek with a tenderness no one outside these walls ever saw in him.

But his fingers lingered, tracing the edge of her face, down the curve of her jaw. She sighed at the touch, caught in the space between dreaming and waking, and nuzzled into his palm like a cat curling up in the sun.

"You always wake up first," she mumbled sleepily, words muffled against his chest. "Even on rainy mornings…"

"Discipline," he smirked softly, "A knight must always be prepared."

"Mmm." she shifted, dragging her leg lazily against his. "You say that every time. But I think you just like watching me sleep."

"…That may be true," he admitted, "You look so mesmerizing when you're like this…"

She tilted her head up to meet his eyes, still hazy with sleep.

"You get soft on me when it rains."

Sebek flushed faintly, but didn't deny it.

"Rain quiets the world. Makes everything feel slower. Safer. And you…"

His hand slid to her waist, tracing circles against her skin.

"You're already my calm. The rain just gives me an excuse to hold onto you longer."

Her lips parted, but no words came - only a quiet breath before she leaned in and kissed him. Unhurried but delightful - like the obscure rain's song outside.

Her fingers found their ways into his mint hair, and his hands responded immediately, settling on her hips, anchoring her to him, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them.

The kiss deepened - hungrier, but not rushed. Their tongues met, breath hot and trembling, soft gasps and quiet moans filling the silence between the raindrops.

"You're too good to me," she whispered between kisses, catching breath as he grazed his lips along her neck, her collarbone, her skin.

Sebek pulled back just enough to look at her - flushed and breathless, but glowing in the pale light.

"No," he said quietly. "But I try… I've read hundreds of books, but nothing ever prepared me for something like you."

Her eyes softened, and she reached up to cradle his face.

"You give me everything, Sebek. This- " her voice broke with tenderness, "You are my everything."

Outside, the rain swelled for a moment, and a sudden rush sweeping across the roof like a curtain, closing off the world beyond their walls. A flash of lightning split the skies, and a deep rumble echoed through the room - but in that moment, it was unclear: was it thunder that shook the air, or their hearts, beating too desperately in love?

He kissed her again - slow and reverent - and this time, they didn't stop.

Kisses were never enough.

Touches always turned firmer. Hungrier.

Deeper.

More.

Always more.

"Please," she breathed, "Let's…"

"Yes."

He kissed her, then gently shifted her beneath him, positioning himself above - ready to begin again.

The silk sheets tangled around them like waves, rustling like tides on the never-ending ocean of their love. The massive bed creaked beneath the sway of their intimacy - so sincere, and so infinitely gentle this time.

By the time they collapsed into the pillows again, the rain had softened once more into a steady lull.

Peaceful. His arms draped loosely over hers, her breath warm against his chest. Still rushing heartbeats intertwined with the crackling fire, now fading in its effort to warm the room - no match for the love just made.

She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, just over the beloved thrum of his heart.

"We don't have to get up yet, do we?"

Sebek pulled the blanket higher around them, tucking her close. Once, he did this for himself, seeking warmth and comfort. Now, he did it for her. To shield her. To keep her warm, too.

"No, not yet," he said. "Just a little longer should be fine."

He reached for her again, pressing a shy kiss to her lips - hesitant, like he hadn't just poured all of himself into her minutes ago.

But such was Sebek - after fire came restraint, after rawness, came reverence.

She chuckled softly and kissed him back, nuzzling in with a content sigh. Still filled with him - in body and soul.

And in their sweet little haven in this Castle - wrapped in dim rainlight and infinite love, safe and sated in each other's arms - they drifted back into dreams, before starting yet another busy day.

#It's been raining here for eight days straight and honestly it's such a delight to wake up after meeting Sebek in dreams :)#sebek x oc #sebeshka #twst yume #yumeship #yume #caligo's stories

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lunarbuck · 2 years ago

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Kinktober Week 1: Thigh Riding

header by @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x f!reader (any race)

WC: 917

Prompt: Thigh riding

Warnings: swearing, thigh riding, heavy petting, pet names [sweetheart]

my masterlist | kinktober masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

The front door slams shut, and you jump at the sound, the wooden spoon in your hand clattering against the counter. You quickly pick it back up, stirring the soup you've spent all day making. Lee thunders into the kitchen, heavy footsteps dragging slightly against the tile floor.

You throw a glance over your shoulder, finding your Sheriff boyfriend settling in at the dinner table. He shrugs off his jacket and places his hat on the table, running a hand over his hair.

"How was your day, sweetie?" You ask, turning off the stove. Just from the way he walked in, you know it probably wasn't great, but if that's the case, he'll need to get it off his chest. It's better to ask and hear about it than for him to keep it all bottled up.

"This reelection shit is really getting on my nerves," he grumbles. "And Sandy…" You don't have to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes at the thought of his sister. "I don't even want to think about all the problems she's causin' me right now." You nod along with his words, serving up the soup into two bowls and grabbing Lee a beer from the fridge.

Your skirt swishes around your knees as you move around the kitchen. Lee likes it when you wear skirts, but honestly, you really like it too. You like the way they move, the way they hug your figure and smooth out the parts you don't love so much. As you set the table, you can feel Lee's eyes follow you around.

"Well, you're a shoo-in for the election, hun. No one pays Sandy any mind." Lee mumbles under his breath, probably disagreeing with you, but you don't bother to hear it. Lee's a stubborn man, and you know when to pick your battles.

"Smells good," he says, watching you place a bowl of soup in front of him. He leans down and breathes in the aromatic steam, a pleasant smile spreading across his face. You move to step away, but his hand grasps your waist. "You're always takin' such good care of me, sweetheart."

"Well, you're out there keeping me safe, taking care of everyone else," you reply, resting your hand on his shoulder. "It's the least I can do." Lee tugs you down to sit on his lap, and you wrap your arms around him. He's always liked holding you at the end of a long day. Knowing that you're safe and sound relaxes him.

You lean your head on Lee's shoulder as he tastes the soup. He moans his approval, digging in for more. You hadn't always imagined this life for yourself. Stay-at-home-girlfriend wasn't what you'd originally planned to be, but truthfully, you enjoy it. You know you want to go back to work soon, but that's a problem for future you. Current you is loving the way Lee's fingers squeeze your waist, the way he's enjoying something you made.

Before you know it, Lee's bowl is empty. He leans back in his chair and lets his eyes roam over your figure. He shifts the way you're sitting so your legs straddle his thigh, and your skirt rides up with the movement. You can't help but tilt your pelvis, relishing the slight friction of his muscular thigh against your clit.

"Sweetheart," he warns as he runs his hands up your legs. "Don't go startin' somethin' you can't finish." You grin, rocking your hips against Lee's leg and ignoring his stern words.

"Who says I can't finish this, Sheriff?" Your fingers trail down the buttons on the front of his shirt before landing on the bulge in his slacks. His grip on your hips tightens, increasing the pressure on your clit.

Lee's eyes are fused to the spot where you're grinding against him, and he pushes your skirt up higher to see more. You know your panties are soaked, the fabric sticking to your sensitive flesh. You're desperate for more contact, to feel the rough texture of his slacks against your pussy.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You look so perfect, riding my thigh with that perfect pussy." Lee's words make your clit throb, and you grip his shoulders tighter. "Lemme help you with that." He reaches between the two of you and tugs your panties to the side, and groans, running his finger over your clit.

Each grind against his muscular thigh sends sparks shooting through your body, and every brush of his finger against your clit sends you plummeting closer to the edge. Lee's eyes are dark and hungry, watching you take your pleasure from him.

"Lee," you whimper, tugging his head closer to kiss him. The moment your lips find his, he's devouring you. His tongue slides against yours, and you speed up your movements on his thigh. His fingers dig into your flesh, guiding your hips closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Come for me, sweetheart. Come for me and show me how perfect you are." His voice is raspy and deep, desperate. Your whole body tightens, and you hold your breath as you come. Lee watches with hooded, lust-filled eyes, drinking in the sight of you.

As you come down from your high, Lee hooks his arms under your ass, picking you up. He starts toward the bedroom, and you cast a glance at your bowl of soup, long gone cold.

"I'll reheat it, and you can eat it in bed, sweetheart. Let me take care of you first."

@flightlessangelwings | #fawktober2023 list

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thenameswinterfics · 1 year ago

Text

VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying.

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way.

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago.

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky.

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars.

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories.

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go.

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach.

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her."

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature.

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away.

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened.

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again.

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..."

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past.

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?”

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them.

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd.

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question.

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long.

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over.

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight.

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for.

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust.

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him.

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern.

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you.

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do.

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters.

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead.

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him.

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements.

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.”

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes.

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it.

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile.

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words.

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in.

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks.

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence.

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning.

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands.

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him.

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding.

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness.

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours.

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..."

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.”

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact.

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before.

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was.

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave.

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers.

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim.

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you."

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors.

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts.

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt.

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch.

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

#sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson fic #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fanfic #tlk fic

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itsagrimm · 2 years ago

Text

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 11 - The Dive

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN: Mentions of possible death and injury, fear of water, nearly drowning, mentions of possibly getting hurt, inappropriate use of an axe, depression and bad mental health, on character is passively suicidal, cannibalism, fear of being alone, fear of separation from a loved one, lack of self-confidence, kissing, making out, partial nudity

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by the equally afflicted @queenquazar. Unhinged writing and editing sessions in the dead of night wouldn't be the same without you.

6.0k words

Masterlist

Hope you enjoyed your summer as I have but now as it's getting colder, darker and most importantly weather outside, I am fairly sure updates will roll quicker now.

also I need to do more trips with my camera, I am running out of decent looking header photos.

I made a playlist for this series. Enjoy.

The fresh morning breeze caressed over your slowly warming up skin. Branches of trees danced a lazy rhythm and the late birds of summer sang their song. Ghost stood next to you, wrapped in his coat made of leaves and moss and sturdy solitude, as you both looked up to the window of your bedroom. König was in there, still asleep and out of your reach.

“Let’s try to wake up König one more time.”

Hope reared its head as you heard Ghost’s words.

But not too high.

“How?” You wondered out loud. “I am sorry that you feel stuck here with me, but König did not wake up last time you tried. Why should he now?”

“Maybe we need to try harder,” Ghost replied and grabbed Königs axe.

Your eyes widened.

“Hold on!” You tried to stop what was unfolding before you, only to witness Ghost grow in size, taller than the trees, taller than the house, and far away from your little human words.

“Enough, little brother,” Ghost groaned from high above you and you had to shield your ears from the loud thundering voice “It is time to wake up. I am tired of guarding your Bride in your stead.”

Birds took off, the earth shook and trees froze as in fear of the giant that was said to be their guardian.

Ghost straightened up and turned to the house.

“Hey!”

Like an animal on the hunt that got caught, Ghost froze and turned back, staring down at you with an oddly blank expression.

“What are you up to, Ghost?” You called, trying to ignore the little voice in your mind telling you that shutting up and quivering in fear before the giant was a smarter strategy to survive.

“Why the axe?” You squeaked as you tried not to squeak.

Ghost blinked, confused by this little being that was his future sister in law. Such a flimsy thing of flesh and bone, shouting at him from her place in the dirt. Ghost glanced at the axe, shaking his head.

“Right. I am sorry. I am not used to explaining myself but you have every right to ask,” Ghost admitted, and fell back into a shape more approachable to you, like a shadow growing smaller by the change of light.

“You can do it.” Ghost said. “Hit König with the axe to wake him up.”

You blinked, it was your turn to stare confused.

“He is just the Vodyanoy napping in water. Swinging an axe against him is like hitting the surface of a lake, stirring up a few waves but nothing else. He will be fine. And hopefully he will wake up from it.” Ghost explained and passed you the heavy axe before growing in size again.

You looked down onto the massive wood axe in your hands, the wooden handle old and used.

“Are you sure that will work, Ghost?” Uncertainty creeping up in your mind and voice, worry and frustration manifesting about your fiance’s wellbeing and actions.

“Have you ever heard of running water getting cut?” Ghost answered. “I am not saying König will like it, but it won’t harm him. Trust me.”

You swallowed, feeling uneasy. Hitting a human with an axe in their sleep was murder. Plain and simple. But, König was as much a human as you were a fish. His skin shifted and shaped as he pleased. He ruled the waters and even summoned them in his dreams after not sleeping for who knows how long, destroying your room. And his eyes…

“I understand this might be a lot to ask,” Ghost paused. “You will have to trust me on this one, Vodyanitza.”

His words danced through your mind like willow branches in the wind. If Ghost would have wanted to and this was ill-intentioned, he could have harmed König without bothering to talk and convince you of this plan. Maybe there was a point in trusting Ghost even if the thought of König getting hurt made you grow colder inside than the cooler morning breeze ever could.

You looked up to the giant and nodded.

“Let’s do this.”

“Hold on tight,” He stated and grabbed you to place onto the window sill to your bedroom. Like a leaf he tumbled into the room after you, turning himself small again and landing in the splashing water on your bedroom floor.

You cried out, first in surprise than dreadful fear from all the water suddenly around you as the heavy axe slipped out of your fingers and landed in the water, sinking down with a shallow ‘clunk’ against the wooden planks.

“Ghost. I-” you eyed the water splashing around the room like a lively river. Or a dark river, a deep river, deep enough to drown. “I am afraid of water. I can’t get down from here. I can’t do it.”

Ghost made a sound that could have been a grumbled curse whispered by a tree before being hit by lightning.

“A Vodyaniza who fears the water,” He stated. “Sounds right like the mess my brother would cause. Alright, I’ll do it then.”

“Wait,” You looked at König as you tried to calm your nerves as you took deep calming breaths. He was still deep asleep. A mess of tangled unhuman limbs and scales and hair and skin in the waters of your flooded room. Panic and fear surged from all the water, but you forced those emotions in you aside as you tried to commit his sight to your memory, just in case something was to go wrong.

“Okay,” You finally agreed and nodded to Ghost.

This was it.

Ghost picked up the axe from the water and raised it high before swinging it down onto König.

The impact of the axe connecting with Königs head sounded like thunder rolling over you.

Loud and painful and final.

Suddenly, like a storm, the water rose and reached high before you, waves building and crashing at your feet as you held onto the window frame for dear life while trying to see through the room filled with fine droplets of water and foamy waves.

A groan rang through your ear.

Königs voice - strained and painfully familiar.

Another groan as you heard a second hit from the axe through the wild waters before you … like…

…like a yawn before having to leave bed, yet still feeling tired.

“König?” You hoped aloud, your voice being drowned out by the rushing water and Ghost’s deep voice.

“Wakey-wakey, brother! Stop making your Bride wait for you!”

“Urgh.”

A massive wave crashed right next to the wall with your window, breaking the glass and causing the house to shake from the impact.

“Get up, little brother.” You could not see through all the splashing water before you, only hearing the sound of Ghost’s deep voice. “Stop being dramatic and flooding your girl’s room. It’s rude.”

A third axe hit thundered through the little space before you. More water rose and a wave finally hit you. You wailed as you tried to fight against the dreadful flood, with desperate fingers you reached for safety. Catching the clammy window frame, the sill, and finally just the thin fabric of the curtains until the pull of the retreating water consumed you and took you in to the deep waters.

The silence of being underwater was more unbearable for your mind than the loud crashing of waves and shattering sounds of the hitting axe above.

For a moment fear froze your body and you could not help but stare as you floated impossibly downwards at the sight of König, coiled up like a serpent snake and shifting scales reflecting the light. His eyes were closed except for a sliver of that beautiful blue peeking into the world as if the king of everything under the water was about to wake up. Bubbles of air fought their way out of your lungs and you felt panic as you watched the axe hitting König from above.

Would he be fine?

No blood came out of the wound that broke as the axe connected with Königs sleeping shape. You watched König being unharmed and lazily stretching his long limbs and body as you floated downwards, taken by a strong current in the impossibly deep waters of your bedroom.

Wait, would you be fine?

König did not notice any of it. Instead, his eyes only slightly fluttered, as if merely being tickled awake - lazy, unfocused blinking of blue eyes before sharpening up. Still sleepy, he looked around as if confused if he was still dreaming or awake. Finally, König locked eyes with you and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, toothy and life-savingly-relieving to see him coming back to his senses.

You did not smile back. The air bubbles in your mouth were too precious a cargo to smile for König, opting instead for an unhappy grimace and some waving motions that hopefully spelled out: ‘I don’t want to be here and need your help to get out’.

For a moment, a very long moment as you struggled, König blinked before the realisation kicked in. He was far away, so far away from you in the waters that he had dreamed up. Yet, unbelievably quick the serpent body moved and changed as König headed for you. With hands, not scaled claws anymore, König reached out as he fought his way through a whole ocean between you and him as a last air bubble left your mouth.

Your head was spinning and you started to lose sight as you felt hands on you that lifted you up and out of the water.

You coughed, ungraciously spitted out water as König tried wiping out hair and tangled clothes out of your face.

“Bride! Are you okay?”

You vomited water at his feet and chest while he held you like a cat that got rescued from the floods, close to his body and patting you like a little animal.

“She looks fine.” Ghost’s gravelly voice sounded through the air as you still tried to blink and see. “You better worry about this flood you caused.”

“Oh. Right.” You felt König shift and then the sound of water draining away as if someone had pulled a plug.

You coughed again for good measure, still feeling weak and miserably wet. The cold was starting to set in as the rush of fear and panic started to run out.

Shivering, you tried wiping away the water from your face and opened your eyes.

Your bedroom was a mess. But not in the way your mother would have disapproved of but in a way she would have questioned whether or not it was still habitable. The water was gone, but the signs of the flood were catastrophically clear with nothing being dry, in pieces or not where it ought to be. Your bed was a pile of torn fabrics and splintered wood. The chest with your clothing, tipped over and empty, looked like a sad hungry animal no one had bothered to feed. And your few personal possessions, kept toys from your childhood, gifts from friends, clothes lying around the floor. Ghost was standing before you on something that might have been pieces of your wedding dress, leaning on the axe with the same skull-covered expression as always, yet appearing somewhat amused under it.

And König - he was holding you up to his chest, his hands still patting you helplessly as if that could help you. He looked human. Mostly. The hair was as messy as the first day you saw him, covering most of his face except for blue eyes burning through with worry.

“I-” you rasped despite the storm of emotions waging through you. “I was so worried about you, König.”

Another cough.

“But I have never been as angry as this before. What did you do with my room? And my wedding dress. Also-”

You felt like there was still some water in places of your body where none was supposed to be, wheezing and shaking your head from the uncomfortable feeling.

“-put me down. You are so cold and I feel like I am freezing in your arms.”

Guiltily, König put you down, mumbling something that could have been an apology while Ghost choked on something that could have been a laugh.

You paid no attention to them, concentrating on your weak legs to hold you and carry you to the torn pieces of your wedding dress. Ghost stepped aside and watched you with open curiosity as you held your dress in disbelief of how quickly your work had turned into rags. Holding back tears, you let the fabric fall back down with a wet squelching sound and turned to the door. If you were lucky the hinges still worked and you could walk out on your own and warm you up again downstairs, away from the left battlefield that used to be your sanctuary.

You stumbled, reaching for the handle and opening the door only to face another cruel adversary.

The stairs.

There was no way you were able to make it down the steps without breaking your neck with how wobbly your legs felt and how ridiculously shaky your hands twitched.

You turned around, the pleading frustration in your eyes too visible for König not to step closer and peaking at the obstacle in your way.

He nodded while trying to control whatever emotions attempted to govern his face.

“Allow me, Bride.” He asked and lifted you up again before carrying you downstairs and into the kitchen, setting you down before the warm oven.

Ghost followed and started preparing tea and a hot stone before leaving the room as König returned with dry clothes for you, magically found somewhere in a part of the house that hadn’t been flooded. You looked at the pieces offered in his hands, only to see that it was a mix of mostly your fathers and brothers clothes from the storage. You did not care. They were dry and the village would judge you no matter what you wore. Might as well just do the best for yourself.

Unceremoniously, you stripped out of your dripping clothes. König held and steadied you where you needed it and grabbed the discarded pile of fabrics to put it up on the laundry line outside once you were done.

You stayed where you were, leaning close to the oven in the hopes of warming up quickly, and refusing to do anything before feeling less miserable.

Ghost was still a guest. And König was your fiance. A good hostess and bride would have started serving them the food that you had previously prepared.

A good hostess and bride would not have been dipped into a pool of dreamed up water in their own bedroom either. You thought bitterly before adding a relieving Fuck it.

Someone knocked at the door and you called them in.

Ghost reappear from the outside with a blanket of moss and leaves, wrapping it around you and placing you in the nearest chair to the oven before passing you a cup of the freshly brewed tea.

“Thank you,” You rattled through cold lips.

König returned with more wood for the oven and added a large log to feed the fire. You had shown him how to care for a fire, never expecting he would ever find a need for it. Both brothers hustled and moved around your little kitchen, hardly speaking and only every once in a while giving you worried glances as they made sure all work of a proper household would be done while you rested and warmed yourself. You closed your eyes, letting the feeling of being safe and cared for, seep in.

This day, even if it was slightly past midday, had punched all energy out of you while also confronting you with every possible emotion a human heart could feel. Waking up in the flood, alone and confused, next to your water serpent like fiance, meeting your future brother-in-law who thought you would die soon, nearly drowning once again while your fiance woke from the literally deepest nap possible in your now destroyed room. You sighed, not even bothering to bring order into your mind.

Instead, you gratefully thought how you finally weren’t alone even if it was scary at times to share your life with beings so different from you - König, Ghost, Farah, talking animals and murderous Rusalkis. Yes, this had been another moment where you could have been harmed. And mourning your room and things destroyed by the flood, was one of many things in the curled grey corners of your mind. There was still anger and confusion in you why it all had happened. But you weren’t alone anymore to face those things on your own. There were people around you now that noticed you and cared for your well-being. Clearly, not all of them to the same degree or out of the same motive. You understood that. But your lost room and wedding dress, your fears and secrets and longings felt more like a coherent song than a desperate cry for help when it wasn’t just your voice.

Someone touched you softly on the shoulder and you opened your eyes.

“Hey.” König stood before you with his blue watery eyes and wild hair.

Both brothers had paused their busy work and stood with their attention turned towards you.

“How are you feeling?” Ghost asked gravely from his far away spot at the door and reached for more tea for you with his long unhuman arms without moving.

You shivered, unsure if from the cold or from the odd reminder that neither of the men were human.

“Better,” You replied. “Thank you for giving me time to recover.”

Your eyes wandered to König, craving to hear his voice again and feel his warming eyes on you. He looked away, avoiding your gaze.

Your little heart dropped deeper than the waters in your room had been, fighting hard to soldier on.

You cleared your throat.

“Well,” you squeaked, your voice still feeling thin and fragily human as you addressed the giant men. “I am starving. This is not how a host normally does it in this house since all I did was sit and rest now. But how about we eat?”

The rabbit stew that you had made this morning smelled tempting and promising from its reheating spot in the oven and you heard your own stomach growl.

“Thank you for the invite, Vodyanitza,” Ghost declared, slightly bowing his head. “But we will have to do that another time.”

“Oh,” You huffed, slightly disappointed.

Ghost stilled, as if thinking before taking a deep breath.

“It has been lovely meeting you, my dear sister-in-law. It’s been a pleasure. Also- ” He paused. “I may have treated you rougher than necessary and I do apologise for that. If you ever need help, just send for me. I may not appear to be the most, let’s say, approachable. But I do hope that there is nothing but the best for you and I am looking forward to your wedding.”

“You are coming after all?” König finally spoke, surprise ringing in his voice as he turned to his brother.

Ghost nodded. “It’s not every day a brother of mine gets married. I need to make sure you don’t drown your own wedding guests.”

König forced a smile.

“Graves marries someone new every couple of years,” He interjected.

“Graves married and remarried so much, he hardly needs his elder brother to tell him how to plan a party. He knows what he is doing.”

Both brothers chuckled and you smiled at the sight, remembering your own brother.

“Before I go, dear sister, allow me to give you something.”

Ghost reached into his coat. From the depths of his pockets he produced a huge leaf, rolled up into a package and bound together with a simple string.

“I suppose you have none yet, but a future queen should wear one. It would look good on your wedding day.”

You took the package from his hands and pressed it slightly, trying to guess what was inside.

“Thank you, Ghost. Why-“

“Open it.”

Obediently you opened the little knot holding the leaf together with slow, cold fingers and unrolling what was inside.

You gasped.

In your hands was a Kokoshnik, large and covered with fine embroidery and colourful stones of green and blue. It felt firm in your hands. And it wanted to be worn. Like a crown, proud and bright for a special day. At least one thing you would have for your wedding day.

You thought back a sob at the thought of your torn wedding dress, your fingers still holding the precious crown like an anchor.

“I am sure König will gladly help you put it on. But don’t lose it. I made it for you and there is no other like it. It will protect you when you walk in the forest.”

“I…”, you huffed, “…don’t know what to say. This is very beautiful. Thank you.”

Ghost just waved with his hand like it was nothing.

“Don’t say anything and just wear it to keep you safe. Do me that favour.”

You nodded, out of words.

“Well, I’ll be gone then. The forest calls me.” Ghost turned to the door and you started to get up to send him off. “Don’t you dare get up, sister. What’s the point of the Kokoshnik if you fall sick from the cold and exhaustion. No, stay right where you are.”

You fell back onto your spot, the moss blanket encasing you like a cocoon of earthly smell and warmth.

“Save travels then, Ghost.” You spoke. “Thank you again.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved and stepped outside, followed by König.

You sat there, hearing them talk and laugh and wishing each other well without making much out of it.

Then, finally, Ghost was away.

The rest of your day was spent alone with your own thoughts. König, aside from making sure you ate and rested, hardly spoke to you. His distance confused you. It gave a feeling of newfound loneliness when you stared at the unfamiliar ceiling with the wrong knots in the wood and the wrong bedding around you as you leaned against the oven. Ghost’s reassurances just a couple of hours ago now felt like a lie. You were no queen. And there was no way for you to live long enough to ever learn how to be one for König that was good enough. No standing on a box or life saving spells could change that. The finality of your fate was devastatingly simple. You would drown and König, your beloved König, would find himself a better queen. Why else did he withdraw himself like that?

The mauling insecurities inside of you stopped you from asking.

Instead you listened to König rummaging upstairs while you dozed under your moss blanket, practised drawing letters in the ashes of your oven or thought about how you could fix your wedding dress. It was pointless but you had little else to do and so you continued like you had always done.

König had brought the dress out together with the rest of your wet belongings, hanging it up to dry in the sun. The liberating concentration kept you from your dark thoughts: you had watched the dress through the window, mentally placing one piece of rag over the other in the hopes of possibly having a saving idea as the rags swayed gently in the breeze. It had worked until the light grew low and the trees around the house in the garden had started to spawn more unpleasant shadows than welcome distractions.

You got up from your cosy spot and started preparing dinner. Still feeling weak, your legs carried you with a slight tremor as your whole body was plagued by a deep tiredness. It came from all those times not resting. It felt like all those tears not shed. It was a tiredness that wasn’t fixed by sleeping longer one night because it was deeper than the soreness in your muscles and bones. It was the dark abyss of water calling for you. But you could lie to yourself. Opting to go to bed and calling it a day in the hopes that tomorrow would be better. Sometimes, giving up was actually a smart thing.

You huffed, once again forced to consider the reality of your situation.

Going to bed? Where? Your bedroom was destroyed. And the other rooms in your house had been packed up and sealed when your family died. Back then it was too much to bear seeing their things and looking at the places they used to rest. Even now, under no condition were you ready or willing to disturb those rooms. The easiest for you would probably be to sleep here in the kitchen.

But what about König? Would he need to sleep too? Flood the rest of the house and destroy every last bit of habitable space as he took you out in your sleep? Or would he leave you tonight and watch as the human-monsters and monsters-monsters finally had their feast with you. The thought nearly entertained you. Maybe that was better than drowning and at least some poor Tschort would enjoy a bit of your precious meat.

You chuckled at your own morbid thoughts.

But it was not night yet, and maybe there was a bit of queenly pride inside of you yet as you decided to brace yourself for an overdue conversation with König, leaning against the kitchen counter for support.

You opted to make some food. Since it might be your last chance to enjoy a meal before you became a meal, you took your time. There was not much to be done for dinner: heating the left-over stew, cutting some bread made of acorn flour, setting the table. After you finished, you steeled yourself for the hardest part.

“König?” You called upstairs. “Would you like to eat dinner with me?”

You held your breath and waited as the rumbling from upstairs stopped.

“It’s fine if you are busy, but I am hungry and would love your company,” You coaxed.

Heavy steps sounded through the wooden house, causing the old stairs to creak under the weight of the Vodyanoy.

König emerged into the kitchen, bowing down slightly under the marginally too low ceiling and looking at you sheepishly.

“Are you sure, Bride?” He asked. “I haven’t finished repairing your room.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, too stunned to speak before you swallowed down a good chunk of your raging insecurities.

“So that’s what you have been doing up there,” You finally said. “I did not know.”

König looked to the ground like he had been caught stealing goodies from the pantry. It was a look that made your knees weaker than even a day facing terrors could.

“I wanted to repair it. I wanted to apologise with more than words. It’s what good kings ought to do.” He explained looking immensely guilty.

Your breath hitched.

He cared?

You looked down, still thinking of your room and your ruined wedding dress. It did hurt you.

But there was hope because he cared. You nearly hated yourself how desperate you were from the affection of someone who you could never have.

“It’s fine,” You said, after a few moments of heavy silence as you fought the storm inside of you. “It’s fine for now. We will make it work and repair it together. It’s, ah, fine.”

He looked relieved as you looked up from your hands.

“I also want to apologise,” You continued. The words in your mouth felt relieving to spit out like bitter medicine. “I thought about this. I was really cross at you. Not entirely sure how much nicer I could have been considering the moment. But I don’t strive to talk to others like that, especially not my fiance. I just felt hurt and alone.”

He turned his head like the Heron when hunting little fish in the water.

“You have every right to be angry, dear,” König stated

“I...” You tried before stopping and starting anew. “That does not mean I am proud or okay with my words. Especially after Ghost explained to me that you probably overworked yourself on my behalf. I am not sure how to feel about that yet but it does not make me feel good. I don’t want you to suffer because of me. I feel so guilty. And like a burden.”

König stared at you.

“Dear,” He said softly. “I know you want to be good and kind. I know you are. But please give me your bad as well.”

You blinked at him.

“What?”

He raised his arms like a man at a loss of word, stumbling around the room until he turned back to you.

“Guess how I feel failing you over and over again when your reaction to me is kindness and surrender? I feel bad. The worst! Don’t do this to me. Be a burden. Be angry. Be the biggest inconvenient person wherever you go. Please be angry and demand better of me! I want all of you. Not just the nice parts.”

Your head was spinning. Was he…? Did he really…?

“I am not good enough!” König continued his tirade with a voice rising louder and louder like a tea kettle that had reached its boiling point. “I am who puts you in danger over and over again. I hardly protect you from the dangers of the world. I am a danger of the world. I am making a poor husband for you. But the reality is, I am not good enough to step away because I am selfish. So, how dare you make yourself feel any less than you are.”

His eyes gleamed with a madness you had never seen before in him as he lowered his voice with the last of his words. It was dangerous. A sign of warning that told you to step back and run as far away as you could like a good girl should.

But you were just invited to leave that behind you.

“I don't want you to leave either!” You hit back, squaring up to the challenge. “I just don’t want to feel like I am a constant problem. I am just a human! A peasant! And a bad one at that since I will likely starve next winter without help! I know nothing of how to be a queen! I nearly drown all the time! How can you not understand that I don’t feel like I am allowed to be a problem when my reality is that no one cares if I live or die!”

“Because you are wrong! I care.” König's eyes gleamed as he hissed his answer.

“Why?” You spit back, the fire in you burning and ready to torch any bridge behind without thinking.

“Because I love you.”

Königs words hung in the air, irretrievable and powerful enough to break whatever you two had.

You looked at him. His face was frozen in fear and panic. Like he had admitted to a crime he’d sworn to keep a secret.

He loved you. The thought raced through your mind, unsure where to be put and what to do with it now.

“I am sorry,” König said. “I understand. I will make sure you are okay as promised anyway and-”

“Please…” you managed to your own surprise.

“Please?” König asked with his eyes shining down at you.

You took a deep breath and all the courage in you that was left, “Please lean down so I can kiss you.”

König looked at you, too stunned maybe or unsure how to touch you without breaking this human body of yours, before finally kneeling down in one, not so smooth, motion. You stumbled forward, colliding into his chest and tangling in his arms before lifting your head and kissing him.

It was all teeth and desperation. König met your lips with a hunger matching yours, and an anger challenging your long hidden fury. He moaned and you wanted every bit of air you could get from him as you roamed his back and shoulders and arms and chest and neck, and at a certain point you got lost in him. You bit his lips and tasted blood. He snarled and pushed you back, catching your head before you could fall and hurt yourself. You stumbled and fell back anyway, taking him with you. The crash rumbled loudly as König caught himself on his arms, hovering above you before continuing where you had left off. His mouth was addicting, and willingly you answered his salty lips and tongue. A bit of revealed skin at his neck here, a tug at your shirt there. You scooted up feeling hot and needing that damn old shirt off your body because you were burning up with it. Instead of getting it off quickly you got yourself tangled in the large sleeves, nearly ready to just tear it off your body as you felt Königs hands pulling at the fabric and freeing you. The kiss of the cooling air on your skin made you still. For a moment you felt shy, making you cross your arms in instinct before your chest.

König looked at you from a position that was something between kneeling, sitting and lying before you, also half out of his clothes with his Rubacha hanging around his neck and head.

“Not sure why I feel like this is new, now.” You admitted. “You have seen me naked before.”

“That was a different nakedness,” König offered and finished getting the shirt off. “This is new.”

You nodded, understanding entirely what he meant, and continued to feel vulnerable. What were you supposed to do? You had no idea what you wanted now except being close to König.

“We don’t have to continue, my love.” Your fiance said.

You nodded again, reassured yet still utterly lost on what to do.

König scooted closer and slowly raised his hands, “Can I touch you? I just want to hold you.”

Instead of bothering with words or another creative and variety serving nod, you leaned into him. Königs warm hands caught you, pressed you closer to him and embraced you.

You hummed.

“Is this good?”

“Yeah, I am sorry-”

“No,” König shut down instantly. “No more ‘sorry’ for you tonight. Or ever. I really meant that.”

You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion.

“But what if I do something bad?” You countered as you enjoyed feeling close to König. “Shouldn’t I say sorry at some point?”

“To me? Always.” König grinned teasingly before growing serious. “The rest of the world, however, has a lot of apologising to do before you ever get back into a situation to be sorry for something, dear.”

“You just want me to be as bad as you are,” You teased back half-heartedly.

“Naturally.”

You stayed silent, not sure what to say or do except enjoying being safe and loved in Königs arms as you mindlessly explored his back and chest with your fingers, drawing little circles and charms into his wonderful skin.

“We should talk about the sleeping situation tonight.” You finally spoke, breaking the silent spell over you.

“Yeah.” König agreed. “I have an idea.”

Cultural Context Notes:

The theme of the unkillable giants as beings connected to nature can be found in the Edda, but it’s not the only place this theme is explored. It’s just the most clear one I thought of, and can be put into words as a place to maybe start researching if your are interested in that. The idea of hitting König as something akin to a giant to wake him up, comes from the tale of Thor and Skrímnir.

Generally, the idea of paralleling gods/godlike beings, humans and giants, escalated into a bit of a philosophical excursion at the kitchen table when I mentioned how the story is unfolding, leading to the question what exactly the difference between godlings, giants and humans is and if there even is one. In plenty of pre-Christian European tales, there aren’t boundaries between godlike beings and humans. If a human stays with a godlike being, they kind of tag along and don’t die like they would have had when staying with their fellow humans. Sometimes there is an explanation for it (godly ancestry, nectar or Idun’s apples, magical blessings), sometimes there isn’t (Thialfi and Röskva as Thor’s entourage, general trope of humans in service of or in marriage with a non-human being).

Warming stones or using ceramics is an old practice when hot water bottles weren’t available.

There are several legends and myths associating the water or waters generally with snakes. Naturally, there is the saga of the Midgard snake, encompassing the world in Norse mythology. The theme of a great water snake or mermaid-like half-fish, half-human body encompassing the world also comes up in Greek mythology in the figure of Oceanos as the great river god and father of river gods. Since we don’t have plenty of sources about old Slavic beliefs, I am taking the liberty and filling some gaps here from geographically closer regions where we do have more sources on mythology.

Acorn is edible and can be made into a fine flour from which it is possible to bake bread. However, do not just make flour from acorns. It’s a huge process to disinfect and debitter acorns before grinding them into flour. There is a reason why nowadays most cultures opt for utilising cultivated crops like grains and legumes instead of using low yield giving nuts and seeds. (Also, we really need those acorns as food for wild animals and for reforestation!) Cultivation of plants is a huge game changer for human life quality and communal living. It’s really cool. But it does require more cooperative systems of labour since harvesting and processing plants like grain requires sharing of work, space to do it, and natural weather & ground conditions to grow. Plus the grain in itself needs to be cultivated first. And these amazing food sources can be exploited by having control over places in which one can grow certain high yielding crops which can trigger war and oppression. Most noticeably in the Central and Eastern European region, which is obviously what I write about a lot, this is the case with Ukraine. This now independent country has good climate and ground conditions, yielding great harvests of wheat grain and sunflower, leading to the region being dubbed the Granary of Europe. Ukraine was fought over not just today but also occupied in historical moments like WW2 by the Nazis or under the Russian Empire precisely to have access to these high yielding conditions. So, food and where food comes from, is an important angle to understand plenty of conflicts, imperial oppression and cultures. I invite you to read more about the history of grain, why Ukraine has a flag literally depicting a grain filed under the blue sky or maybe learning how to make bread yourself. To return to my point: Bride lives in an area which has seasons. However, the climate is cooler with lots of swamps and waters around. The forest takes most of the shore space in her immediate vicinity. She has a garden in which she (tries to) grow buckwheat, a very climate-resistant pseudo grain. And technically she owns fields, but has no way to work them on her own due to the lack of manpower, possible lack of seeds, as well as timing issues for the sowing. But common grains like wheat require a warm and steady dry climate which is not the case here. Other grains like rye are historically common in Central and Eastern Europe, however one needs to plant them first and after the harvest it still requires labour to dry and deshell the rye first, a luxury that Bride does not have because she has been on her own for most of the year. So, to finish this long excursion on grains and flours - she uses acorn flour for bread because she was isolated and on her own. Also, agriculture is really cool and maybe you will think about the amount of labour, logistics, politics and historical development when biting into something flour based.

Vodyanitza is just the female version of Vodynoy

Rubacha is the name of the traditional linen shirt worn by historically both men and women but nowadays mostly associated with male clothing traditions. This shirt is often loosely fitted and bound at the hip with a belt. Having embroidery, especially red embroidery on a Rubacha is very common as red natural dye was widely available in the region. The embroidery and introduction of other colours is dependent on the exact time and place a Rubacha comes from. Even nowadays the Rubacha is part of plenty of Eastern European traditional dresses.

Quick reminder: a Tschort is a type of evil spirit.

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