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bluebellhairpin · 2 months

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Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north.

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay.

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less.

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too.

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.”

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach.

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?”

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.”

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone.

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. ��Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.”

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.”

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal.

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.”

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow.

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers.

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back.

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over.

“What is that?” you asked.

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed.

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be?

“A direwolf?”

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.”

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good.

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.”

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.”

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was.

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do.

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker.

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried.

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close.

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake.

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned.

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere.

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge.

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive.

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds.

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless.

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder.

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling.

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease.

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned.

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck.

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears.

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.”

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was.

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned.

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour.

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach.

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand.

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms.

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said.

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway.

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug.

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.”

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.”

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.”

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his.

“I love you.” he said.

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek.

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

#cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you

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determinate-negation · 2 months

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“Prior to October 7th, between 170-200,000 Palestinians worked in Israel (roughly 75% with work permits—with around 90% of these permits going to Palestinians living in the occupied West Bank). After October 7th, nearly all Palestinian workers were fired, their work permits revoked, and their range of movement, already limited, restricted even further. The economic damage has been immense particularly in construction and agriculture, where the majority of Palestinians had been employed (it is an aspect of Zionist cruelty that Palestinians—a highly educated people—should be confined to low-wage manual labor employment in two of the primary economic sectors which have been used to advance their dispossession). To provide the starkest example: the construction industry, which accounts for 6-7% of Israeli GDP was, as of December 2023, operating at only 30% of its pre-October capacity, and fully half of all building projects were on hold.

Although business interests were able to pressure the government to allow a paltry 8–10,000 Palestinians back to work in December, the short- and long-term solutions to the problem of Israeli dependence on Palestinian labor (and, indeed, for the Zionist it has always been a problem) appears to be the increasing importation of foreign workers from Asia and Eastern Europe, particularly Thailand and India. It should be noted that Israel has used debt—the result of exorbitant “placement fees” charged by recruiters in workers’ home countries—to trap many foreign workers in hyper-exploitative working conditions enforced by geographic isolation. This is the paradigmatic form of modern slavery. Even if cheap imported labor were to get the construction industry back on track, the war has also resulted in the downgrading of Israel’s credit rating, a sharp decline in imports and exports, the almost complete pause of its tourism industry, a snowballing cancelation of arms deals the world over and, in the case of Turkey, trade relations as well, yielding an almost 20% contraction of its annualized GDP.

With these numbers, it could be said that Israel’s present genocide against the Palestinians harms both its short-term and long-term economic interests, sacrificed for the drive to extermination. But the enforced economic obsolescence of the Palestinians must be understood as integral to the drive for their extermination. Employing the brute force of siege, Israel has succeeded in cutting many Palestinians off from much of the global economy—now, entirely in the case of Gaza, and increasingly so in the case of the West Bank. Even those who are able to run businesses with international clientele face delays or de facto bans from cash-transfer sites like PayPal, and imports, exports, and access to certain goods are all controlled and restricted by Israel. These restrictions limit access to raw materials, affecting the types of industry Palestine is capable of sustaining, and limiting prospects for economic development.

Palestinians' limited access to the global economy in turn nurtures a dependency on Israeli goods and employment. But this dependency cuts both ways—Israel has grown dependent on Palestinian labor, which renders Palestinians necessary to the functioning of the Israeli economy and also creates barriers against their total social exclusion (not only in the sense that this labor requires social interaction with the Israeli populace). As Bataille writes in The Psychological Structure of Fascism, “money serves to measure all work and makes man a function of measurable products. According to the judgment of homogenous society, each man is worth what he produces.” In capitalist society, productivity becomes the prerequisite to admittance to social life. To totalize race-based social exclusion, then, the target population must be rendered economically obsolete. “As early as 1895,” Fayez Sayegh notes, “Herzl was busy devising a plan to ‘spirit the penniless population across the frontier by denying it employment.’”

Nazi Germany understood this as well: the 1938 “Regulation for the Elimination of the Jews from the Economic Life of Germany” completed the work begun three years prior by the Nuremberg Laws, which stripped Jews and other groups of their citizenship and enshrined racial classification and separation into law. “The Jewish middleman,” Adorno and Horkheimer write, “fully becomes the image of the devil only when economically he has ceased to exist.” In apartheid society, in which the target population is seen as subhuman, or at least undeserving of rights or consideration, the wage remains one of the last means of verifying their humanity: beasts may be productive, but they do not earn a wage. The attempted elimination of Palestinian labor from the Israeli economy marks one of the final steps on the way to their full dehumanization in the Zionists’ eyes, one that prepared the way for the present mass extermination.

Zionism is not, then, a race-based system of economic exploitation at its core, though it does benefit from such exploitation: it is, first and foremost, a program of land acquisition. We can see the dual attack on Palestinian economic self-determination and land ownership in Israel’s routine destruction of Palestinian olive groves. Settlers, often armed or otherwise protected by armed agents of the state, uproot, burn, or cut down olive trees, with increasing frequency since 2019. The aim is to drive Palestinians from their land by destroying the subsistence produced by the land itself and nurtured over centuries by Palestinian farmers, in an effort to “Judaize” the area. As Palestinians flee from unchecked violence, forced from their land at the barrel of a gun, Jewish settlements appear in their wake, strictly illegal but in practice facilitated by the state until they are eventually recognized and assimilated into the legally regulated regime of property. (The whole cycle of legalizing illegal settlements, in any event, is something of a formality as their existence and proliferation is the entire raison d’être of the Zionist project.) When Palestinians refuse to leave and cannot be forced, they are murdered.”

Jake Romm, Elements of Anti-Semitism: The Limits of Zionism in Parapraxis Mag

#mine #anti zionism #zionism #antisemitism

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satyamcargomovers · 2 years

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Movers and packers in Dwarka sector-1

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blogport · 2 months

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my-darling-boy · 2 months

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It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.

Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?

And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.

Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///

I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.

#needed to get that off my chest it’s been sitting in my drafts and it’s still true #genuinely hate just about everything I’ve produced on this course #like illustration as a course was fine #this one is just depressing #had to almost completely reinvent my art after first year cos this Forced Style threw me off so bad #I am Scared for the future of creativity in academia #wrote a 10000 word essay (for fun) about why the corporate bullshit is contributing to the downfall of art #so needless to say I have my dissertation for my honours already #ok to rb #illustration #design

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dipperscavern · 3 months

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Hi!! I was wondering if you could write about Robb’s childhood best friend/lover finding out about his betrothal between him and one of the Frey girls? Love your writing!!

i won’t lie… this one hurt my heart a bit (i’m grieving) but we persevere — i’m glad u enjoy my writing & thank you sm for the ask </3 (i am a shell of the man i once was)

robb stark x fem!reader (angst, doomed by the plot i fear)

war is unforgiving. war is harsh, it is mean, and it doesn’t change direction for anyone’s feelings. terrible things happen, terrible choices have to be made, and there’s nothing you can do about it. this is a hard lesson that you’ve had to learn, ever since lord eddard stark (or as you knew him, ned) was beheaded, and the north declared war.

it all seemed to happen so fast. one thing after another, like the stone of tragedy was rolling down the hill and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. fate has been cruel, and especially cruel to your lover, robb.

and here sits another obstacle for him to maneuver. lord walder frey.

you needed to cross at the twins. there was no other option, and it was crucial that you win the freys to your side. it was so important, that catelyn stark herself went to treat with them. she was confident that her past with lord frey would ensure her safety, and hopefully make her negotiation that much easier. you bit down on your bottom lip watching her leave, in a poor attempt to soothe your nerves.

you didn’t like this. you liked things you could control, things you could fix. this was completely out of your hands, and you found yourself praying to the gods on behalf of lord walder frey. things really have gone downhill. you spared a glance to robb, to find him already looking at you. he gives you a small nod, which you return, and you move to start heading back to the camp.

you can’t really say why this is the thing that made you so anxious, but you need to keep it together. robb needs dependability, so you did the one thing you were good at. staying busy. there was never a shortage of things to do or problems to fix, and you happened to be especially good at keeping the camp running smoothly. you had no doubt robb would find you once catelyn returned, providing you with an answer — or, with something that needed a solution.

“We’ve been granted crossing.”

you turn around, seeing robb walk in the tent you’re in. he’s got a mixed expression of relief, and the usual cloak of exhaustion & grief that doesn’t seem to leave his face much these days. there’s something else wavering underneath all of it, but you leave that discussion for later.

you exhale, nodding, and you send a silent thanks to the gods. you turn, moving to continue your organization of the maps. most were unorganized, half of them outdated, and they all could use a rewrite.

“Not without a price, I’m sure.”

your words weigh much more heavily than you intended, meant as a jest to the ever prickly walder frey. you’re messing with the scrolls, waiting for a reply. but you don’t get one. robb has hesitated.

that makes you stop your ministrations. you and robb could always talk to each other about everything. you were each others outlet, and conversation always flowed easily — even if there was grievous news, he never hesitated. you turn around, looking at him, and finally, you recognize the micro expression you saw when he first came in.

guilt.

a soft call of his name brings him out of his head, and squeezes his heart at the same time. how can he do this? can he even bring himself to look at you? he’s on autopilot, hand moving by itself to close the flaps of the tent behind him. he turns back to face you, and the expression you wear almost makes his knees buckle. how can he? how can he do this?

“Don’t scare me. I hate when you scare me.”

he knows. he remembers how he used to jumpscare you as children, until you told him (with tears in your eyes) not to — and he found himself wanting to heed your every wish. the next time theon scared you, it was robb you sought out. he pranked theon to make you feel better (oh, how you laughed). why does it have to be him? why him to do it?

“Lord Walder Frey has granted us crossing through the twins,” he exhales. “but not without price.”

all of your attention is on him, and for the first time, robb doesn’t relish in it.

“I must take Olyvar Frey as a squire, a knighthood is expected in due course.”

you watch him intently, waiting to listen to whatever’s made him hesitant to talk to you. doesn’t he know you’re steadfast, in it for the long run?

“Arya, when recovered, will marry one of Lord Walders sons.”

“She’ll like that.” the mere mention of arya is enough to make you smile. he finds himself returning it. you look so pretty when you smile. how can he make you do anything but? how?

“And…” he trails off. he’s gripping his gloves so hard his knuckles turn white. how can he? can he even?

“And I must take one of Lord Walders daughters to wife.”

the tranquility melts off your face. your smile is nowhere to be found. he has. he did.

he can see the gears in your head turning. your expression morphs into sadness, grief. he watches you try and steady your breathing. can he reach out for you? is that his place anymore?

you’re nodding, as if you expected this as a possibility, but the tears welling up in your eyes betray you.

“We… we can cross, that’s…” you swallow down your cries. “that’s good.”

you’re picking at your hands now. you do that when you try and hold yourself together. it’s not working.

robb isn’t fairing much better. if you took your attention off of choking back your sobs, you’d see his expression is helpless. painful. he understands your pain, he feels it tenfold. when did his eyes get so wet?

“I need…” you pause as if you don’t even know. “I need you to go.”

he whispers your name. he wants you in his space. he wants you closer, and you want him away. you turn away from him, and he begins to take steps towards you without even realizing it.

“Robb, please,”

“Don’t make me…”

“I need you to leave. Please.”

all the times you’ve pulled him towards you echo in his mind. now you’re pushing him away. he’s approaching you. you have a hand on your stomach, trying to steady yourself. you sense his presence, putting a hand out to the side he’s standing on. he’s slightly behind you, trying with everything he has to respect your wishes. his heart wins. his giant, aching heart.

he puts a hand on the one you have outstretched in a poor attempt to keep him away.

“Robb-” you begin, tensing up. you tense at his touch. his.

“Don’t.”

he’s never been a good listener.

he reaches for you. at first you pull away, cries of his name spill from your mouth as your voice breaks. he doesn’t stop. you melt into him.

selfishly, you find comfort in his arms. you grip him like he could disappear. he’s not disappearing. he’s leaving.

you are touching another woman’s husband.

they will share a bed.

he is not yours.

they will share a soul.

his heart is, but his body never will be. and isn’t it all the same, at the end of the day?

#game of thrones #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark prompt #robb stark imagine #robb stark x you #dippys asks #i won’t lie #this got my creative juices flowing #my heart hurts so bad though #GODDD ANON WHY #WHY DID YOU DO THIS

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moonsaver · 8 months

Note

Wahh I'm back haha, don't worry about messing up the request it happens! I still loved it the other way around!

Im so sorry anon, im delirious from lack of sleep and didnt read your request right. I hope this will be okay, <33

Sunday is usually busy, so when on this specific day, when you insist on meeting up with him in the middle of his schedule, he's a bit irked.

He imagines its most likely something important, or you needed something that only he could provide (which could only be done in private, behind doors).

So he's very sure to clear out people from the vicinity of his office, telling them he'll be alright and hastily shoo-ing them away in the most professional manner.

And then.. you show up, with a cheeky grin and a heart-shaped box. Curious.

And you set down the chocolate on his desk, almost humorously contrasting to his very well kept desk. You explain Valentine's to him and he understands, mainly because it's a bit of his duty to keep tabs on festivities, even of other planets.

And he offers you to sit down, asks you about it in more detail, while curiously scanning the box. He doesn't realise you made it yourself until you drop it in the middle of conversation, and he stays still for a moment, deep in thought, before a loving smile breaks out on his face.

Sunday appreciates any effort from you so much. He knows he's not exactly easy to love, especially because you have to do it from a distance most of the time. So he appreciates it so so much. He's already thinking of all the ways he wants to pay you back – not because he sees it as a transaction, but rather he wants to let you know he sees your efforts and wants to return them, too.

Lovingly guides you to sit you down beside him, and feeds you a piece of chocolate first, and then eats it himself. Very neatly picks it up, careful to make sure it doesnt melt on his gloves, and it doesn't get on your face. Wipes off any excess bits on your face and compliments the flavors, tells you about how popular they are, flavors that are particularly favored from certain worlds, and all sorts of things. He wraps up the box neatly and insists you wait for a bit outside his office, tenderly kissing your forehead.

After a few moments of quiet shuffling, his door clicks open, as he gives you a very beautifully sealed letter. He says it was supposed to be for another occasion, and he had to rush the writing a bit at the end, but most of it was completed, and stamped perfectly. The letter is about 3 pages long, and full of well-wishes, and feelings Sunday probably wouldn't be able to tell you directly face to face. He kisses your hand and tells you he'll make some time for you another day, and make up for the time he couldn't spend today.

He listens to your quiet footsteps shuffle down the hallway, further away from his office, and once he's sure you're gone, he sighs, sitting down in his office chair. He sits deeply in thought, and anyone walking in would have thought he was in deep trouble, trying to find a solution for an extremely multifaceted and complex issue.. when really, he's thinking about just how dangerously he's wrapped around your finger. Perhaps he prefers it that way?

#moonink #hsr #hsr sunday #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr sunday x reader #hsr x you #hsr sunday x y/n #hsr sunday x you #sunday x reader #sunday hsr

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just-aake · 1 year

Text

Boundless Devotion - Part VII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Warnings: slight fluff

Words: 5310

In the days following that night, Natasha has been spending more time with you, just like before. The two of you work together and continue your search for a solution to break the mind control's hold on you.

Her mother had only been involved in the early stages of the original Black Widow operations, so she was unfamiliar with the specifics of the process that further developed this version of mind control.

She suggested to Natasha that the person who may be able to provide more information about the subject would be your father.

When Natasha shared this with you, you fell silent for the rest of that day. Seeing how the suggestion upset you, she decided not to bring it up again.

As the date of the festival approached, Natasha found herself increasingly busy with overseeing most of the preparations, a task assigned to her by her mother.

Consequently, this left her with little time to see you.

The castle's staff quickly noticed how this affected their princess's mood.

On days when she couldn't see you at all, Natasha became upset and sullen, often sighing deeply throughout the day as she completed her tasks.

For some unknown reason, on those days, Natasha felt like she missed you even more than during the past year when you had avoided her.

However, with the festival finally here, she was excited to spend time with you again.

In her personal study, Natasha is currently reviewing potential leads to discuss with you later when a knock on her door interrupts her. She invites the unexpected visitor in, and when she sees who it is, she raises a brow in surprise.

"Shouldn't you already be at the festival with your children?" she asks.

Clint chuckles and nods at her question.

"I was going to head over right after this."

His voice drops into a more serious tone.

"Do you have some time to talk for a bit?"

At that, Natasha places the documents down on her desk and gives him her full attention, gesturing for him to continue.

“There have been some cases of guards and soldiers disappearing within the kingdom,” Clint reveals.

“Why hasn’t anyone informed me about this?” Natasha asks, frowning in confusion that this is the first she’s hearing about such incidents.

Clint offers a shrug as he explains.

“Well, those missing typically reappear after a couple of days, so there hasn't been much cause for alarm. Most of the higher-ranking soldiers assume that they must have celebrated a bit too hard and got lost on their way back.”

Natasha frowns deepens hearing the careless handling of such a suspicious situation.

"But that's not the strange part," Clint continues with an unsure expression. "When they return, they have no recollection of what happened to them or where they've been."

Natasha crosses her arms in thought before glancing down at her notes on the Black Widow operations.

It’s a bit unnerving how this new information lines up with how the operations usually went in the past, that period marked by disappearances and memory loss from the victims.

Is it possible that it’s just a coincidence?

Clint clears his throat to regain her attention before continuing, "I've also found the information that you requested about the man involved in the attack at the cemetery."

With how intent the stranger was on hurting you, Natasha decided to investigate further about the man to figure out his motives and plans that day and prevent anything like that from happening to you again.

“So who is he?”

“As Lady Y/N said, he used to be a soldier in Stark's army during the war and was the one responsible for the murder of Lord Dreykov's wife. Not only that, apparently he's guilty of other crimes as well — such as the slaughter of his entire squad on a mission and even the murder of his wife and children. He's been marked as a criminal and has been on the run ever since.”

Natasha shakes her head, puzzled at the information.

“So why risk coming back and revealing himself now?”

“Unfortunately, the guards at the dungeon say he’s refusing to answer any questions unless…” Clint trails off, hesitating to speak the next words.

“Unless what?” Natasha presses suspiciously with a furrowed brow, already sensing she won't like what he's about to say.

“...unless he gets to speak to Lady Y/n.”

"No," Natasha immediately objects, her tone unwavering.

She won't allow him anywhere near you again.

"Absolutely not," she adds, giving Clint a stern look, leaving no room for discussion.

"Understood," Clint acknowledges in understanding. "I'll see if they can find another way to get him to talk."

Natasha gives him a grateful nod before asking, "Was there anything else?"

"One last thing," Clint says with a small smirk. "The queen sent someone to tell you that you were supposed to meet with her at the festival already to discuss your responsibilities for the day."

Natasha curses softly under her breath, realizing she was so absorbed in her research that she had forgotten about her prior commitments with her mother.

After a quick horse ride into town, Natasha finds herself at the entrance of the royal tent, her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently as her mother outlines her duties for the day.

“—then I'll need you to return here in a few hours to greet the nobles arriving from the other kingdoms. After that, there’s the jousting tournament…”

Glancing to the side, Natasha's attention drifts away from her mother’s voice when she spots you in her vision, strolling alongside Wanda and Pietro.

She can’t help but smile fondly as she sees you laughing at one of Pietro's failed attempts at a game booth.

“Then there’s the—,” Melina stops mid-sentence, realizing Natasha is no longer paying attention.

She follows her daughter's gaze and notices that it is you who has captured her focus.

With a knowing sigh, Melina dismisses her next words with a shake of her head.

“Never mind, I’ll just have your father handle most of this, but at least come and greet the members of the other kingdoms when they arrive.”

When Natasha doesn’t respond, Melina waves her hand in front of her daughter’s face.

“Are you listening, Natasha?”

“Yeah, okay, meeting later, I’ll be there,” Natasha acknowledges her mother's words distractedly, her gaze still fixed on you.

Melina sighs in exasperation and departs to find her husband, leaving Natasha alone, completely absorbed in watching you.

You look good, she admits, your expression lighter and happier than before.

Natasha has always known you were beautiful, but with the sun shining, you seem to glow even more under its rays.

A sudden shove against her side draws her attention away from you, and she turns to look at the culprit beside her.

“You’re staring,” Yelena points out before casually tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“What?” Natasha frowns at the accusation. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you were,” Yelena rolls her eyes at her sister’s denial, “I’ve been standing next to you for a couple of minutes already, and you didn’t even notice.”

Letting out a huff of disbelief, Natasha decides to change the subject.

“Was there something that you needed, Yelena?”

“Nope, but if all you're going to do is stand here the entire day, then I’ll just go over and hang out with Y/n instead.”

Yelena moves towards you, but Natasha grabs the back of her collar and pulls her back, preventing her from going any further.

“Don’t you need to go find your other half?” Natasha remarks.

Yelena, still hanging by Natasha's grip, appears unbothered as she continues eating her snack. She shrugs in response to Natasha's question.

“Kate’s busy preparing for the archery competition.”

“Then maybe you should follow her example and prepare for your own competition,” Natasha lectures her.

Yelena groans, “God, you sound like mom.”

Natasha quickly lets go of her grip at that statement and rolls her eyes before turning to look at you again.

Beside her, Yelena adjusts her collar back into place and then glances between her sister and you in the distance curiously.

“So are the two of you still pretending to be a couple?”

Natasha glances at her before nodding in response.

“Of course, mom’s been off my back ever since we started. Meanwhile, Y/n can have the time she needs to find a partner for herself without having Lord Rumlow breathing down her neck. Everybody wins.”

Yelena blinks at Natasha in disbelief for a moment before exclaiming, “Oh wow, you’re serious.”

“What?” Natasha asks, giving her a perplexed expression.

“Nothing, it's just...I guess I've underestimated how clueless you are when it comes to romance.”

Yelena rubs her chin, whispering to herself under her breath, “I really thought you would’ve realized by now.”

“Realize what?” Natasha presses, slightly annoyed at her comments.

With a teasing smirk, Yelena makes a zipping gesture across her lips.

“I can’t say. That would be cheating.”

Rolling her eyes at her antics, Natasha pushes her sister away in another direction.

“Go bother Kate.”

“All I’m saying is you should take some time to reexamine your relationship with Y/n before it's too late," Yelena urges before walking away with a nonchalant wave goodbye.

Squinting at Yelena in confusion, Natasha shakes her head, dismissing her sister's warning.

There’s nothing wrong with her relationship with you, at least not anymore now that you and she have cleared things up.

Her friendship with you is still as strong as before.

Turning around, Natasha is about to make her way over to you but is stopped by a lady she recognizes as the daughter of one of the other noble houses.

“Princess Natasha, would you like some company this afternoon?”

Natasha gives her a tight but polite smile at her offer before refusing.

“Oh, uh, no, thank you but—.“

Another lady appears, presenting a plate of baked treats at her, blocking her path.

“Would you like to try some of these pastries, princess? They’re freshly baked.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Natasha responds politely.

She attempts to maneuver around the ladies, but more and more people begin to notice her presence and gather around her.

Soon, she finds herself quickly encircled by a crowd of ladies, their voices merging into a cacophony of compliments and inquiries directed at her.

Natasha tries to look in your direction, but to her frustration, she can't even see you anymore through the crowd that's formed around her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, over where you were at, Pietro groans in disappointment when the ball rolls out of the target, signaling his loss once more.

“Pietro, you’re going to lose all of your money at this rate,” Wanda remarks.

“Like you can do better,” he counters.

Wanda grins confidently at the challenge and hands a coin to the vendor for another round. She tosses the ball at the target, and it spins on the rim a couple of times.

Just as it was about to fall out, the ball suddenly tipped into the goal.

The vendor claps in amazement and hands Wanda one of the prizes.

You pull her away quickly.

“Wanda!” you whisper with a chastising tone. “You shouldn’t be using your power like that.”

"What? I'm getting a lot better with them, and nobody even noticed," Wanda reassures you.

Pietro hums beside you in thought.

“Hey, do you think you can do the same to win any of the other games?”

“Pietro!” You turn your reprimanding tone toward the other twin.

He raises his hands defensively, exclaiming with a nervous chuckle, “I was kidding!”

He turns his head to the side, seeing another game booth before muttering under his breath in thought, “Sort of kidding.”

When he sees you are about to continue your reprimanding, he points at another booth.

“Oh look, they are selling pies! I’ll go get us some slices!”

Pietro runs off quickly before you can stop him.

You shake your head at him, letting out an exasperated huff.

Loud chatter rises in the distance, catching your attention, and you hear faint chants of the princess' name.

You turn with an excited smile, expecting to see Natasha.

However, your smile drops slightly into a bittersweet line when you see the scene in front of you.

A feeling of disappointment creeps into your heart.

You had hoped to spend some time with Natasha today at the festival, having grown accustomed to all of her attention and time spent with you recently that you forgot how public events like these usually went.

Natasha always ends up being surrounded by people who adore her.

Beside you, Wanda notices your sad expression, and when she looks at the cause of your shift in mood, she nods in understanding.

She pulls on your arm to get your attention.

“You know, you are technically her partner. You can go over there and be with her.”

You consider the option of taking advantage of your fake relationship with Natasha to be by her side before shaking your head lightly.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

Wanda frowns at your refusal before asking, “How are things going between you and the princess anyway?”

“Good, I guess,” you answer, tilting your head in thought. “Last time, we found some old notes on the initial trials of the operations. That might give us some new ideas.”

Wanda deflates when she realizes that you were only talking about the research you did together. She crosses her arms and sighs exasperatedly in disappointment.

“I could’ve sworn something more was going to happen between you two, especially since I found the both of you in bed together that morning.”

You quickly cover her mouth and look around to see if anyone had overheard her comment.

“Sleeping, Wanda,” you stress with a small blush on your face. ”We were just sleeping. Nothing happened.”

You remember how you had woken up that following morning, surprised to find Natasha's sleeping face beside you. Her arm was wrapped around you protectively as she slept, securing you in place. Not wanting to wake her, you decided to go back to sleep.

Later, you were awakened again. This time by the sound of Wanda clearing her throat with a message from Queen Melina looking for Natasha for their usual morning meeting.

Natasha had rushed out after hearing that, with a quick goodbye and a promise to meet up later.

You had given Wanda a sharp warning glare before she could make any teasing comment about the situation.

Thankfully, she didn’t bring it up again.

Until now.

Wanda places her hands on her hips, frowning at you.

“Do you like Princess Natasha?” she asks plainly.

You look away from her accusing stare and wave your hand casually.

“Of course, who doesn’t?”

Wanda pokes you in the shoulder, annoyed at your response.

“No, not as a friend or as the princess, I mean, do you like her?”

You feel your face heat up at the question, and your heart beats faster at the thought of being more than friends with Natasha.

“I—it’s not like that, Wanda. There’s nothing going on between Natasha and me.”

Undeterred by your denial, Wanda presses on with a meaningful tone, “But do you want there to be?”

At her question, you look at Natasha, and that warm feeling from before immediately fills your chest again.

Over the past couple of days, you’ve already realized what that feeling you’ve been having around the princess means, and your expression twists down dejectedly at the reminder.

“You know I can’t, Wanda,” you say sadly.

“Why not?” she presses.

“Because…” you pause, closing your eyes briefly in frustration. “Because we’re friends, and we just repaired that relationship. I'm not going to ruin it over some little feelings.”

Wanda furrows her brows at your response, “That’s not fair. You never go after what you want.”

She gestures to the crowd of people surrounding Natasha, all of them trying to get her attention.

“You have a better chance of actually being with her than any of those ladies,” Wanda points out confidently.

“That’s not true,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “Natasha can have anybody she wants. Everybody loves her. She’s kind, smart, brave—”

“I’m sure the same can be said about me, Lady Y/n,” a grating voice interrupts you.

You grimace, a silent sigh escaping your lips at the sound of the insufferable noble. Turning around, you give him a tight expression.

“Lord Rumlow, what a surprise,” you say sarcastically.

Next to you, Wanda doesn’t bother hiding her disgust at the presence of the noble, already familiar with his persistent advances toward you.

Deciding to try and get this conversation over with quickly, you ask, “Was there something you needed?”

His eyes roam over you shamelessly in a way that makes you feel thoroughly repulsed before finally speaking with a smug smirk.

“Well, seeing how Princess Natasha won’t be participating in the tournament later, I thought I'd let you know that I would be honored to receive a token of your support for me,” he says, his tone filled with false humility.

Before you can respond, Wanda scoff beside you, muttering in disbelief, "Unbelievable."

Rumlow's eyes narrow as he focuses his attention on her.

“What did you just say?” he asks with a warning in his voice.

Unbothered, Wanda meets his gaze defiantly and continues, “You've got some nerve, requesting a favor from a lady who has already rejected you. Multiple times too.”

“Why you little…“

His face twists in anger as he raises his hand to strike her, but you swiftly step in front of Wanda, catching his wrist in a firm grip before you address him.

“Lord Rumlow,” you say, your voice is calm but with a clear, warning undertone, “she is someone very important to me. So, I strongly suggest you reconsider your next action before you do something that would greatly upset me."

He pulls his hand away from your grip and points towards Wanda with a sneer.

"That girl should know better than to address me that way."

“Then allow me to instead,” you interject firmly, silencing him.

“Wanda is right. You are truly unbelievable. For some reason, you can’t seem to comprehend that I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever. And you are arrogant to think that I would give you any favor, given my relationship with Princess Natasha.”

He scoffs, his face reddening with anger and embarrassment as some people stop to listen and watch the interaction.

“The only reason you chose her over me is because of her status. If she weren’t the princess—”

“I would still choose her,” you state firmly.

He sputters in disbelief, “But—”

You raise your hand in a silencing gesture, giving him a harsh glare.

“Understand this, Lord Rumlow, even if she wasn't the princess, even if she were just an ordinary person in the kingdom with no title, I would always choose her over you, every single time.”

Rumlow gapes at you, too stunned to respond.

Crossing your arms, you lean in slightly and lower your voice in a threatening manner.

“Now, I believe you should find somewhere else to enjoy the festival and leave me and those I care about alone, unless you want me to continue to humiliate you further.”

Rumlow’s eyes dart around at the now small crowd of onlookers, who are blatantly watching the confrontation with interest.

With a disgruntled sneer, he turns and stomps away, but he only manages to go a short distance before stumbling.

Right into a plate of pie.

In front of him, Pietro gasps exaggeratedly, in a way that is too dramatic to be real, when the pastries that he was holding are smeared all over the lord.

He quickly apologizes to Lord Rumlow before hurrying over to you and Wanda, barely concealing his smirk as he discreetly high-fives his sister.

Rumlow curses loudly in anger at the mess on him before scurrying away from the laughter of the nearby people.

You're almost certain you saw the familiar red mist disappearing from his shoe when he stumbled.

Turning your attention to Wanda and Pietro, you shoot them a suspicious look.

However, they both maintain innocent expressions while also avoiding your gaze.

You attempt to maintain your reprimanding demeanor, but even you can't stifle the laughter bubbling up within you, and soon, the three of you are sharing a hearty laugh at the absurd situation.

After a moment, Pietro lets out a contented sigh.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

You nod in agreement. It was the kind of story that you know Natasha would enjoy hearing about.

However, when you look back at her, your smile fades, replaced by disappointment at the reminder of how she is still surrounded by her admirers.

Pietro notices your expression and leans in to whisper to his sister, “What's up with her?”

Wanda responds with an exasperated sigh.

“Y/n wants to spend time with the princess and is upset that she’s surrounded by other women.”

“Wanda!”

Unbothered by your exclamation, Wanda shrugs.

“It's true.”

Pietro glances over at the crowd and then back to his sister with a mischievous smirk.

“Hmm, Wanda, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Wanda matches his expression with a sneaky look of her own.

“I'll handle the distraction,” she announces.

“Then I'll run in and grab the princess,” Pietro declares.

The twins nod at each other in agreement.

When you realize what they mean to do, you try to stop them.

“Wait, you two, don't—”

But it's too late.

They have already left your side, heading toward the crowd.

Natasha gives a tight smile as yet another person tries to engage her in conversation. She's been trying to excuse herself for a while now, but the amount of people around her just keeps growing.

Suddenly, dozens of kites seamlessly drift through the crowd, capturing everyone's attention.

They then shoot up high into the sky causing the onlookers to look up in awe, entranced by the spectacle of colorful kites twirling in the sky.

Natasha, however, observes the kites with suspicion.

Something about their movements seems unnatural, especially since there's barely a gust of wind in the air.

Before she can contemplate it further, a hand grabs her wrist and swiftly pulls her through the crowd.

Unable to see who’s holding her, she's about to break free when she's thrown forward out of the crowd and into someone’s arms.

You catch her in surprise, providing support as the princess regains her balance.

When Natasha pulls back and sees you, a charming smile appears on her face.

“Hey, you,” she breathes out in greeting.

You bite your lip to contain your smile.

“Hi,” you reply, and for a moment, the two of you simply gaze at each other.

The sound of a high-five grabs your attention, and you turn to see the twins returning to your side, both wearing satisfied expressions.

“I think that went well,” Pietro comments, fixing his slightly disheveled hair from the hurried run.

In response to his words, Natasha looks at you curiously in realization.

“I guess I should be thanking the three of you for the rescue then.”

You laugh lightly in amusement as you raise a disbelieving brow at her.

“Oh, so being surrounded by women fawning over you now qualifies as a situation that requires saving?”

“Careful, Y/n, that almost sounded like you were jealous,” Natasha teases with a smirk.

Rolling your eyes, you huff in disbelief before gently pushing her away from your arms, allowing her to stand on her own.

“Please, if I got jealous every time someone wanted your affection, I'd be jealous my entire life,” you counter.

“Well, thank you anyway,” Natasha chuckles before giving you a soft look. “So it looks like my schedule cleared up. Is it okay if I join you three around the festival?”

“That’s fine—“ you start.

“Actually,” Pietro raises his hand to interrupt. ”I have a date, so I have to go.”

You give him a suspicious look, but he just winks at you before dashing off.

Wanda starts to back away as well.

“And I think I’ll check out the fortune teller. Have my future read and all that.”

You catch Wanda’s hand before she can escape, whispering to her accusingly, already aware of her intentions.

“You don’t even believe in that stuff.”

“Well, I do now,” Wanda whispers back, slipping her hand from your grip before looking pointedly at the princess, who is waiting patiently a short distance away. “Maybe they’ll tell me when you’ll finally decide to act on your feelings.”

She turns and leaves quickly with a wave goodbye, exclaiming. “Have fun, you two!”

Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as Natasha steps up next to you.

“So, I guess it’s just you and me,” she says before adding, “This could be like our second date in public.”

Recovering your composure, you cross your arms and look away from her as if considering her offer, humming teasingly, “I don’t know, I wouldn't want to deprive you of the chance to be with all of your admirers.”

Natasha bumps your shoulders playfully before a small smirk appears on her lips.

“You know, jealousy looks cute on you,” she comments, before taking your hand and bringing it up to her lips for a soft kiss. “But, to be honest, I’d rather spend my time with you.”

Your heart quickens slightly at her flirty statement, and you feel your words catch in your throat, too stunned to respond.

Sounds of coos and awes surround the two of you, snapping you out of your flustered state and reminding you of your supposed relationship with the princess in the eyes of the people of the kingdom.

Even though you know Natasha is doing all of this to keep up appearances, you still can’t help but blush in response.

You just hope Natasha doesn’t realize how real your reaction is to her actions and words.

Looking back at her, Natasha gives you a fond smirk before tilting her head in question.

“So what do you say, Lady Y/n, would you like to join me on another date?”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha watches you with a soft smile as you admire the performers on stage, completely entranced by the show.

She had initially focused on the performance as well, but when she glanced over to see your reaction, she found herself distracted and unable to return her attention to the stage, becoming more interested in watching you.

Natasha finally tears her gaze away when the performance ends, and she joins you and the crowd in clapping.

As she finishes, her hand naturally finds yours, and she intertwines them again.

It's strange — she's never noticed before how perfectly your hand fits in hers.

As the crowd disperses around you, you turn to look at her in question.

“Your turn, what do you want to do next?”

At your question, Natasha surveys the surrounding festivities before nodding toward a game booth where participants are throwing darts to pop the balloon targets.

“How about a friendly competition? Whoever gets more points wins,” she suggests.

You glance at the game she's referring to and nod in agreement before pulling her toward the booth.

“Sure, it’s been a while since the last time I beat you at a game,” you tease her.

Natasha follows behind you and lets out a laugh of disbelief.

“That last time was a tie, and you know it.”

You glance over your shoulder at her with a small smirk.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

Arriving at the booth, Natasha hands the vendor some coins for a round for each of you, and he places ten darts on the tabletop, five for each person.

Natasha picks up the first dart and smoothly throws it at the targets, popping a balloon. She gives you a confident smirk before stepping back with a dramatic gesture for your turn.

You roll your eyes fondly and take your position, aiming carefully before throwing your dart and popping a balloon.

The two of you continue with each of you popping a balloon during your respective turns until only one dart remains for each.

“How about a little wager?” Natasha suggests before you take your final shot.

“So much for just a friendly competition,” you say, laughing lightly. “Alright, what are you proposing?”

“If I win,” Natasha pauses with an amused smirk, “You let me teach you how to fight with a sword one day next week.”

You laugh lightly in amusement at the reminder of your promise and nod in agreement.

“And if I win?”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“That’s not really something a soon-to-be ruler should be promising,” you tease her as you line up your shot.

With a careful throw, your dart hits the center of a balloon, giving you a perfect score.

You raise a brow challengingly at her while Natasha nods approvingly at your shot, unworried.

When Natasha picks up her dart, you speak up in question.

“What about if we tie?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Natasha says, smiling confidently and turning away from the targets to look at you.

She holds your stare even as she throws the dart.

Neither of you look at where it lands, but the unmistakable popping sound of two balloons signals the winner.

You accept your loss with a small teasing smile.

“You could have just invited me. I would’ve agreed to come anyway.”

“Yeah, but this way was more fun.”

You hum in agreement as you absently trace a pattern against the wooden booth.

Wanting to make sure everything is okay, Natasha takes your hand, stopping your movement as her thumb softly caresses the back of your hand.

She tilts her head at you in question, “We don’t have to train if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” you say reassuringly, giving her a small smile. “Besides, you've been stuck with me in the library the last few times we were together. It's only fair if we do something you would enjoy.”

Frowning at your dismissal of the joys of being in your presence, Natasha pulls you closer, holding both of your hands in hers to ensure you focus on her words.

“Hey, I enjoy doing anything with you,” she insists.

When a smile appears on your face at her words, Natasha feels her heart warm with that strange feeling again at the sight.

She's not sure if it's because it's been a couple of days since she last saw you, but to her, you look really stunning with that happy expression.

Without thinking, she feels herself unconsciously lean in closer to you.

"Y/n!" a familiar voice calls out, bursting the peaceful bubble between you two.

You both turn to the source of the shout.

Before Natasha can react, you are swept away from her in a twirling hug, lifting you slightly off the ground as you let out a surprised yelp.

The blonde-haired newcomer smiles widely as she steadies you back on your feet in front of her.

"I was hoping to see you soon!" she exclaims.

You laugh lightly, regaining your balance and leaning slightly on her arms for support as you return the friendly greeting.

"It's so good to see you too. I haven't seen you in a couple of years with all your traveling."

The person finally turns to Natasha with a casual smirk and nods in greeting.

"It has been a while since we were all together, hasn't it, Natasha?"

Natasha hides her displeased feelings at how you were taken away from her side and responds politely.

"Yeah, it has."

She eyes the hands still clasping yours, her teeth clenching slightly.

"How have you been, Princess Carol?"

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin, @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless, @mrsrushman

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 year

Text

Wake Me Up (And Hold On To Me)

Summary: Lockwood x Fe!Reader (third person) -> She suffers with nightmares. Lockwood has a feeling he knows why she’s awake every night. So, he finally does something about it.

Disclaimer: Not specifically mentioned but characters are aged up a little more than in the show. Nightmares, angst, fluff, love etc.

Sweat dripped down her forehead as she sat up. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was a water-shadow left on her bedsheets from where she had been lay. It was worse this time. Constant running, screaming, shouting and yet…nothing but silence.

Across the room, Lucy lay fast asleep. It was like trying to wake the dead with Lucy, but sometimes she’d wake in the night and she’d lay completely still. Most times, Lucy would fall back asleep. Maybe the sounds came from outside. It was London, after all.

But not tonight.

Her screams and terrified yells hadn’t woken her roommate.

Thank god.

She took a moment to look around her.

She wasn’t in the graveyard, or at her childhood home. She was home, at Portland Row. The moon was shining it’s light into her room from the window, a small breeze flowing in from where Lucy must have lifted it open. It provided a cool breeze to her skin.

Taking a few breaths, she lifted the covers from herself and placed her feet flat on the ground, looking around her a bit more.

No ghosts. No hunters. No spirits trying to kill her and her friends.

She’s safe. She’s at home, at 35 Portland Row.

She wrung her hands over themselves for a few moments. Her heart rate was slowly lowering to a pace that didn’t feel like her heart was about to burst from her chest.

Standing after a few minutes, she was careful to avoid the creaks in the wooden floor. It didn’t take much thinking, though. This had now become second nature.

Slowing herself down, she opened up the door and closed it behind her. She took her time to admire the pictures on the wall and the feel of her home.

She’s safe. She’s home.

She felt the carpet beneath her feet, leading the familiar path to another bedroom.

This was second nature, too. Now, at least.

Before, she would turn left instead of right. She’d sit in the large arm chair, watching the moon dance its beams across the bookshelves before the sun would do the same. Finally, she would go back up stairs, take the yet again familar path to her bed, avoiding the creaks, get dressed and head downstairs for a cup of coffee.

No-one knew any different.

But Lockwood did.

He’d known for a while. Although, he didn’t know what it was exactly that kept her up. Insomnia? Too much tea? Too strong of a coffee in the day?

Wrapping her hand around the door handle, she slowly crept inside before she reached her side of the bed.

Lockwood woke for a moment. She lifted the covers and he helped her. Slipping inside, she lay with her back to his chest before she felt his arm lay across her before he took her hand in his, holding her with a gentle-yet-secure grip.

I’m here. It told her. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home.

The pair drifted off together, their breaths syncing as her heart beat calmed in order to match his.

If only he’d done something earlier, this could have been the solution a long time ago.

He knew something had been keeping her up. After all, whenever he woke in the night himself, he could see the light in the library from under the door. He never did anything at first. After all, they’d had a busy day. Maybe the adrenaline was still running.

But then he began to hear the phone ring - or, at least, he thought he did. One ring and the line would go dead. But, in the morning, there was a notepad filled with contact numbers and most of the research was done before they even sat down for breakfast.

She’d lie and say they called whilst he was in the bathroom. Not that they had called at 2 in the morning and she’d already been downstairs in the living room watching and old tape of Casablanca in silence.

Except, no matter how many times he’d ask if she was okay or if she had even slept, she’d simply laugh it off. Sometimes, she’d go to bed early - it was the only way she could get at least a few hours of sleep before the nightmares kicked in.

But she always made sure no-one knew; or she’d at least try. Lie still when they woke up. Act as if she was asleep on the sofa at night when they all gathered to watch a movie when in fact she was more awake than the rest of them.

However, when Lucy went away for the weekend to visit Norrie and George went to visit his mum and dad for a few days, thus leaving Lockwood and herself alone at Portland Row, there was no excaping his questions.

Lockwood had been out for most of the day, gathering and paying for more stock meanwhile she was at home fixing the shelves of the library that had recently fallen down. She’d told them time and time again that they needed new shelves. The wood was old and starting to rot.

So, with George away, it gave her enough time to reorganize and fix what needed fixing in the home without someone being in the way. As much as she loved them.

Lockwood got back around 9 and after calling out for her a few times, he went in search for her to find her fast asleep in the library. Everything was fixed and looking like new. The books still had to be shelved, but they could do that tomorrow.

Pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa, she lay it over her before switching out the light and placing the fire guard up. He didn’t exactly shut the door, but just enough to block the light out from the hallway.

As the hours passed, Lockwood labeled all the stock and filled in the papers he needed to before George came back to strangle him. But, as he began to climb the stairs and switch off the hall light, he could hear mumbling.

It was incoherant. Barely audible if someone had been speaking to him. But in the dead silence of the home, he could hear it.

Standing in the door way, he pushed the library door open. He could hear it louder now.

“Run…no…let…let go of me…”

She got louder as he got closer and before she knew it, she woke to find Lockwood kneeling on the ground beside her.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re with me. Hey, look at me. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Lockwood could see the change in her eyes. From fighting to recognition. He visibly saw her shoulders drop before she put her head in her hands and swung her legs so her feet were on the ground.

Now, she noticed the blanket.

He must have covered her up.

“Let me get you some water.”

Moments later, Lockwood came back in with a glass of cold water and handed it to her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” She tried to deny it.

“You were having a nightmare.” He pointed out. “That’s not nothing.”

A few moments of silence passed over both of them. Until, finally, he spoke again.

“Is this what has been keeping you up at night?”

She looked to him, shocked, for a moment. She had been trying to be silent.

“I’m fine, Lockwood.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, it’s not exactly going great if you can’t sleep,” he pointed out, again. “Is this how you get everything done, in a morning? Why you’re up at the crack of dawn?”

He already knew the answer but the fact that she looked down at her feet, trying to look anywhere but at him was confirmation enough.

He placed his hand in hers, “Hey,” she looked at him. “Next time it happens, wake me up.”

The heat was slowly dying now from the fire, but it didn’t matter because she could already feel her cheeks burning. Maybe it was embarrassment? She didn’t want anyone knowing what she was dreaming about at night. She didn’t want to be a burden on any of her family. They all had a job to do.

“You shouldn’t be going through this alone.”

It took her a moment, but eventually she nodded. She tried to look down again but she felt his hand on her cheek, making her look up. It took him a moment, before he moved closer and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Let’s go to bed.”

It was a week before she had another nightmare that woke her up so early that it wasn’t even the next day. Any time she closed her eyes, the images and the noises would come flooding back to her.

That was the first night she went to his room.

Neither of them said anything. He just pulled the covers back and she slipped inside, leaning into him. He asked her a few questions, holding her hand against his chest whilst two of his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He could feel her pulse. It was racing.

That same night, he placed a kiss to her temple before pulling her closer.

It was the first night either of them had fallen into such a deep sleep, George had to knock on the door when passing to wake them up.

Neither George or Lucy had any idea what was going on. When Lucy was in the bathroom, and George was in the kitchen, she’d rush up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaks before quickly putting on some fresh clothes, running a brush through her hair, washing her face in the sink and heading back downstairs.

By the time she was downstairs, Lockwood was dressed and Lucy had come downstairs running a brush through her hair.

Everything continued on as normal.

And now, months after that night in the library…the nightmares were becoming less and less intense. Less waking up and feeling as if she was still stuck in the nightmare.

They were getting easier to deal with.

Sometimes, George or Lucy would see the pair come out from his bedroom but neither asked any questions about it.

The way they both saw it, both Lockwood and herself look rested. They were better on the job - more alert and less on edge - and they seemed…happier.

Relaxed.

Some nights, she wouldn’t have to sneak down the stairs and into his room due to him taking her hand leading her up the stairs. They were both the only two awake anyway.

And, as she climbed in beside him and he switched off the lamp and they both listened to the movement of distant cars outside, still bustling about. Even if it was way past cerfew, some still broke it; whether they worked for DEPRAC or not.

She would feel his arms wrap around her, holding her as if she was his home. Maybe it was a stretch to think so but she knew he was her’s.

In his arms, at 35 Portland Road, she’s safe. She’s home and nothing could hurt her.

Not even her nightmares.

#lockwood and co #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x fe!reader #fluff #angst #kisses #one bed trope #home in your arms #poortland row #lucy carlyle #george karim #london #netflix #we need a season 2 #love

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lazorbeanz · 6 months

Text

Late Night

Unbreakable Bond

Headcanons #3

🧡 During the times when he’s not busy or on missions, Tails has volunteered to help other kids in his area with their homework, especially maths. (one could say he’s a tutor lol) and they all love him (they’ve given him the name ‘the Fun Enstein,’ though Tails wonders if Sonic has been whispering in their ears), because he somehow manages to turn boring, stressful homework, with all its mountain load of impossible tasks, into a fun investigation, as he eagerly dives into the problem with them, breaking it up and solving it piece by piece until they can put those pieces together and get a complete answer. But it’s not just his teaching methods as to why they love him so much, but how he presents the task in front of them. He makes it not just a question on a page anymore, but rather an important mission, a thrilling adventure in their minds. He displays it to them in a way that will not only get their thinking caps on, but also make them just as excited to solve them, as tough as it may appear, because Tails wants them to know that every problem must and always has a solution…and that learning can be fun if you make it! The energy and enthusiasm he has radiates onto those while teaching, his giddiness and excitement over what they’re tryna solve spreads to them, realising that it can be fun, because he makes it look fun and easy and possible. He doesn’t push them or expect them to know right off the bat, if they have questions, he stops and listens, and will get them to use their “thinking caps,” providing small hints or information he gives out to see if they can solve it themselves. If they’re stuck or confused on something, he will go through it over and over, simplifying and carefully explaining it until they understand (he’s already used to doing that with a certain blue hedgehog)

Sometimes he will get so caught up in their work, he ends up doing a problem or 2 all by himself. He can’t help it though, it’s just out of instinct.

Many parents have come to Tails with questions as to why or how he is so good at what he does.

“When you love something with a burning passion…something that brings you so much joy, you will naturally have the ability to teach others, because you will end up finding joy in teaching them, and might just so happens to spread that joy to those you teach.” He replies

Because to him, this is his passion..this is the thing that brought him that joy. This was something that once brought him nothing but a series of bullying and mockery from his peers, now brings him a series of praise and compliments from those around him. This is the something that he can share to help others, whether it be to save the world, or to save a kid from failing their math class.

Whenever Tails thinks back on when people would bully him with names such as “Mr. know-It-All,” he shrugs…they were right, because being a genius means you know it ALL. And if there’s one thing he knows…

Is that he loves being a STEM nerd :)

💙 Sonic, for the life of him, cannot stay still for too long, and that makes sense..i mean he’s the fastest thing alive for crying out loud…he doesn’t stop moving. Even if it’s just a leg rapidly bobbing up and down, or finger tapping on a surface, or…the fidgeting…oh the dreaded fidgeting!!

And Tails completely understands his reasons for this behaviour…he knows his brother almost, if not, better than he knows himself sometimes, but BOY does it really begin to grind his gears when he begins to subconsciously start fiddling with something of Tails’ when he’s in the lab with him, or if they were eating out, he would pick up the cutlery and twirl it around in his fingers. Even if he has no item to hold Into, he will start tugging at the ends of his gloves. It’s like he has to hold or touch something…anything he can get his hands on.

Tails can’t complain too much though, as he also tends to do the same thing, but it’s almost as if Sonic’s is twice as annoying because it’s twice as frequent to happen. He’s even bought him an unruly amount of fidget spinners, all for them to have their fair share of tasting plaster, due to Sonic spinning them so fast, they’d spin right out his fingers, and straight through a wall.

So after multiple repairs and half tempted to remove the entire wall, he scratched that idea, leaving him sitting at his desk, finger tapping the surface in deep thought…finger tapping..oh no how he was doing it too! But that’s when he got the lightbulb, and began to use all that tapping energy in his fingers into rapidly typing on his keyboard.

Tails walks into Sonic’s bedroom, where he was sitting on his bed and to no surprise, fidgeting. He plonks down beside him, and hands him a tablet.

“I think you’ll enjoy it.” Was all he said, before getting up and making his exit.

Sonic stared at the tablet perplexed for a short moment before picking it up and looking at the screen, all he saw was a square button that said Start. He tapped it, and before he knew it, music began to play and multiple squares were appearing on the screen increasingly fast, but he managed to hit them before it was too late..if that was the game, he thought.

What was this Tails had just bestowed upon him? Soon enough he began to fall into the swing of things, hitting and swiping the split second a square would appear. He even changed the difficulty because it was too easy. This game…was just so…satisfying. His fingers have never felt so relieved. Even the music was catchy too. So he sat there for the rest of the day tapping away to the beat.

Tails was humming away as he tinkered about on his latest project. He then shot a side-eye to see his older brother, standing by his desk with the tablet he’d given him earlier. He looked up to face him, and when he did Sonic tossed the tablet at him. Looking down at it, Tails noticed there was a finger sized crack in the screen. He looked up at the hedgehog wide eyed. “How did you-”

“Fix it.” Sonic said, turned around and left.

Well I guess he enjoyed it then…

s/o to @mbrine for the inspo of these 2 hcs ☝️

🧡 Tails used to earn pocket money from Sonic for the little things he’d achieve when tagging along on his adventures, or if he was being a good boy and sonic decided to treat him.

Now, it’s Sonic earning pocket money from Tails…

Tails (mildy unenthusiastic): congratulations Sonic, you managed to put your laundry in the machine…here’s $1.50

💙 Sonic is fairly good at Tap and Irish dancing *cough cough happy feet sonic edition HACCK-*

🧡 Sonic takes pictures of funny or weird things and makes memes out of them to send to Tails

💙 Sonic and Tails are stargazing and Sonic points out a star.

“That’s a bright one.”

“That’s Sirius, also known as the Dog Star. It’s the brightest star in our night sky. Its name literally means “glowing” in Greek. Sirius has a high luminosity in comparison to other stars, and has a mass twice of that which the sun has. In fact, if you were to place Sirius next to the Sun, it would outshine the sun more than 20 times over…”

Hold up- HOW DOES HE KNOW THE STAR EXACTLY…NAME N EVERYTHING?

Sonic doesn’t even bother to fact check him as he’s probably right. All he’s thinking about now is whether his little brother has an IQ of 300 or 3000…

🧡 Sonic and Tails have a special handshake, and I mean a gumball and Darwin kinda handshake lmao

#okay I’m leaving it at that my brain has shut off #might come back to edit this tmr with more hcs if I’m bothered #shoulda been working on this today instead of reading sonamy fanfics but I have no regrets lol #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic #sth #unbreakable bond #tails the fox #sonic headcanons #unbreakable bond headcanons #wstw #wsatw #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #writing drabble

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roguelov · 2 years

Text

Green-Eyed Monster

Summary: While Morpheus takes care of the Dreaming, you find yourself enjoying a past time of yours: finding and cuddling cats of the Dreaming. It was a fun and innocent game. Or it was. One day, Morpheus spots you with a cat in your lap and strangely becomes jealous. So, how will he solve this? By becoming a cat himself, of course.

Word Count: ~2.6k

Reader: Gender Neutral (not explicit)

Warning: Some minor jealousy, mostly fluff, light teasing and suggestive hints in the end

Requested by the amazing @dreamstatednightmare

Morpheus - the sole provider of the Dreaming and all of its residents - was obviously a busy man. His attention constantly pulled in every direction from ensuring dreams and nightmares were doing their duties, to aiding whoever asked, and to keeping the Dreaming afloat and in perfect order. For the Dreaming was a cog in the cosmic wheel which was of utmost importance, its effects rippled out to all realms.

You understood this greatly, Morpheus had responsibilities that came first, and that never bothered you. In fact, because of such reasons, whenever you visited the Dreaming you created a game for yourself. There were many wondrous, unimaginable things to see and do in the Dreaming, but strangely you noted all the mundane things. Things you could easily see in the Waking, things such as the occasional house cat trotting around the palace.

Did Morpheus have an affinity for cats? Or did cats have an affinity for Dream of the Endless?

You supposed it didn’t matter.

When Morpheus had business to attend to, you would go ‘hunt’ for cats. You would stroll throughout the palace, and its grounds - sometimes even venturing into Fiddler’s Green - to find a cat. To your surprise, it was quite easy. In minutes, you would find yourself tucked under a tree, or on a bench, with a cat in your lap and possibly another walking around. You would sit for what seemed to be hours mindlessly petting it, listening to its calming purring, or coo at the furry stray. You would even tell stories to them, be it fictional or from your own life.

You enjoyed this little game of yours.

So, when you visited the Dreaming tonight, you found yourself in a portion of the palace's lustrous gardens - the rose garden. The rose bushes stretched tall and wide as a thick wall, forming an extravagant labyrinth to get lost in. Roses of all colors bloomed from a pure innocent white to a dark red dripping with a passion. Yet, you sat on the outer edges under a tree; the tree had iridescent green leaves and glass like flowers hidden in the foliage. The sunlight always shined above, sending prisms of splintering rainbows all over. But, despite such beauties, you were here for a simpler reason. You smiled as you spotted a shadow again up ahead in the rose bushes. A distinct shadow you came to know well - a feline shadow.

You gently called out, “Come on out, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Pale green eyes - almost yellow in the sunlight - peered out from behind the leaves. Its eyes nearly blended into the mess of various greens.

You smiled kindly, extending out your hand towards it.

A reddish brown nose poked out.

Back in the palace, specifically in the royal library, Morpheus rose from a chair away from the long thin table. “If there is nothing else, Lucienne, I would like to take my leave for the day,” he said.

Lucienne closed her journal, which now had a completed checklist written inside, and looked up at her lord. “Everything has been accounted for and addressed, sire.”

“Good. I will be leaving, but if anything arises do call.”

“Of course, my lord.” She nodded and began tidying up all the documents scattered over the table top. With new dreams and nightmares being created, space for them was now needed. The Dreaming was under minor maintenance and readjustments.

Morpheus scanned over the documents and blueprints, feeling satisfied with the solutions. His eyes flickered to Lucienne as she piled up the papers. “And do rest, Lucienne, you deserve it.”

Lucienne blinked then smiled softly. “I will, thank you.”

Morphues nodded, then strolled out of the library. The second the door clicked behind him, his thoughts instantly went to you. Where could you have run off to this time? He wished he could offer more of his time to you. His heart ached, knowing you were alone. You swore it never bothered you. However, it bothered him. Immensely. Surely, the Dreaming would take care of you; you could find entertainment anywhere and never grow bored.

But.

But, he wanted to be there. He wanted to show you wonders. In the end, however, he could not divide his attention so easily.

He sighed to himself, walking out to the grounds of the palace. You said you wouldn’t stray too far.

“Oh, look how lovely you are.”

Morpheus’s footsteps faltered. He twisted around to locate your voice. Under one of the trees bathed in rainbows, there you were. You sat cross-legged on the soft patch of grass with your back pressed against the trunk of the tree.

He moved to call out to you, almost believing you were speaking to him, when a cat - a brown tabby cat - slowly walked towards you.

You cooed as the cat reached you and you began scratching behind her ears.

Morpheus oddly felt himself deflate.

The cat purred, leaning into your touch. Smiling, you whispered praises. You ran a finger over the dark stripes, softly tracing over the somewhat misshapen ‘M’ on her forehead. The cat closed her eyes, tilting her head back loving every second.

You chuckled. “Do you like that?”

At the sound of your laughter, such a sweet sound, a dark cloud began to form over the King of Dreams’ head.

You scratched the tabby’s cream colored chin, and your smile widened as her purring grew louder. The cat pushed her head into your hand, grateful for every ounce of affection you were giving. When her pale green eyes opened, she seemed as if she was smiling up at you. Her eyes twinkled. Then, without warning, she hopped into your lap, curling into a ball.

“God, you are adorable,” you whispered, giddily.

She rolled onto her back, peering up at you. You wiggled your fingers in front of her face and she meowed and batted at them. You laughed, loud and wholeheartedly.

Morpheus’s jaw clenched.

Why? Why did anger worm into his heart over such a small insignificant creature?

His eyes locked onto you. You peered down at the feline. Your fingers carefully caressed over her head and down her back. So delicate, so loving. A sickly green clouded his vision. He craved your attention after such a grueling day, and to see a cat be the prize of such affection? Jealousy and disgust filled him. How dare this creature tread on what was his?

He did not think twice.

He stepped forward.

His mortal figure withered away into a cloud of glimmering yellow sand. Each drop quietly scattered across the ground, like hushed bells. As the cloud shrunk, a black long hair cat strolled out. His gaze landed on you, or more accurately the stray in your lap. With his head held high, he walked over while his tail flickered side to side.

The tabby cat perked up her head, noticing Morphues first.

Morpheus, with his unnaturally bright blue eyes, locked eyes with the cat. Disgust and hatred written plainly in his eyes. The cat pinned her ears back and swiftly leapt out of your lap, sprinting off back into the rose bushes.

“Well, what got into her?” You asked, confused.

You glanced over to where the cat was looking earlier, before her grand escape, only to spot a new cat. The gorgeous all black cat had a regal air about him as he approached you. You shrugged off the other cat’s peculiar behavior. Smiling at the black cat, you stretched out your hand in a welcoming gesture. “Hello there, little one.”

The cat sniffed your hand only once before pushing his head into your hand. Your smile widened. He seemed to like you more than any other cat you met. The cat purred and instantly jumped into your lap.

You laughed. “Okay, make yourself at home.”

The cat looked up at you with such beautiful blue - and somehow familiar - eyes. You started scratching the top of his head, and he sunk down into your lap. His tail happily swished back and forth.

Morpheus could not deny how heavenly this all felt.

“You are truly a beautiful cat,” you hummed. “And so soft too.”

Your fingers carded through his fluffy, cotton candy like fur. You wanted to bury your face in his fur. Oh, it was so warm too, like a gentle hug, soothing and welcoming. Another sense of familiarity tickled in the back of your mind. The texture, to some extent, but the color reminded you of -

It clicked.

You huffed through your nose, amused. You continued to scratch behind his ears. He snuggled deeper into your lap, purring constantly and nonstop.

“I know it’s you, love,” you whispered. The cat jerked his head up, staring up at you with those endless oceanic eyes. You ran a finger from his nose over his forehead. You bent down kissing the top of his head, over the smoothed out fur. “So, now I am left wondering why you have taken the form of a cat? Care to explain, Morpheus.”

Morpheus stared, silently. Does he dare say the reasoning? Does he keep up the charade?

You scratched under his chin. He immediately closed his eyes, and began purring once again.

You snickered. “Is that why you are like this? To be scratched? To be pampered?”

Morpheus’s eyes shot open. He huffed, partially annoyed; be it at you for the accuracy of your questions or himself for acting this way, he did not know why.

“Or to be cooed at?” You teased. “My sweet, adorable Morpheus.”

Morpheus turned his head, holding it up high. Now, that was ridiculous.

“Oh come on, you came to me like this.” Your hand ran down his back through his midnight fur. “You clearly wanted this.”

Morpheus peered out of the corner of his eye to you.

A smile graced your lips. Brilliant and beautiful.

His heart skipped.

Maybe, this was enough. The charade was clearly over.

He leapt out of your lap. In mid air, a tornado of shadows and golden sand swirled tightly around Morpheus’s tiny feline figure. It grew bigger and wider in the air. In a span of a few seconds, black boots landed firmly on the ground. The sand wisped away twinkling like distant stars, and Morpheus stood above you back in his mortal form.

“Aw, did you have enough already?” You tossed him a cheeky smile.

Morpheus rolled his eyes as he tried to hide an amused smile. Despite your teasing, he could not help but smile when you smiled. Even if the reasoning was at his own expense.

“So?” You hummed.

Morpheus raised an eyebrow.

“Care you explain why you greeted me as a cat?”

Morpheus’s lips thinned. Apparently, anger was still heavy on his chest. Anger and embarrassment. He glanced away, avoiding your gaze. He looked to where the other cat scampered off, luckily she had not shown her face again. He was thankful for that.

You stared at him, silently dissecting him. Morpheus was always one to close himself off to negative, unsavory emotions. Yet, despite his efforts, you could read him fairly well. Your eyes followed his gaze towards the rose bushes, to the exact spot the tabby cat darted into.

“Was it the cat?” You asked, starting to pull at the thread.

Morpheus tensed. He slowly turned his attention back to you. His silence was your answer.

You snorted. “Morpheus, were you jealous of a cat?”

“No,” he quickly answered. Far too quickly, it only confirmed your suspicions.

You laughed. Standing up, you leaned in towards Morpheus. “You were jealous of a measly little cat.”

Morpheus huffed.

“Now, why would you be jealous? It is only a cat, Morpheus.”

“A cat which has garnered all of your affection.” He fired back.

You blinked then shook your head, still smiling. “It is a cat, it has not ‘garnered all of my affection’.”

Morpheus grumbled. “Then why shower it with any affection at all? Why not seek out my company instead?”

Your smile softened. Here is the true problem. You reached up with one hand and cupped his face. “Because, you are busy and I do not want to disturb you.”

He placed his hand on top of yours. “I know, but I wish you would. You do not have to be out here finding entertainment in strays.”

“But, I like it.”

He frowned.

“It is just a game, Morpheus. An innocent game of finding cats while I wait for you.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb. “It’s honestly relaxing and a bit fun, you should join me sometime.”

Morpheus frown deepened. That was possibly the last thing he wished to do.

“Oh, don’t be like that. A few cats cannot steal my heart, okay? And you know why?”

Morpheus stared. You silently prompted him to ask, to play along. He shook his head, but his lips slowly tugged back into a smile. “Why?”

“Because you already have it.”

He blinked. Your eyes shone with adoration, such beautiful eyes. He sighed, leaning into your touch. What a fool I am, he thought. His hand curled around your wrist, wishing to stay like this. “Apologies, love,” he muttered, “it seems I have let my emotions get the best of me.”

Not the first time, you jokingly thought. “It’s okay.”

He turned his head, kissing the inside of your wrist. “I think I may have a solution for our limited time apart.”

“Oh?”

“Would it be inappropriate to ask you to join me occasionally while I work? It could also provide an opportunity to show you all of the Dreaming.”

You smiled. “I would be honored.”

He returned the smile. “I hope you do not grow bored during such frivolous tasks.”

“I don’t think I will, and maybe I can help you. It could speed up the process.”

“Perhaps.”

With your free hand, you brushed back strands of his messy raven hair. “I just want you to know if you want my attention,” you leaned in pecking his lips, “just ask for it.”

Morpheus’s hands skimmed down your body, wrapping around you. “Is that so?” He whispered, playfully.

“It is.” You smirked, “You don’t have to go through crazy shenanigans like turning into a cat.”

He laughed once. “I suppose not.”

“But,” you began. Morpheus cocked his head curiously. Your arms fell over his shoulders as your fingers started to play with the edges of his hair. Your smirk grew, and your eyes twinkled with mischief. “But, you may not get any work done with me around.”

“Oh, really?” He leaned in, matching your smirk.

You hummed. “I may want all your attention to myself, I may become a distraction.”

Morpheus’s lips brushed over yours. “A welcoming distraction if ever.”

You chuckled. “How about we take this elsewhere? Maybe inside before another cat comes prancing in to ‘garner’ my affection.”

Morpheus had to suppress a groan. “I will not love this down, will I?”

“No, you will not. You were quite cute as a cat.” You kissed him - fleeting, but oh so loving. “But not as cute as you are now.”

He shook his head, but still smiled.

You took his hands, guiding him towards the palace. “If you want my affection, then let me show you how much you mean to me, my sweet king.”

Smiling, he tugged you back towards him, pressing you firmly up against him. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear. “Only if I get to return the favor, my love.”

You laughed as Morpheus quickly took the lead. He nearly rushed back inside, now knowing he will have your fullest attention - the thing he always craves.

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