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annwrites · 3 months

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sons & daughters. part four.

— pairing: cregan stark x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you see a different side of cregan, reminisce on old memories, & a confirmation is made.

— word count: 15,854

— tagging list: @beebeechaos @crypticlxrsh @amindfullofmonsters @yeolsbubbles @icefrye19

When it comes time for supper, you are famished.

You'd had a small lunch while seated before the fire in your room—a sandwich and soup, with a hearty side of roasted vegetables—but it had not entirely filled you.

That was what you got for having missed breaking your fast, and instead spending the morning lost inside your head. In your worries.

But praying, as Cregan had suggested, had lightened your load. There was something about the simplicity of it—that beautiful bit of woods, the tall tree with blood-red leaves standing resolute before you, a face to listen—which had settled you.

It had not taken long before your crying and rapid breaths had calmed, and you began to simply speak to them: his Gods, as if they were old friends.

It had been a far-cry, in terms of experience, from how you felt when praying in the Sept at King's Landing. There, you had felt spied upon by those looming statues, meant to judge and decide your fate.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, you were sure they whispered in congress.

You had felt uneasy about the Septas and Septons who walked about, curious eyes roving over you as they placed new candles when the others finally burnt down to no more than wicks.

But, as with everything else, even your spiritual experience here had been preferable to out there.

You are glad for it, though. To have found new deities to confide in. It brings you peace to have them now at your requisite.

Cregan has just pulled on a pair of trousers when there is a soft knock at his door.

HIs head turns in that direction and he pads over to it on bare feet, and when he opens it, he is met by the sight of you staring up at him, and then to his naked, muscled chest with wide eyes, your face reddening.

"I—" You start, then stop suddenly.

His lip twitches.

He supposes your mysterious suitor is, at the very least, forgotten in this moment as he instead overtakes your senses.

He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging. "Yes, My Princess? I was just readying myself for supper."

He sees his cloak in your arms, but instead of making this easier for you—he thinks himself a rogue for even thinking it—he waits on you to instead continue.

Your eyes trail back up, until meeting his own once again.

You shove the cloak suddenly toward him, your hands shaking. "Thank you. For the cloak, that is. Well, both of them. Here it is."

He grins, taking it from you. "Thank you. You received my gift, then?"

You nod, still flushed.

"I did," you say quietly. "I am very grateful for it. It was kind of you to give it to me."

You nod toward the one in his arms. "And for allowing me to borrow your own for the day."

"How did it go, then?"

You blink at him, mind whirring. "What?"

He raises a brow. "Praying."

You smile. "I should have spoken to them sooner. The Seven never felt...quite right for me. Whereas everything here does."

He smiles as well, pleased to hear that you finally found something you had mayhaps been looking for—before the weirwood. In his home as a whole.

You go to step away, then.

"I shall leave you to dress," you say, blood rushing to your face once again.

"Will you wait for me to escort you to dinner, Y/N?"

You nod gently, and go to wait in your room for him to retrieve you.

You sit beside Cregan once again this evening, softly smiling—unable to stop, really—each time you think of him standing so...immodestly before you.

It is immodest for you to think of it, you know, but you cannot help yourself.

As if you have not been immodest with another before...

You glance to him from under your lashes, smiling when he smiles at Jace as they jest, then quickly away, back to the dish before you when he looks in your direction.

You flush when you feel his thigh press against your own under the table, and when his forearm brushes against yours atop it.

Mayhaps you seem a bit foolish, to be so taken with him and so early at that, but it is difficult not to be. No man has ever treated you with such tenderness. Such concern.

So you choose to indulge yourself by enjoying it: his company. Even if you know it will not last, and sooner, rather than later, come to an end.

Your heart sinks at the knowledge, so you decide to push it aside for now and play pretend once more that everything is alright. That you and Jace are merely here visiting with a friend, and not plotting for battle.

During a brief silence, you finally speak to Jace.

"I saw you in the training yard today."

He looks at you with a raised brow, prepared for whatever commentary you are about to bestow upon him about his quick defeat.

"Spying, are we, sister?" He asks, voice monotone.

You shrug, taking a bite of your venison, then swallowing. "You clearly could use the practice."

Cregan's lip twitches at your banter, wondering if you had been impressed by him; his skill with a sword.

"You're one to talk."

You sit up straighter. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He leans in toward you. "I could have you suing for peace in only a moment with only a stick in my hand."

A smirk comes onto your lips. "Is that so?"

He groans. He should've remembered.

"Tell me, dear brother," you start, watching as he rolls his eyes. "Who was it, some years ago, who was begging who for mercy when one of us was equipped with only a switch from a sapling?"

"Yes, well," he states sarcastically. "It wasn't very proper of you to be assaulting your future king, and Prince of Dragonstone, now was it? Some might even say treasonous."

You kick him lightly. "You took my doll."

"For the last time, I told you it was Luke."

"I found it beheaded in your chest!"

Cregan snorts from beside you before taking a drink of his ale.

Jace sighs dramatically. "I will remember this insolence when you are once again clinging to me for warmth atop Vermax on our way home."

Cregan's face falls then.

You glare at him. "I have a new cloak. I shall be perfectly content."

"From?" Jace asks.

"Me," Cregan interjects.

Jacaerys turns to him then.

"You gifted my sister a cloak?" He asks, questioningly.

He shrugs. "She was ill-equipped for northern weather. I misliked seeing her cold and shivering. It pleases me to see her, instead, warm, and looked after by mine own hand."

You grow suddenly quiet, a warmth blooming in your chest at his comment, your heart fluttering.

Jace glances between the two of you then, wondering if something has transpired which he had missed. He trusts Lord Stark well enough thus far, but knows that he is, still, a man. One without a wife for some time now, at that.

He doesn't know that he envisions him as the sort to win himself your good graces, so as to then fall into bed together under the false pretense of a promise of marriage, but he must still be cautious.

You as well.

"That was very kind of you, Lord Cregan," Jace offers, studying him.

Cregan looks to you, watching as you eat your meal silently. "I wish only that I could give the Princess more."

You glance up to him and he smiles softly at you. "Mayhaps we should all journey into Winter Town on the morrow."

He looks at your brother then. "What say you, Jace?"

Jacaerys grins at the offer. "We shall make an afternoon of it."

Initially, when you lie down for the evening, you struggle to sleep due to excitement. Giddiness, even.

The way he'd treated you today—the small touches and the lingering looks he'd given you—it had all served to make you feel, once more, like a woman grown. Not as a girl, not as a child. But a lady desired.

A feeling you have thought you may never experience again after your last day in the capitol.

When you began to grow into your body all those years ago, you still felt inside the way you always had. Shy, and one to hide behind your mother's skirts. You have, clearly, much felt it here as well, despite this place having a sense of home for you.

Until he gave you his attentions and said stern words of wisdom.

I cannot imagine a finer fate, he had told you about you one day being a man's wife and mother to his children.

Does he...does he feel it, too then? It is so foolish to think he may, after only being here together a handful of days, but you cannot deny that you admire him. That you...wish for him.

For his attentions to continue.

He is stern, yet gentle. A man of convictions, yet open-minded. Young, but seemingly old at-heart. And rugged, but very handsome. And above all else, intimidating, but so very safe.

When his eyes fall upon you, you feel warmth spreading along your body like a dragon's fire across a field, your heart blooming like a rose in spring.

You turn on your side, softly squealing into the furs that your flushed cheek rests upon, heart beating wildly like a drum each time you even attempt at closing your eyes, for you are soon greeted by the image of him, like that of this morning.

His broad chest, his wide shoulders, tall frame and muscular arms.

You grin like a girl in love when you so much as think of his voice, it whispered into your ears.

As you finally begin to calm, you fall off to sleep with a smile, knowing: you will see him once more on the morrow.

You and Jace meet Lord Stark the next morn near the stables after having broken your fasts together.

Jace had asked you many questions about your time together with Cregan as you dined on bacon and bread and potatoes. Such as the things you have discussed, the places you have gone around the grounds, and then his true inquiry became apparent before long: had he done anything...untoward.

You'd stated firmly, then, that Cregan did not seem that sort of man to you, so of course not. He is a man of honor, you'd insisted.

You'd shrugged off your shawl then, hoping to cool yourself—rid yourself of your flushed cheeks—at that image of him half-undressed once again painting itself within your mind.

You were desperately glad, then, that Jace could not read it.

Lord Cregan greets you with a smile, his hand coming to find its way to the small of your back as he leads you over to an inky black courser with a mane that is so silky, it looks like water running over stones at midnight.

He watches as you pet its neck gently.

You look up to him, his fingertips dancing lightly over your gifted cloak.

It pleases him to see you wearing it—including that of the sigil of his house. He deems it much suits you.

"What is her name?" You ask.

"Onyx."

You laugh lightly. "Fitting, I suppose. Will you be riding her, then?"

He shakes his head. "She is for you, Princess. I would gift her to you, but I imagine getting her properly seated atop a dragon would be with much difficulty," he states with a grin.

He would gift you a horse?

You flush.

"It is the thought that counts. Thank you," you say, taking his hand in yours with a gentle squeeze.

You then look behind him at a large, gorgeous chestnut steed. "Yours?"

He nods while looking to him. "I've had him since I was a young lad. My first horse, in fact. Given to me by my father on my fourth name day."

"I was sorry to hear about him," you say, taking a step closer, nearly pressed against his side.

He closes the distance. "I suppose we both know that pain. You all too well—two-fold."

He glances at Jace, who is busy speaking to the stablemaster and he decides to be rather bold—for only a moment. He slides his hand beneath your cloak, along your waist, circling it within his arm.

Your gaze immediately meets his, to find him staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

"I—" You start, then stop.

His gloved thumb brushes over your hip. "Will you walk with me, once we have reached town, Y/N?"

You swallow thickly, then nod. "I will."

He nods toward your horse then, sliding his other hand beneath your cloak as well, gripping both your hips firmly, and suddenly lifting you atop your new traveling companion for the morn.

You brace your hands upon his shoulders, smiling down at him over the unexpected gesture as his rough hands slide from your hips and down your thighs before finally settling back at his sides once more.

When you arrive in the small market town—which is located closely enough to Winterfell that you would have been just as equally pleased to walk there—you go to dismount, until Cregan orders you to wait for him.

You flush at the stern command, but obey, nonetheless.

Jace watches from the side as Cregan lifts his arms, takes you by the hips and slides you off in one fell swoop, placing you firmly back on your feet on frozen northern ground.

He rests his wrist over the pommel of his sword, now wondering, as Lord Stark tucks a curled lock behind your ear with gentleness, if mother’s blessing for marriage will not soon come to be of much use.

He would not mind calling Cregan brother.

He smiles at the thought as he trails behind the pair of you—your arm wrapped firmly around Cregan’s, so as to keep you safely close to his side—giving you both your space, curious to see if blossoms can still bloom, even in such temperate climates.

As your twin brother—the other part of your soul, for you have been together since the moment of your conception—he wants nothing more than for you to be safe and contented. He thinks, with confidence, that Lord Cregan could potentially provide such things, and more.

You smile as you watch a family of five walk past, bowing their heads in respect to their liege lord, while he does the same to them in return. The children trail behind their mother like a row of ducklings, which only causes your smile to grow wider.

Cregan glances to you, very much liking the sight of you so happy for a change. “Do you wish for children, Princess?”

You glance to the side, worried someone may have heard him.

You and Jace had opted not to wear anything indicating your house—who each of you are—this morn, so as to remain at least slightly inconspicuous out of an effort to enjoy yourselves here.

As far as these people know, you are just friends of Lord Stark’s.

You nod. “I do.”

His hand slides overtop of yours, which is wrapped round his bicep—the location chosen by you on purpose.

“How many?”

You shrug, glancing to a stall selling various spices. “As many as my future lord husband desires, I suppose.”

He nearly groans at the unsatisfactory answer. “I did not ask about about him, Y/N, I asked about you. Your desires, and yours alone.”

You glance up to him, yet again enjoying his stern tone.

You know not why.

It had initially frightened you in the crypts just a day ago, but now…you think mayhaps his congenial façade is beginning to lower, and the Wolf of the North is instead emerging the more time you spend in one another’s company.

You do not entirely mind it.

Someone for once refusing to accept what you first offer them on the surface, and instead asking after what lies within you instead is not something you have experienced for quite some time.

Well, not entirely true. Naught but a few days past did another look directly into you as well—but with him that was nothing new. You had just been surprised he was still so adept at it after so long apart.

It had meant something to you that he was.

“In truth? I would like as many as my body will allow. I may wish for a quiet place to live, but I do not wish for a quiet home.”

You smile warmly. “I wish to be awoken by the pitter-patter of little feet and hear laughter at all hours of the day. I would even prefer the sound of my children crying because the other has once again broken their favorite toy to that of solemn silence.”

You look at Cregan and laugh. “Jace and I might have done that quite often when we were cross with one another. And we were always cross with one another. I destroyed a number of his wooden soldiers growing up.”

His lip twitches. “You must have very strong hands to accomplish such a feat.”

You shake your head. “I threw them into the hearth to use as kindling.”

He laughs then.

“There is another thing I am most certain of, which I know is not common practice, but I will not have it any other way, so long as my husband agrees.”

“And what might that be, Y/N?”

“I will feed my children from mine own breasts. I won’t have a wet nurse do it for me if I can help it. My babes will have come from me, and they will thus be nursed by me. I can’t bear the thought of another woman instead having that privilege. To think of them instead in her arms and…”

You shake your head, upset just at the thought of it.

He leans toward you, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. “An admirable thing for a highborn lady to want.”

You flush at the tender gesture.

He leads you into a shop then, which is filled with various wares: dried herbs, jars, pots, decanters, mortar and pestles, ointments and salves—clearly an apothecary. And up front is a small selection of brass and wooden toys, at perfect eye-level for little ones.

You step over to a crate holding cinnamon sticks which are bound together in small batches with twine, then pause when you hear a child asking for a little wooden horse.

“Please, mummy? I lost my other one. Please?”

She shakes her head, counting coins—even looking to the shopkeep and pushing a jar toward him, clearly not able to afford it.

“Not today, darling. I’m sorry.”

She takes her purchase in one hand, and then her child’s hand in her free one, and your heart sinks and you watch the little boy rub at his eyes.

“Would you—” Cregan starts, but you brush past him, racing to the counter and handing over a few shining Dragons to the elderly man behind it before grabbing the jar the woman had left, as well as a toy horse—even a wooden knight to go with it—quickly following after them.

Cregan steps out after you, trying to keep up with your brisk pace, and then he watches from a distance—halting in his tracks—as you greet a woman with a warm smile and an understanding look, placing a jar firmly within her hands.

She fervently shakes her head, trying to hand it back to you, but you insist before then bending down to meet her son. And he watches as you hand the little boy a set of matching wooden toys—painted ones, at that.

The mother’s chin wobbles as her son squeals with glee. Both of them thanking you profusely, while you try desperately to brush it off as nothing.

But it is not nothing to the stoic northern lord who watches you. To him, it is everything. Yet one step closer to confirmation of a question of great importance that he has in-mind.

You walk back over to him, cheeks burning as you take his arm again.

“Princess, that was…very generous of you.”

“I have more coin than I know what to do with. I won’t watch others go without if I can help. I refuse to. It wasn’t generous. It was just the right thing to do.”

“You have a kind heart,” he remarks.

“Mayhaps I just have one in general. It seems so many others like us—highborns—have forgotten theirs. I won’t be one of them. Especially now.”

You’re quiet for a moment, with a question to ask—as you are on the subject of hearts and humanity—but worried it may be too personal, or, perhaps, offensive.

You use your most gentle tone. “Does it…bother you, the thought of having to potentially take a life when the time comes?”

His thumb brushes over your fingers that grip his upper arm. “At one time, mayhaps. But it has long since passed. I know my duty. As Lord of Winterfell, but much more, Warden of the North. Hard times call for hard sacrifices. For difficult acts. I will do what must be done. Not just because it is what is expected of me, but to honor my forebears, my name, my people, and kingdom. Any duty, great or small, is to be looked upon as a privilege. Not a burden. As a Stark, we do what we do in the name of honor—of what is true—instead of doing it out of personal benefit, or for some form of political gain.”

You press your cheek against the crown of his shoulder then, much liking his honest answer. He always seems able to speak from the heart. You appreciate such a quality.

Being raised in King’s Landing…it is something you are not used to.

You wrap your other arm around his then, holding tightly to him. “Wish that I knew what that was like. I fear I never will.”

“You do not miss it then? King’s Landing?”

“If I never set eyes upon it again, I think I would be quite content with that.”

“A den of vipers, I believe I once heard it referred to it as,” he states.

Your lip twitches. “An apt name for it, yes. Even when you think you are alone, you’re not. Spies and worse around every corner, always waiting and listening and watching. The courtiers do adore their gossip.”

“Were you not close with any of them, then? The ‘Greens’, as they now seem to be called—the Hightowers.”

You straighten your head again, looking forward as the two of you round a shop, which you then come to lean back against as you release his arm, Jace otherwise occupied across the way speaking with a blacksmith.

You rest your gloved hands over your abdomen. “I was. With one.”

“Princess Helaena, I presume?”

“She and I were polite with one another, but she seemed always content to be left alone. Which I understood. So no, not Helaena.”

“The Queen dowager, then?”

You shake your head. “Due to her and my mother’s…falling out so many years ago, I did try to keep my distance from her.”

“One of your uncles.”

You finally nod. “Yes.”

He watches as you turn your gaze away from him, toward the treeline in the distance instead, a faraway look about you.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Which, might I ask?”

You look back to him, the look in your eyes that of…melancholy. “Aemond. We were close friends as children.”

It all suddenly falls into place for him then. The childhood friend, the inability to marry due to current circumstances, the refusal to name your suitor. It is because it is not just your uncle, but a man you are now meant to call enemy and traitor.

“He is the one who proposed marriage,” he states firmly.

Your eyes immediately flit back to his and his suspicions are then confirmed. “Jace cannot know. Please, promise me—”

“You know I will guard your secrets, Princess. That they are safe with me.”

You breath a sign of relief then. “Thank you.”

“You would have considered settling for remaining in King’s Landing just to be with him—before Aegon’s usurpation, that is.” The thought displeases him—you being that devoted to another that you would have stayed in a place which causes you misery, just so you may remain by his side.

You glance away, thinking. Remembering. With an ache in your chest. “We would not have remained in King’s Landing.”

Let us finally be free of our gilded cages, beloved niece.

His brows furrow, heart-rate quickening. “Surely you do not mean to imply that the two of you would have run away together?”

He cannot imagine you doing something so impulsive. More and more he begins to doubt how well he can read you.

You shrug. “It was Aemond’s idea. I had no home to miss, only family—if I followed through, that is.”

“But you said no.” He takes a small step closer, desperate for you to confirm that you did.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I told him I needed time to consider.”

His heart drops, his hope shattering.

You continue. “But it does not matter now. Not after what they have done. There is naught left to consider in terms of…matrimony. I suppose if we had, though, that last night—just done it—fled, we would be far away from all of this by now.”

“Do you still love him?” He asks again, repeating himself from just a day ago, desperate for your answer.

Your eyes meet his once more. “I believe a part of me always will. Aemond and I—growing up—we leaned so heavily on one another. A bond like that is not so easily forgotten or forsook.”

He knows all too well. Arra.

“We were both just…different. Aegon and Helaena were betrothed, so they had one another—even if they kept their distance from each other—which made him feel much alone. Compound that with him being dragonless, and the fact that both mine own brothers and his mocked him for it.”

You sigh.

The Pink Dread.

You had given Jace an earful after that one when Aemond cried in your arms about it before going to his mother after you had consoled him, ensuring him that you thought no less of him for it—that you still saw him every inch a Targaryen.

He knew your doubts about your paternity, so he had repaid you the same sentiment in kind.

“And then there was me being the only girl in my family. And, as I said, always feeling out-of-step. My brothers being taught politics, fighting, strategy, and history, while I was taught how to smile and look pretty and recite Valyrian poetry.”

You shake your head. “My mother had attempted at betrothing Aemond and I when we were young, as well as Jace and Helaena—she offered either—both arrangements, to try and mend the rift between her and Queen Alicent, but Her Grace refused both offers. Yet, we found our ways to one another time and again anyway. He never obeyed when his mother ordered him stay away from me.”

You smile slightly. “His stubborn disposition has not much changed, even as his body did. That much has, at least, remained consistent.”

You clasp your hands. “But we grew up and apart. Things changed. The night Luke took his eye and he claimed for himself the largest dragon in the world he became more…bold. Fearless, mayhaps. We already had distance between us. Literal and figurative. The chasm only grew after what my younger brother did. Aemond and I had, at least, occasionally written to the other after we parted from the Red Keep, but correspondence from him ceased altogether after that night on Driftmark.”

You still are unsure that you believe what he told you that last evening together as he grabbed you firmly by both your arms—squeezing as he held you close to him—insisting: What fucking letters?, his one good eye desperately flitting between both of your own in a frenzied panic for an answer.

It was abundantly clear just from your private moment in the Godswood that afternoon, before Vaemond lost his head, that he had perfected a silver tongue over the years.

In more ways than one…

He does not want the answer, he knows he does not. But he asks the question anyway.

“Do you wish you had said yes?”

You stare at him for a moment, a sense of longing overtaking you. “Perhaps. It’s just…at least with Aemond…”

You sigh, searching for how to word this. “As I told you in the crypts, I have endeavored for the better part of my life to resign myself to the fate of a stale marriage. But now that the actual possibility looms ever closer, I do not know if I can withstand such a horrible future. Not even telling myself that it may be for the benefit of my family comforts me now. Just, with Aemond I would’ve had…”

You shake your head.

“What?” He presses.

“I—”

“What would he have given you?”

“Passion,” you blurt out.

He takes a step back.

“I know that it may seem strange, given it is not your custom: intermarrying relatives, but I think our relation only brought us closer. He has been there since the day I was born. Had been every day after, until my mother spirited us away. I often wonder what might have happened had we instead remained together.”

He remains silent, merely looking at you, searching for words, wondering if there are any to be had, now that he knows another still holds your heart within his hands. Hands which have your same blood flowing through their veins.

He solidifies himself then. He is not a green boy to give up so easily. The signs have aligned thus far, he will not shirk them—nor his desire for you—so quickly.

"Do you not believe you could have it with another?"

He takes a small step closer toward you.

Your brows furrow. "What?"

He leans in closer to you, attempting a different route.

You wish for passion? He shall then give it to you.

He has offered you genteelness thus far, and he fears that perhaps you have mistaken it as no more than congeniality or boyish fancy.

But it is not a boy whom stands before you, but a man with want.

A wolf with hunger.

He shall shed his sheep's skin, then, and show you what lies beneath.

He grips your chin firmly between his fingers, his dark eyes gazing into your own. "Passion."

You blink up at him, at a loss for words, your mouth growing dry.

Just then, Jace calls for you and the moment ceases to be.

Or, so you think, until Lord Stark places a firm hand against the small of your back as the two of you return to the your brother, which he refuses to remove for the rest of the day.

Atop that, he purchases for you a few gifts: a necklace of a small silver snowflake you had admired, herbs for tea, and yards of material for a new dress.

You had tried to insist that you could afford it all yourself, but he'd simply replied "it pleases me to please you, so let me". And you then had, without further quarrel.

On the return to the castle, he had ridden steadily beside you, keeping an eye on you all the while, which you had been unsure what to do with. So you'd occasionally smiled at him or laughed from nerves.

And he had eventually looked away, leaving you to then stare after him. His tall, confident form, the way of surety which he sits his steed, and the way his people look at him as he passes. With reverence.

With great admiration, you witness him addressing a great many with simple nods or calling them by name. You come to quickly realize it is not just respect which they give and feel toward him, but love. And at such young an age, at that.

They are very fortunate to have him watching over them.

“Wait for me to assist you, Y/N. Stay seated until I come to you.”

Jace’s head turns abruptly in your and Cregan’s direction, most surprised to hear his new friend now calling you, also, by your given name. He holds his tongue on the matter, however, when he sees the way you smile slightly to yourself at his words.

Cregan comes round the side of your horse and grabs you by your hips, pulling you down to him, settling you once again on flat feet.

You nervously tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Cregan.”

He nods, pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head then. “It would grieve me to have you injured when I am so near to prevent it.”

He cups your cheek in his hand then. “Will you join me for lunch?”

You glance behind him, toward the direction of the Godswood across the way. “I…I actually think I’d like to pray for awhile.”

His thumb brushes against your flushed cheek while nodding softly. “I am glad you have found new Gods to confide in.”

His eyes flit away for a moment, then settle back upon you. “You know you may also do so with me anytime you may need to lighten your load, Y/N. I assure you, I am more than capable of carrying it for you.”

You nod, gently pressing a hand to his chest.

“I know. You demonstrated as much in town,” you reply, stepping impossibly closer, your body melding against his own. “It means something to me, to have someone to talk to. A great deal. I feel that I need it now more than ever.”

He presses his lips to your forehead, cupping the back of your thick head of hair as he looks down at you. “Then I am yours to confide in whenever your mind feels troubled and your worries too much to bear.”

You reach up slowly, fingers slightly trembling, and brush a stray chestnut-colored strand from his eyes, cupping his cheek in your hand as you study him; his reaction.

He slowly turns his head, settling his palm overtop of the back of your hand as he presses a kiss to your palm. “I shall leave you then. To pray.”

You wrap your cloak tightly around you, burying your nose in the soft fur round your neck and breathe deeply, taking in a familiar fragrance which warms you to your core: Cregan. Being so near him all morn has now given you—rather, your clothing—his scent.

You lull your head to the side, resting it against your shoulder and your eyes flutter closed as you smile softly while thinking of him.

Something had shifted in him this morning. He had shown you a yet unseen—to you, at least—side of himself; a side which made you see him every inch the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North as he kept close to you, spoke to you with certainty, and looked upon you with an unwavering gaze.

And you much liked it.

You open your eyes then, studying the carved face before you, leaning forward, thinking, considering, recalling.

You simply wish for that hand which Cregan had spoke to you of to aid in guiding you toward your destiny.

Whether that is here, at Dragonstone, or, mayhaps, across the Narrow Sea, with a man with one eye and an unwavering desire for you. Or elsewhere, with a suitor chosen for you, due to what he can provide your family’s side in the conflicts to come.

Your stomach twists painfully at the prospect of the latter-most being that which comes to call.

You’ve wondered over the last sennight whether you regret Aemond’s proposal or not. Regret, because it had given you hope and want for the first time in a very, very long time. And not for the same exact reasons.

You cannot even put him as the one at-fault for seeking you out, for you had done it first that morn in the training yard.

You’d watched from the parapets as he quickly dodged and swung past Ser Criston’s morningstar, hardly even recognizing him as the boy you had once spent near every waking moment with in the gardens, the halls of the keep, in hidden corners playing games that your parents were not to know about.

He was now tall, lean, his hair long and smooth, his chin and jaw looking as if they were carved from the finest marble, and styling an eyepatch—a feature which bothered you. Not just due to it being a reminder of what had horrendously been done to him by your own brother’s hand that most horrific night, but because you knew: if he was hiding it, it was due to being ashamed.

Aemond had thrown his shield aside, continuing to dodge his opponent, swinging his own sword in return, before finally besting Criston with a blade held toward his throat.

The watching audience had clapped and cheered while your brothers looked on in astonishment, Aemond eventually turning to them.

You’d been far enough above them that you’d been unable to make out the words being traded between them, until Jace and Luke had both glanced up to you, Aemond slowly turning round, leaning his head back as a smirk ghosted its way across his feline lips at the comely sight of you.

“You prefer to watch then, niece? Come down, and I will give you a private show of your very own, if you instead join me.”

You’d blanched, panicking as you looked between various onlookers, their eyes now trained on you.

You’d unseated yourself then, deciding to head elsewhere, wondering what could’ve possibly gotten into him to make such a display.

That wasn’t your Aemond. It was like he was a wholly different person.

But watching him with sword in-hand and his deft footwork, his long silver hair falling over his shoulders…it had stirred something within you.

You’d decided to head for the Godswood then, simply to be alone and collect yourself before claims were heard for your brother’s rightful seat of Driftmark. It was ridiculous such pageantry needed be convened in the first place.

And that was where he had found you, back turned to him, staring at a carved wooden face in curiosity as he prowled closer, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.

“Niece,” he’d called to you in High Valyrian.

You’d jumped lightly in surprise, turning round to him.

“I thought you worshipped the Seven,” he’d continued in the language, his measured steps carrying him closer.

“I do,” you had replied in Valyrian as well, suddenly unnerved by the look in his eye as he greedily gathered every inch of you.

Finally, he was standing before you, arms resting behind his back. “What is it you pray for, then, I wonder? An advantageous marriage, perhaps. One for love, I’m sure. You always did have your head in the clouds as a child.”

You had raised a brow then. “That makes two of us.”

His lip twitched in response.

“Though,” you continued. “I suppose for you it would be more literal.”

He had smirked in response. “I recently learned yours never hatched, even after taking it such a long way. I could tell you why that might be, but I fear it may offend you. So, let me instead make you an offer.”

Leaning down, he’d snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Come join me on mine own. She is the largest in all the world. Just consider what that might imply about her rider.”

You’d rolled your eyes then at the predictable reply, pulling away, heart beating like a hammer against cloth. Gods, there was no trace left of the sweet boy you had left behind here now, was there? His softness had been chiseled away until only impenetrable stone was left.

You’d put a healthy amount of distance between the two of you before looking at him once more.

“At least you have not forsaken your mother tongue,” he’d said, coming closer yet again. “Mine own is quite adept at it, among other things.”

You’d glanced away nervously at such a comment. “Yes, well, it’s important to my mother and Daemon. It was a love language of theirs at our age, so I suppose it was something they each grew quite attached to.”

“Perhaps we should follow in their footsteps with more than just mutual appreciation for a shared language, my sweet niece.”

Your brows had furrowed. “In what way…?”

He was standing before you once again now. “Tell me, have you received any prospects as of late, or am I still yet your only one?”

“Are…are you proposing marriage?” Your tone had been that of shock.

“And if I am,” he’d said, taking your waist in his arm again. “What say you?”

You had grown quiet, grasping for any form of reply.

“Hm. I’m sure it is a groom with two eyes that you prefer, then, is it not?”

You’d lightly shaken your head, thinking he must surely be bluffing. “I care not about such things. You could be missing a limb and it would not bother me. But it matters not. Our parents would never allow it, you know that.”

He’d reached up with his free hand, cupping your cheek to hold you in-place. “Then perhaps we steal away in the dark of night, married in secret by a septon. Like something out of a fairytale book, which I know you loved so dearly at one time. Our marriage consummated upon a bed of hay, in a barn where our secrets lay hidden.”

“They would find us,” you’d insisted.

But he quickly proved that for each objection you supplied, he would then hand you a previously thought-out solution.

“Let us flee across the Narrow Sea, then, for there is nothing left for me here now. Not with you having gone and hidden yourself away from me on that desolate island. Let us finally be free of our gilded cages, beloved niece. Together.”

You’d lain a hand upon his chest, wishing for just a bit of room to breathe. “You cannot be serious—”

“Mayhaps I am. Tell me—now—for the hour will soon grow late, and with it, our opportunities lessened.”

He had pressed your back firmly against the weirwood behind you.

“Aemond—”

He’d crushed his lips to yours then, cutting any further protests short, only interested in hearing agreement from your mouth or naught else.

He’d flicked the speared tip of his tongue against your lips, bidding you give him entrance and when you had gasped for breath, he had immediately seized the opportunity as his tongue came to dance against your own, his petal-soft lips smacking against yours while both his hands trailed up the curve of your waist, over your heaving breasts, before coming to tangle in your hair.

He’d then moved lower, sucking against your neck, your clavicle.

“Oh Gods, Aemond,” you’d sighed, wishing for…for anything but for him to stop.

He’d kissed back up and along your chin, gently nipping with his teeth, his hard member pressing against the soft skin of your stomach, burning you through your gown, your blood racing like the fiery lava that had flown freely through Old Valyria, at the feel of him.

He’d whispered in your ear then with husky breaths, “I see you have not forgotten our games as children we so often enjoyed together in those most private moments. Hm. How well we got to know one another then.”

He’d placed his lips back against your own then—you falling back so easily into old habits with him once more. Ones you had thought long lost to you.

You’d wrapped your arms around his neck, pouring yourself into it—into him.

You were supposed to be angry with him—something about lost correspondences—but you could not focus on such things when the two of you were like this.

Even when you were young…it became a sort of ‘playful’ response, if not eventual habit, that when either of you went to the other upset about something—anything—the most assured way to make one another’s troubles disappear was with a kiss, a touch, sometimes a whispered word not fit for children.

You would both blush madly afterward, looking shyly at one another, but always asking if the other wished to do it again.

Neither of you ever said no.

“Sister!”

The sound of Jace’s voice calling you from across the yard causes your body to jerk in panic, eyes widening as Aemond trails his hot wet tongue along your rapid pulse concealed beneath the thin, supple skin of your neck.

He had then clamped his hand over your mouth while smirking down at you. “Shh, we must be silent or he may find us in a quite…compromising position.”

You’d stared back at him in horror, terrified of what may happen if he did.

And then Aemond had cocked his head to the side, an idea coming clearly to mind.

He’d reached down to the hem of your dress then, shoving his hand beneath, and you’d whimpered, wondering what in the Seven Hells he was doing, and then you felt it—his fingers gently probing against your soaked smallclothes.

He’d hummed in pert interest. “Mayhaps I should let him, then,” Aemond had whispered into your ear. “If I do, you will thus be ruined for all, wholly belonging to me at last.”

He’d glanced around the tree toward your brother as he called your name once more. “An intriguing idea.”

You’d shoved his hand away then. “I have to go.”

“Stay. I’ve enough of you walking away from me.”

You’d filled with guilt then. Leaving had not been your decision. For so long you had hated the Red Keep, but after losing Harwin…to then be told immediately after you were to then lose Aemond, too—it had broken you.

“I’m sorry,” you’d whispered.

Then, “Jace, I’m here!”

You’d tried to step away, but Aemond had grabbed your wrist, tugging you back toward him.

“My brother wants me.”

“For he is not the only one,” he’d replied hotly.

You had yanked yourself from his grip then, unknowing of what else to do, before walking away and back inside with your twin, your uncle watching you every step of the way as you went.

And later that afternoon, when claims were made for the driftwood throne, you’d stood silently beside your mother, half shielding yourself behind Jace, and had jolted in fright as Vaemond finally spoke it aloud for all to hear—his voice bellowing through the throne room.

You’d caught movement across the room—imperceptible to any other, but not to you—Aemond had gripped the pommel of his sword, eyes trained on the offending man in question, but had quickly settled his arms behind him once more as Daemon instead slew him for his treasonous offense.

Aemond had then looked at you, as you covered your mouth in shock, with a protective gaze.

And that night, during dinner, he’d walked briskly toward you, taking Jace’s seat at your side, forcing your twin to instead sit elsewhere.

Your uncle had slid his hand up your thigh beneath the table, letting it rest there. You hadn’t shoved it away, despite knowing you should have.

Instead, you’d gently rested both of your hands atop the back of his own, fire singing in your veins at being so near him.

His lip had merely twitched in response as he leaned back with a pleased look on his face as his father spoke and various members of your family toasted one another, which had made you smile as you twined your fingers between Aemond’s.

And then Jace and Helaena had begun to dance, Alicent and her father laughing amongst themselves, your mother enjoying the festivities while your grandsire looked on, content.

Aemond had stood, loudly pushing out his chair, then silently offering you his hand, which you’d promptly taken, ignoring the sets of eyes all turning in your direction.

He’d led you into the middle of the room, taking you in his arms as the two of you began to dance slowly chest-to-chest.

Aemond had leaned down, his lips close to your ear. “Have you much thought about it? What we did in the Godswood—alone—with just ourselves and our sweet sin between us? I know I have. Would you like to know what I did about it? Mayhaps you did as well.”

“Aemond—” You’d started before being promptly interrupted.

“Come, then, let us find a dark corner so I might explore and discover the answer for myself. So I might see in what all ways you have grown into a woman, besides just your disposition.”

“Aemond—”

“Uncle. You know how it pleases me when you refer to me as such.” He’d pulled back then, staring into your eyes. “Niece.”

He had pulled you impossibly closer, a part of himself pressing against your stomach just the same as a few hours ago. “Do you see what you do to me?”

Your cheeks had warmed, as well as that most sensitive part of yourself between your thighs. “We have an audience. You must stop.”

He’d scoffed. “Fuck them. Let them watch.”

He’d pressed his cheek to the side of your head.

“How I have missed you,” he’d whispered.

You’d pulled back that time with a look of disbelief upon your features.

“You do not believe me, then?” He’d asked with his brow raised.

“Why would I?” You’d spat, anger causing tears to gather, burning your eyes.

His brows had knitted together. “You know the promise we once made: to never lie to one another. You believe me to have forgotten it? I lost my eye, not my senses, dear niece.”

“If you missed me so dearly then you would not have stopped replying to my letters.”

He had suddenly stilled. “You stopped replying to mine own. Too occupied with the lonely island you quickly began to call home, forgetting that which you had left behind.”

You’d shook your head. “No. I didn’t. I sent you at least a dozen letters which went unanswered.”

He’d squeezed your hand painfully then. “I never received such—”

You’d snorted. “Please, spare me, Aemond. You may think yourself adept with your silver tongue when it comes to every other member of this court, but not me who knows every part of you. I can still yet tell when you are lying and when—”

He had suddenly leaned in toward you, causing you to arch your back, his palm holding firm to the small of it. “What fucking letters?”

You’d glanced behind him at his mother that was watching with a most displeased expression.

And then he had turned as well, eye flitting between her and his grandsire, feeling a sting of deep-seated betrayal in an instant.

He had turned back to you, quickly cupping your cheek. “You must believe me.”

You’d blinked back tears. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He’d flinched.

“It…it’s done. We’re different people now. We want different things.”

“I have only ever wanted you,” he’d hissed, fingers then tangling in the back of your hair painfully. “You belong with me. You are of my blood and I yours.”

You’d felt him tugging against something then.

“Say it. Tell me now. Yes. Say it.”

You’d tried swallowing, only to find your mouth as dry as the Red Waste. Gods. What if that was where the two of you ended up if you agreed?

“I…I need time.”

“You will consider it, then?” He’d asked, voice full of hope.

You had nodded gently.

He’d slipped the ribbon that’d been tied at the back of your hair from it then, taking it in-hand.

“Please give that—”

“I will return it to you when you return to me. Not a moment sooner,” he’d stated, tucking it into his pocket.

He’d stepped away then, walking back toward the table and you’d stood there full of nerves, worried someone may have heard. At the very least, they had all seen. The way he had touched you. And you him.

Then you resolved, thinking him right: fuck them, let them watch.

Later, when Aemond made his toast, he had started with you as he held his chalice high. “To my most beloved niece: how good it is to have you returned to me once again. For I have missed you so very dearly. I eagerly await our next reunion. I much hope it is…quite soon.”

You’d remained silent, blood rushing to your face and roaring in your ears as you drank silently from your cup in response, him staring at you with a smirk before finally addressing your brothers.

And in an instant you had felt a knife sheathing itself in your back as he inadvertently acknowledged them as bastards. How could he, in one breath, hope for a union between the two of you, while simultaneously shaming your family and you, by extension, in such a vile way?

Your mother had then gathered all of you, ordering you off to your rooms, but Aemond had made a direct line toward you, until Daemon stepped in the middle, palm resting over the pommel of his sword.

Aemond hadn’t even looked at him as he stepped from one side and then the other, attempting to get past him, so as to put his hands on you one last time, but Daemon had blocked him each way he went.

Finally, he had met his eyes, staring him down, before glancing back to you and humming, walking away.

Daemon had then turned to you and nodded toward a household guard. “Escort the Princess back to her room and assure my nephew stays away from her.”

And that night—that moment—had been the last time you’d seen him. Before his side of the family betrayed your own.

At least if you had agreed…the two of you would be far from all of this.

This utter, calamitous mess.

You wring your hands nervously, a lump forming in your throat. Should you have? Could…could you still? Writing to him, clearly, would do you no good. How would you go to him, then?

You sigh in frustration, accepting a difficult truth: you would not be happy being with him. You know, with a fair amount of certainty, that Aemond would take care of and protect you, but you fear the two of you would, in time, come to resent one another.

Him, for being forced to remove himself from court, where he now clearly thrives, to be shoved into hiding—what would he even think to do with Vhagar, anyway? And you, for being so far from your family—on another continent as a whole—and most likely being made to settle into a slave city. You don’t know that you could ever call such a place home.

And so here you sit yet again, wondering—just like always—where the Seven Hells you belong.

Your head snaps up when you hear small footsteps crunching through the snow, coming toward you, breaking you away from dark thoughts.

And you smile at the sight of a brown-haired little boy—mayhaps no more than a year old—toddling toward you with a sweet smile on his face.

You stand and close the distance between the two of you as you kneel down, smiling kindly at him. “Hello there.”

He giggles in response, showing you the small toy in his hands—a wolf made of wood, painted brown and white, with bits of gray.

You take it from him, looking it over and nodding.

“He is very beautiful.” You run a finger lightly down his soft, chubby cheek. “Just like you.”

You hand it back to him. “Where are your parents, sweetling?”

He steps closer to you then, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“Oh,” you say in surprise. But it took only a moment for you to do the same, holding him close with one palm against his back and the other cupping the back of his tiny head.

“Rickon!” Someone had called in the distance, but you did not hear as your chin wobbled, wondering if you will ever have this one day with your own child.

You pulled him closer then, praying to any Gods that were listening to please, please, let you at least be given that much: motherhood, and a little one who loves you, so you may have someone—anyone.

As Cregan rounds the corner into the Godswood, his patience has nearly reached the end of its rope, until he halts as he takes in the sight of the two of you: you holding his son closely, silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you press a soft kiss to the top of his head.

And in that moment, he knows that his desperate prayers from that morn have been answered. He’d asked the Gods to show him a sign if it is meant to be, and now they have.

And so, the hand leaves him, and he goes forth on his own, the path ahead clear, you standing at the end of it, waiting for him.

His Princess.

No. His Lady.

His.

You look toward him, then put the pieces quickly together. “Is this your son?”

He nods, coming to you with such a sense of calmness about him. “He is. He is already fond of you, it seems.”

You gently pull back from the adorable little boy, brushing strands from his forehead.

“That makes two of us,” you say while looking at him with warmth.

You make to stand, until Rickon takes your hand in his, then Cregan’s in his other, waiting for one—either of you—to lead him back inside.

You glance to Cregan, unsure of yourself—if he is alright with this. Until he nods gently and steps forward, you following along.

And then Rickon looks at you. “Up!”

You raise a brow. Does he wants you to pick him up?

Cregan grins and motions with his shoulder that the little boy wants to swing between the two of you.

So you grip his small hand firmly and pull upward and he giggles wildly as his father does the same, the two of you swinging him for a moment, before letting him back on flat feet. And then you repeat it again and again, all three of you laughing and smiling, oblivious to anyone else.

Cregan presses his thigh to yours as he turns to look at you.

“Jace and I discussed this afternoon venturing to the Wall in two days time. Would you be interested in joining us, Princess?”

You swallow your spoonful of soup, licking your lips, which his smoldering eyes glance to before meeting your own again.

Your brows furrow then. “I thought women were not allowed?”

He slides his palm over your thigh, taking your hand in his beneath the table, his thumb brushing over your fingertips. “You will be my guest. Where I go, no one will tell you that you cannot follow. I won’t allow it.”

You smile then. “I would love to see it, Cregan.”

He raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Then it is settled.”

Once you are in your room and alone for the evening…the joy of the day quickly leaves you.

Seeing all those families in Winter Town, and Cregan with his son—you miss Harwin and Laenor both so, so dearly. So much so, that your stomach twists, your eyes burn, and your heart aches just to have either of them here, taking you into their arms and reminding you just how loved you are by them.

You wish Daemon were different. More like them. But he isn’t.

Just as you begin to feel overwhelmed—like the waves are about to take you under—you look toward the door on the right side of your room, which leads to the balcony, and calm.

You slip on the cloak Cregan gifted you and open it, cool air washing over you as you step out, wrapping your arms round yourself as you lift your head and stare up at the full silver moon in the sky, feeling closer to them.

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you allow the peaceful wintry night to envelop you. Snowflakes drift down, melting upon your cheeks like tears, while a soft breeze whistles through the pine trees in the distance, and a pack of wolves howl as one.

Slowly, you open them again, feeling as if you have company.

You glance over the edge of the railing and find naught but a lone man leading his horse slowly along toward the stables.

It is when you turn to your right that you find Lord Cregan leaned forward, forearms resting atop the balcony railing, watching you, his gaze unwavering.

You look at him in return, wondering how long he has been there, but don’t ask.

Instead, you each remain silent, waiting for what the other may do—refusing to be the first to speak, out of risk of ruining the intimate moment.

He then turns fully toward you, leaning back, crossing his arms. And he continues to watch. And wait.

You glance away, toward your room’s interior, feeling your body growing warm in response to his gesture of attention, then back to him, expecting him to have broken his gaze as well, but he has not.

Finally, you smile slightly, to which he nods his head gently, and you go back inside, firmly shutting the door behind you, pressing your palms and forehead against it, wondering what in Seven Hells that had been about.

You shrug off your cloak—heart beating a bit faster than normal, and your mind and body both feeling utterly awake—as you step toward the fire, even if you feel that you instead need to go back outside to cool down, despite having just come in.

You glance to the basin of water on the other side of your room, near your changing screen, and just as you go to head toward it—ready to dunk your head in it, or just dump it over yourself in general, there is a knock at the door.

You pad over to it and your heart stutters in your chest when you open it.

“May I come in?” Cregan asks in a low tone, his forearm braced against the doorframe, his other hand coming to cup your cheek.

Unable to form words, you simply step aside, bidding him entrance.

You shut the door behind you, leaning back against it as you lick your lips, looking him over. He’s dressed for bed, you deem. A black linen shirt with a plunging neckline which shows off a smattering of dark hair on his chest, and black linen breeches that hug his thighs and…elsewhere are all that clothe him.

Gods, you really should’ve dumped that water on yourself before opening the door.

He seats himself on the settee positioned before your quarter’s hearth and he turns his head slightly to the side, speaking to you over his shoulder. “Will you not sit near me then, Y/N?”

You ignore the pulse forming between your legs just as the image of him��the sound of his deep voice—as you walk silently over.

You sit down upon the plush red cushions and stare ahead at the fire, unsure what more to do with yourself.

Cregan then tugs the blanket from the back of the seat, draping it over your lap, tucking it firmly around you, before moving closer, lying his arm along the back, directly behind you, his other hand coming to tuck soft curls behind your ear.

“Are you warm enough, Princess? Should I fetch further comforts for you?”

His hand slides down your shoulder, softly gripping your upper-arm as his thumb rubs soothing circles against the bare skin.

You should’ve grabbed a shawl before sitting. Now you were only in your thin nightgown, with everything practically on display.

You shake your head then. “No. Thank you.”

He nods, his hand sliding lower until it has taken one of your own, which rests in your lap, within it.

“What were you thinking of?” He nods in the direction of your balcony. “Out there.”

You look down, sliding your other hand overtop of his own. “My…fathers.”

Those tears return once again. “When I was little, Harwin would often be away in the city, due to being Commander of the Watch. And there were times Laenor would not return to our apartments for days at a time. I just…missed them. One day, when they had both returned, I turned into a puddle of tears, begging them each not to leave again.”

You sniffle, eyes filling with tears. “Harwin kneeled down to me and gave my cheek a kiss before telling me that anytime I missed him, all I need do is look at the moon at night and he would be with me. Laenor had been there, and he had agreed. That they both would be. He also promised he would be round more—just for me if that was what I desired. That he was sorry for being busy. For giving me cause to miss him.”

Your chin wobbles. “Today…seeing those families and you…with Rickon I just,” you choke down a sob. “Oh Gods, I miss them!”

You burst into tears then, but before you can try to cover your face—try to turn yourself away—he pulls you into his chest and holds you tight. Like the moon in the arms of the sky.

You bury your face against him, sobs wracking through your body as you continue, even now—even all these years later—to grieve for them.

“I want—” You begin, but are interrupted by a sob. “I want them back. Gods, please. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t bear it.”

He cups the back of your head, which rests against his shoulder, shooshing you, comforting you as his palm then comes to rub against your back.

You lift your head then, looking at him, into his eyes, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you grip his shirt tightly, hanging on, terrified of letting go. “I don’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage. I don’t…I don’t know if I can survive it.”

He studies you for only a moment before replying. “You won’t be. I promise.”

With that, he crushes his lips to your own.

You don’t even think to pull away. Instead, you practically crawl into his lap as you wrap your arms round his neck, tangling your fingers in the long strands of his hair as you drown yourself—instead of in tears—in him.

He, who is safety and warmth and certainty. He, who is firm and unwavering. He, who you now know desires you as you do him without a doubt.

He pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands grip your waist, keeping you close. “If I ask you for a bit of time, can you grant me that?”

You nod, smiling, fresh tears spilling from your eyes. “Yes.”

He brings your lips back to his own, which taste of ale and fresh air...and a promise.

#fic: hotd (cregan stark x reader)#cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd imagine

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interstellarflare · 4 months

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A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART TWO-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. I would also like to apologise for the previous tag list not working! It has been fixed now! Gif by @fifty5hades

|PART ONE|

The horses had been restless ever since you had arrived in town. Lady Worthington, Elizabeth and Mary had been traversing between multiple shops for hours now, the three of them making multiple trips back to stuff every inch of the carriage full of boxes and bags that contained every expensive item of clothing imaginable.

The horses flinched every time the carriage doors slammed closed, their heads lifting upward as they were startled by the harsh sound. But after a few gentle pats and sweetly whispered words, the two black geldings calmed down and went back to their idling. You released a deep sigh, gently ruffling the horses’ mane as you people watched. Lords and Lady’s strolled by, some of them sneering at your dirty and slightly big dress, but you didn’t mind. You never had minded.

Sure, these clothes weren’t kept in line with their usual standard upkeep, but it was all that you had. Clothes were better than none at all. You had been so caught up tending to the horses, that you hadn’t noticed the figure creeping up behind you along the cobblestones. You jumped as the culprit tickled your sides, releasing a loud shriek as you spun around to meet the face of a young girl you knew all too well.

“Oh god, Eloise! Don’t do that!” You cried, the young Bridgerton cackling at your fright. She smiled, lightly punching your shoulder as she cried “Oh come on, this is the first time I have seen you in weeks! Does that wicked woman lock you up in a tower or something?”

“She might as well…” You replied sharply, gripping the harness of the horse closest to you “I haven’t seen the sun in days.”

“Don’t you joke about that, you know I will actually have my brothers come and save you from that hell” Eloise teased, pointing her finger at you with a stern expression. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as a small yet grateful smile graced your lips.

Eloise Bridgerton, the fifth eldest in the Bridgerton family, had figured out who you were the first moment she had met you. She was smart and witty, and had instantly put two and two together, and had no problem reminding you whenever she ran into you on the street.

The daughter of one of the most prominent Lords on the ton, suddenly vanishes after her father’s unfortunate and sudden death, running away due to the grief and sadness at the loss of her parents. Then not two days later, a new maid is hired. The ton wasn’t the biggest fan of the Worthington family, according to Eloise. The horror stories she had heard from Daphne and her brothers were more or less disturbing to say the least. She had never met your stepsisters, and prayed that she never would, but of course with the latest season coming up, that might be a little hard.

You turned to face Eloise fully, leaning back slightly as the horse’s head chased after your attention, obscuring your view slightly. “And just what are you doing in town? I thought you would have been at home preparing for Lady Danbury’s ball this evening?”

Eloise groaned loudly, slumping against the side of the carriage with a loud thump. You laughed softly at her behaviour, watching as she rolled her eyes and turned her gaze skyward. “Though I so wish that I could stay at home and read the night away, my mother has made it clear that I am to find something nice to wear for this evening. I am being chaperoned by my brother-“

“Oh?” You asked teasingly, chuckling at the glare that formed on her face “and which brother do you have the pleasure of accompanying you tonight?”

“Oh, you are so funny…” Eloise grumbled, crossing her arms over her front with a huff “…I am being chaperoned right now! ‘So that I may not run away’, according to Anthony.”

Your laughter echoed throughout the street, as Eloise rushed forward and begged you to keep quiet. You held your stomach and wiped a stray tear from your eye, releasing the horse’s harness as you did so. “Oh Eloise, I will say I do not envy you-“

“Oh but I envy you! But remember you used to be a part of this life”

“The only ball I went to was when I was a child, and even then, I don’t remember that much of it”.

Eloise scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “To be blessed with such fortune as you have, though I suppose being related to Lady Worthington can be accustomed to being related to a toad-“

“Shhhhhhh!” You hushed, pressing a finger to your lips as Eloise smirked “Don’t say such things out loud! They could be back any minute-“

“Oh, I don’t care much. That woman is despicable-“

You watched her eyes widen, her words dying out as a small squeak replaced her sentence. Focused on the space behind you, you turned quickly and froze, suddenly feeling rather small and very aware of your current dress.

Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount himself stood before you. He stood tall, hands clasped together behind his back as his deep brown eyes flickered between the two of you. You suddenly felt self-conscious the longer he stared at you, but you were the first to look away as you bowed your head, and once again returned to tending the horses.

“Must you always be difficult, dear sister” The Viscount spoke sarcastically, a small huff escaping him as he clenched his jaw in annoyance. You heard Eloise groan, “Must you always insist on stopping and chatting with every Lord you see? Surely it gets rather tiring”.

“It is polite, Eloise…” he spoke through gritted teeth “need I remind you that your prospects this season rely on me helping you to find a suitable husband-“

“Ah yes, because Daphne’s season went so unbelievably well. Tell me dear brother, how was it that Lord Berbrooke became our dear sister’s only suitor for some time, hm? Who, pray tell, was responsible for that match, until our lovely Daphne married the Duke of Hastings?”

The scowl that formed on the Viscount’s face caused an unpleasant shiver to run down your spine, but you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as Eloise stuck out her tongue in retaliation to her brother’s disapproving look.

You turned your gaze upward and met the Viscount’s eyes. He was looking you over, his scowl turning into a gentle smile as he sighed heavily. “You’ll have to forgive my sister, unfortunately she seems to forget her manners when in public” he spoke informatively, sneering at Eloise as she rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath.

You shrugged your shoulders, “There’s nothing to forgive, my Lord. I am well acquainted with your sister’s antics I’m afraid-“

“Don’t you dare take his side Y/n!” Eloise screamed, stomping her foot like and annoyed child. You laughed a reply, noticing the man beside you chuckling alongside you “We both know you’re not the biggest fan of society Eloise, I am simply stating fact-“

“I never thought you would betray me like this…how could you” She spoke softly, clutching her chest in mock-hurt as she dramatically slid down the side of the carriage, coming to rest on the step below the door. You heard the Viscount laugh, “Perhaps Miss Y/n here as a point. You will have to be on your best behaviour tonight, so I suggest that perhaps you should start practicing your etiquette before then-“

“You are both the worst” Eloise grumbled, standing up from the carriage step and slowly walking towards the store front before her. “If anyone needs me, I will be inside. The two of you can gossip about me at your own leisure while I suffer numerous dress-fittings inside” She whined, opening the door and disappearing inside.

You once again turned your attention back to the Viscount, looking up at him shyly as you fiddled with your hands in front of you. “Your sister does mean well, you know. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I am lucky to have a friend like her, especially at my status.”

He smiled at your words, his eyes meeting yours and softening on your form. You felt nervous under his gaze, with how he was looking at you with such interest. No Lord had ever looked at you like this, nor even recognised your presence. It was nice.

“I know she has the best intentions, yet it is the way that she goes about them that sometimes hinders her reputation” He replied, sighing heavily as he watched you intently for your reply. You shrugged “Well, she is a part of one of the most famous and revered families on the ton, she is constantly under the public’s watchful eye. What is the harm of having some freedoms here and there?”.

Your question was innocent enough, but you noticed the Viscount’s brow furrow as he thought on your words. His gaze fell to the cobblestones in contemplation, before returning to your figure with a mischievous smile. “You certainly know a lot of the ton. Tell me, how do you know so much?”.

Your eyes widened and a small blush crept onto your cheeks as you stuttered, “W-Well, Lady Worthington and her daughters discuss these sorts of matters quite openly-“

“Wait, Lady Worthington?” he asked, his eyes suddenly wide with what you could only assume was fear. You eyed the Viscount suspiciously, tilting your head to the side as you spoke. “Yes?...What of them?”

“Oh no, nothing. It has only now just dawned on me that you are the same Y/n that Colin mentioned when he returned from the Worthington household after calling on Miss Elizabeth, and the same Y/n that Eloise calls a friend. I feel rather stupid for not realising it until now.”

A smile formed on your lips as you dismissed his revelation, “Well, I’m not the most memorable person around, I am merely a maid-“

“A maid who has the ear of my sister…and now mine I suppose.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your cheeks once again flushing a bright red as you turned to face him. “You’re…you’re not ashamed to be speaking so openly with me?” you asked him softly, your eyes wide with shock as you waited anxiously for his reply.

The Viscount shook his head, lightly lifting his shoulders as he hummed. “Should I be? Anyone who works for Lady Worthington has my sympathies.”

Perhaps he would be ashamed, if he knew who you really were.

You were left speechless, unsure of how to reply to his words as your mouth fell open and closed. Before you could think of a reply, the store door burst open to reveal Eloise, who now looked incredibly pale and distraught. Both you and the Viscount shared a look of confusion.

“Are you alright Eloise?” You asked cautiously. She looked between you and her brother, breathing deeply in a panic.

“My dear brother, if you wish to keep your marriage prospects hidden until the ball tonight…I suggest we run” Eloise replied breathlessly, rushing over to her brother and taking his arm in hers.

“What are you talking about-“

“Oh for the love of god, Lady Worthington and her daughters are inside! We should run, now!”

Your eyes met Eloise’s, and then those of her brother who were just as wide, perhaps even more terrified. Without thinking, your shoved both Eloise and the Viscount down the street, laughing as you did so. “Go! Don’t become trapped as I have!”

The Viscount’s laughter caused your heart to soar, as he waved a quick goodbye while Eloise dragged him away and around the corner, right on time as Lady Worthington, Mary and Elizabeth stormed out of the store in a huff. You returned to stand by the horses, trying desperately to contain your laughter as the three of them stumbled towards the carriage, boxes in hand, and struggling to squeeze into the already overstuffed carriage.

“I suppose you found everything you were after, my lady?” You replied quickly, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from chuckling, “should we perhaps return home?”

Lady Worthington’s icy gaze settled on your form, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Did I tell you to speak? I think not. Just go, we have a lot to do before the ball.”

Tag List:

@infectedbypedropascal @erysione @spookystitchery @scoopsahoyspidey

@misscaller06 @slayqueenizzy @everythingmarveltopgun @idek-what-to-put

@everythingbagel00 @thecraziestcrayon @bollzinurmouth @reejero

@pinkcat246 @ambitions-like-ribbons @jackierose902109 @ladybirdbeetle7

@sweetsourpus @in-deans-arms @blackthorngirl @kee-0-kee

@sometimesminsan @prawntoastsworld @scoopsahoyspidey @darkness-falls-xo

@reallysparklychaos @hottie-bishop-belova @riptidewaters @jay-being-weird

@khhhhjj @golden-girasol @linnygirl09 @xoxonoire @stanmixtapes

@freyagallileaevans @gracielou0518 @judig92 @rafaaoli @queenslandlover-93

@esquivelbianca @fanfictioncafe @hjgdhghoe @sillynilly27

@this-gave-pidgeon-further-shock

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #jonathan bailey

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espinosaurusrexex · 3 months

Text

Colin has a wet dream about you

a/n: I love Polin, but I am also obsessed with the Bridgerton men and you gotta let a girl dream... or rather her fictional crush 😏

word count: ~600

warnings: smut (wet dream - not super graphic), pining, Colin missing you :(

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Oh,” you gasp, “Colin!”

The white duvet crumbles beneath your writhing body, every curve and divot of your skin brands itself into Colin’s mind like a well rehearsed poem, or the tune of a song that just cannot seem to leave his head.

“I love you,” he whispers your name into your neck, the sweat coating his brow as if he were sparing with his brothers. Though he is doing quite the opposite indeed.

His hips push forward in gentle passion as he falls deeper in the all-encompassing pleasure that is covering his every being in warmth and shivers.

“I love you,” Colin promises once more, his lips grazing upon every surface of you he can reach until your hand tangles in his hair, holding him in place just as your mouth touches his.

“Say it back, my love.” Another thrust ruts through the both of you, and your damp breath travels past his face. “I am entirely yours.”

“I- ah! Colin, oh my-“ He is fighting the urge to roll you on top of him, to see your breasts bounce with every thrust, to weigh them in his hands and feel how perfect they are… especially when he runs his fingers over the pebbled flesh which makes your sounds pique. No, he needs his body pressed against yours, needs every inch of him to touch you in fear of it all being his wicked imagination. There is no risking your fading away.

“I beg you, love.” He is close to losing his mind if you don’t answer him soon, the urge of your confession growing greater than his need for release. But his body won’t stop moving. You are drawing him in deeper and deeper until your other hand scratches down his back.

You are a moaning mess beneath him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way… well, except for the fact that you have yet to pronounce your undying love for him so that you can both live happily ever after together.

Though, for some reason, that sentence never comes. Instead, the knot in his belly grows tighter and tighter until his eyes are skewed shut. One more thrust and he will tumble over into the warm and floaty feeling only you have ever brought him.

“Colin, look at me.” You stroke over his hair and stare at him adoringly. He can feel it now, the words on the tip of your tongue as you kiss him once more, and the warm tightness spreading throughout him when you finally say them.

“I love-“

A loud crash sounds from outside his room and Colin shoots up in his bed.

It takes him a second to come to again. The room he is in is sparely lit through the heavy dark blue curtains drawn before his windows.

He is hot, and bothered, he notices after dragging his hand across his dampened face, staring down at the prominent evidence in his lap. But the worst part of it all is… that he is alone.

“Are you alright?!”

“I am fine, Mr. Bridgerton! Please excuse the disturbance!”

“Do not worry!”

Colin falls back into his pillow with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes once more. The memory of your silhouette still lingers in his mind. The way the Greek coastal winds blew on your dress, your hair, making him fall in love with the slight dishevel, he would always connect to you.

There is nothing he misses more from his travels than your presence. And he mourns every day he has to spend without you now.

With a heavy heart, and a silent tear springing from them, he presses his face into the silk sheets, wishing, hoping, praying, to see you once more.

Wanna be added to the Taglist?

#m shorts #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton imagine #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x you #colin bridgerton fanfiction #colin bridgerton smut #colin bridgerton fic #colin bridgerton fluff #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin

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wikitpowers · 1 month

Note

If you could choose any Institute to see in TWP that’s never been seen in the other books, which would you choose?

(Personally, I would love to see the Mexico City Institute!)

THE RIO INSTITUTE!!! but that’s mainly bc i’m super interested in thais’ story in twp! like i wonder what her personality will be like, what weapon she will have, who her love interest will be, where cassie will take her character etc. so i definitely wanna see the place where she most likely (?) grew up! + latin american shadowhunters are not shown enough and we need more scenes in locations like those <3

#it would just be so so cool #and i am praying to the gods above for thais’ pov in the later books at least !!!#i feel like i will love this woman a LOT #thais pedroso #the last king of faerie #the wicked powers #tlkof #twp #tsc #asks

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777heavengirl · 7 days

Text

bags

sirius black x reader (no longer just a one shot :3 ) ! warnings: the good kind of yearning.., friends to roommates to ?lovers?, bittersweetie, no war!au words count: 2,549 masterlist

a/n: might make a series of little blurbs as a continuation... undecided so lmk what u think!!!

Being friends with Sirius Black was the worst idea you could've ever had. It was hell. He was charming, awfully so. Flirty and caring with his friends in a way that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat. He was the type of friend with no physical boundaries, his legs often thrown over yours, his arms often over your shoulders, lips whispering jokes into your ear.

It was an even worse idea to agree to move in with him after you graduated. James had gone off with Lily and Remus and Peter decided to split an apartment. Sirius, naturally, found one in the same building and dropped the twin key in your hand on graduation day, a wicked smile on his face. He hadn't even properly asked you. He had assumed, well he hoped, that you'd accept no matter what. He knew you had no other plans, no other place to go. He knew you'd love to because he knew you. Because he was your best friend.

So he didn't ask. The small silver dog keychain attached to the key was enough for you.

The answer was always going to be yes.

Living with Sirius meant a lot of things. It meant an abnormal amount of blankets and cushions thrown about, it meant the ever-growing collection of pictures framed on your walls or merely pasted on if Sirius had his way. Ever since Lily gifted him a muggle camera for graduation, he hadn't stopped taking pictures. Of your friends, of you in the kitchen or on your couch, your first night in the apartment he took pictures of your every move. He titled them all, in the back or on the bottom of it.

Darling brushing her teeth, 1st night in #717. You smiled through your toothbrush, shirt askew, with pajama pants that did not match in the slightest.

Doll’s first tea in #717 You couldn't see your face in this one, it was a closer shot of your hands around the teacup Lily bought you fifth year, the delicate flower pattern on the hard porcelain contrasting against the soft of your skin.

He titled them all, with his cursive loops and cloying nicknames. He’d even owl copies of them to your mom— why they even communicated was beyond you— you’d then have to repeatedly remind her, when your parents phoned, that 717 was your apartment number, and no mom I am not dating Sirius, yes I know he’s a wonderful guy, yes I’ll tell him you said hello. His photography habit had gotten so bad he even took pictures of the ladybug that seemed to live in the leaves of the small English Lavander that sat on your windowsill.

Living with Sirius meant putting up with his tendency to ignore the fact that you needed to get a job, in fact, he'd drag you everywhere with him to avoid you even applying, his hand intertwined with yours, warm palms pressed against one another. He did it all the time, holding your hand, pressing a kiss against your temple when he insisted on getting into the crowded muggle metro more often than not, your bodies pressed together as he held you when the tube moved. Every time you complained, that he was holding you hostage, that at this pace you'd never find a job, he'd ask, with his head cocked to the side "Why do you have to get a job anyway? It's not like we need it"

"Sirius I need to make money," the tube shook the two of you, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to pull you closer as the other one maintained a white-knuckled grip on the bar above. "How am I going to afford anything? It’s been two years my savings are gone-"

"You don't need it though," his words were low on your ear, and carefree as if they didn't hold any importance. "I have more than enough to maintain us— for anything you might want" Your face heated, and you looked down hiding the surprise that you prayed he wouldn't see.

"I can't just bum off of you," your words were a timid mumble, and he barely heard you over the intercom announcing the station, if it wasn't because he had been tilted down close to your face, he might've not heard you at all.

"You're not bumming off of me love, I want to take care of you, yea?" he pressed a kiss to the side of your hair, and you didn't refute. Not for now. Because in moments like these, when he acted like it was the most obvious answer in the world and didn't seem to give it a second thought, you could feel the words claw at your throat from the inside. A confession poisoning you from the inside out.

But then he'd look at you.

With his gray eyes, the steel cool of them making your lungs expand wider than you thought possible and your heart beat out of your chest. So you'd decide, every time, that it wasn't the right moment. There was never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you were in love with him though. And through his piercing gaze, you thought he could see you using everything within you to hold back.

You guessed it could be worse.

Being in love with Sirius Black was actually the worst thing to ever happen to you. It got even worse when you moved in together. Waking up to his shirtless self making you coffee the way you liked it, his head disheveled and unruly from bed but somehow just as gorgeous as when he had it fresh and styled, his long dark locks looking nothing short of heavenly in either form. It was the intimacy really— the domesticity of it all— that screwed you. Eating your eggs and toast over the soft tunes of his music, going to the market together, his fingers eventually finding yours as his other hand carried the shopping. His laundry mixed in with yours, falling asleep on the couch together, old muggle movies playing on the TV he bought four months after moving in. You still didn't have a stand for it, it sat on two boxes full of books. Neither of you minded, there was no rush after all. But then you thought of his unpacked bags and the singular box of belongings, it had been a bit more than two years since you moved in. Two years since you started the routine of getting dragged everywhere he went, spending your days lounging around with Sirius like nothing else mattered. But his trunk still housed half his belongings. His walls had a couple of pictures he had sellotaped on, and the large David Bowie poster he had bought the summer after sixth year, yet his clothes would go in and out of his trunk, and his closet sat mostly empty save the lone leather jacket he insisted on hanging.

The thought of his lack of settling made your tummy twist in discomfort.

But, again, you guessed it could be worse. Godric forbid you ever confess.

He'd be walking out the door with his bags.

You decided you'd be okay with letting it all rot inside of you. You didn't want to be too forward or rush into things when you, practically, knew he didn't feel the same. So you savored it, with everything you had in you. The stolen touches and even more stolen glances. The kiss he pressed against your cheek when he'd say goodbye, apparating away to go drink the night away with the rest of the marauders, James escaping from his soon-to-be father duties for a few hours. Sirius would press a kiss to your flushed cheeks when you'd go out with Lily as well, a small stay safe love, escaping his lips right before you slipped out the door.

"Tell him how I feel? Is pregnancy melting your brain, Lily?" You almost spit out your sweet cocktail. Lily flicked your forehead.

"My brain is perfectly fine thank you very much," She huffed, the corners of her lips aching to break into a smile as she rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly.

"You two are practically together, you live together for Godric's sake" Marlene scoffed over her beer,

"Not to mention the shared bank account-" you slapped your forehead as Dorcas let the fact that he'd been basically spoiling you for a year slip, "And I've seen the way he looks at you sweets-" Dorcas's words were slurred by the alcohol in her system, and her head resting against Marlene's shoulder. "You don't look at someone that way unless you're in love with them"

Lily almost spit out her juice as she turned to you with wide eyes. "You got a shared vault now? James and I didn't even do that yet-"

You shook your head, "No no, crap Cas-" you took a shaky breath, as Marlene shook her head in disappointment and groaned out a small You're impossible. "He just keeps paying for things, and he won't let me get a job- honest, I've tried but he keeps planning things and I just never have any time-"

"So is he holding you captive or- I just don't see why you can't get a job" The three girls looked at you, incredulous looks on their faces as you struggled to explain.

"He just keeps saying to not worry-" You hid behind your hands now, embarrassment crawling up your neck. "I don't know- It's complete rubbish, he's insistent on the fact that he wants to take care of me" The girls let out a collective 'aww', all screaming eagerly over each other

"I should've kept it all to myself" you mumbled as you raised your now-empty glass at your waitress, the older woman shooting you a nod as she went to bring you another one. The girls booed at you,

"Now that'd be no fun would it?" Lily shoved your shoulder playfully, Marlene and Dorcas giggling in agreement.

Tell him how you feel.

The thought bounced in your head as you trudged up to your apartment. Fumbling with the keys as you tried to steady yourself. But you didn't need to, as Sirius opened the door. His shirt missing and his burgundy red pajama pants sat loosely at his hips, but you knew he hadn't slept yet. Otherwise, you would've been able to tell— his hair would be a mess, as he tended to bury his head between his pillows, blocking the world away while he slept.

"I could hear you fumbling your keys from down the hall doll" you giggled as you entered, your body instinctively falling into his for a hug. He couldn't help but laugh either, your cheek pressed against his chest as you mumbled out a thank you. The couple of drinks you had made you feel more than loose, giggly and you couldn't help but let the words slip from your lips.

"I love you, terribly so" you'd probably regret such a statement in the morning.

"I love you too darling" you groaned out a no as you peeled yourself off, it poured out of you instinctively. You threw yourself on the soft couch James's parents had given the two of you. We're throwing it out anyway lovies you keep it. You were sure, by Euphemia's playful glint, that this wasn't quite the case. But you appreciated it, the plush sofa softening your intentional fall. Sirius laughed as he approached the couch, crouching next to where your face was smushed into the smooth material of the sofa. His fingers moved the hair away from your face, his eyes locking in with yours as his lips split into a lazy smile.

"Knew you'd make fun of me," You mumbled and his lips twisted into an exaggerated pout now, repressing the need to laugh and you buried your face into the cushions with another groan.

He would've been lying if he said his heart hadn't skipped a beat, a flicker of hope that maybe, you felt as he did. Maybe your heart ran quicker when he held your hand, maybe the goodnight kisses you pressed against his cheek, against his forehead meant more, maybe the smile you had given him when he presented you with the key to your shared apartment, the smile that made him feel as if he was staring straight into the sun, meant something more.

But for now, that would have to wait.

As he got you up and into the bathroom, wiping your makeup off with a damp cloth, you gave a mumbled slurred summary of your night. He made you close your eyes as he wiped away the mascara, and you listed the vague number of drinks you'd had— plus the drinks you had to make up for Lily’s inability to drink right now, Marlene’s idea of course. His fingers curled around your chin as he moved your face, and at any other moment, you would've been positively frazzled. But as you spoke of the shaky walk home after Marlene dropped you off down the street, you could only revel in his touch as he hummed along and got you ready for bed. The stubborn lipstick made his cheeks flush as he wiped at your lips repeatedly, making them look plump and if he hadn't had the ounce of self-control he still vaguely maintained he would've kissed you right there and then. But it just wasn't the time for it, there's never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate you're in love with them, is there?

Stumbling around the room with you, the pajamas he managed to get over your form as he tried not to look at you in your underwear— not that you cared at the minute— it all made his heart swell. A stolen moment for him to think on later, the small giggles that escaped your face, or the innocent clutch you had on his hand. You ran your fingers down the features of his face as he helped you lay down. He tucked you into your bed with a kiss on your cheek and a giggle erupting from your chest.

His heart ached with longing but he guessed it could be worse.

You could've said no to living with him.

You gave him a faux pout, and he mirrored it.

"What is it lovely?"

"Missed you tonight-" he could feel the crimson intensify in his cheeks at your words, but he ignored the flush and moved a stray hair away from your face.

"I missed you too love, next time let's go together yeah?" You hummed in agreement, a small love you slipping past right as your eyes fluttered shut, sleep covering you like a blanket.

"I fear I might be in love with you doll," he sighed, yet you didn't answer to his whispered confession. Your chest rose and fell steadily. Part of him was glad, the thought of your reaction to his feelings chilling him to the core. It could be worse, he thought.

Yes, he'd rather have this than nothing at all. Godric forbid he ever confesses.

You'd be walking out the door with your bags.

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yuebinnie · 5 months

Text

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

#alastor smut #alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel smut #priest alastor #reader insert #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #yueyan writes...

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hadesoftheladies · 3 months

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just realized how greatly violent and hurtful thoughts i had against myself decreased once i started getting angry at the right people. now my inner voice gives me princess treatment (aside from the ocd) because when someone pisses me off i direct my anger at them. like no this IS men's fault and i DO want these wicked people to die. I actually CRAVE it. i pray on their downfall everytime i see their ugly faces. i will make jokes about them dying. YES I WISH VIOLENT THINGS FOR YOU. I AM THINKING VIOLENT THOUGHTS ABOUT YOU.

and for me? only love and softness and gentleness. i have never had a healthier relationship with myself.

fucking thank you man-hating feminists.

#radblr #anger

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purple-writer8 · 5 months

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The Archer - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

“I’ve been the archer. I’ve been the prey. Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, self doubt, self loathing, ice powers, angst, mating bond

2.3k words

Part Three to Heather

Masterlist :)

You'd dreamt of being Azriel's mate for years and years and years. Ever since the day you met him, you lusted, yearned after him. You had been obsessed with being his mate for so long, you even forgot other males existed besides the shadowsinger. Every night, you had prayed to the Mother and to the Cauldron, asking them to give you the bond to him. Asking for them to make him yours.

Your prayers were answered. Cruel, wicked mating bond. You felt it snap as you swirled to him, outraged at his threats and actions to the male that had groped you-- and that was when you felt it, felt him. His emotions running rampant down the bond, causing your heart to thunder wildly in your chest.

Dreams were not real. You realized that when the golden string slithered around you and bound you to Azriel, and all you felt was dread.

You dreamed of a beautiful reunion between your mate and yourself, dreamt of him confessing his undying for you-- dreamt of his shadows coiling around you in warm and lovely comfort. That was not happening. Your hands were trembling in an erratic manner, and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

You stumbled backwards and away from the scene Azriel had formed, towards Feyre, whose brows were knitted together in confusion and concern. "Home," you choked out, drops of ice falling from your eyes in a painful manner. Your shaky hands reached for your face, it hurt to cry, hurt to breathe, hurt to exist.

The High Lady did not need to be told twice. Feyre grabbed your hand and pulled out of Rita's, her Illyrian wings materializing as she pulled you into her and shot up into the sky. She did not ask what had happened, but for some odd reason, you gathered that she already knew what had upset you. Did she know about the bond? Did everyone know?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why were you so stupid? So dumb? Everyone knew, he had probably told everyone, probably had already told them how he planned to reject it. He had known before you did, and said nothing. Hells, he had been lusting and panting after Elain just days before. This dream had wrecked you.

When in the House of Wind, Feyre walked you all the way to your bed, her eyes running wild as she watched you squirm and cry out in pain. "Honey, what can I do?" She asked in distress, "you're in pain. Should I get Madja?"

You were in pain. Emotionally and physically. Your ice powers were running rampant, uncontrollable, as you writhed on your bed. Ice crackled out of your eyes in a more than painful manner, and your fingertips burned due to the cold that freed itself from them. "I am fine," you croaked out, taking a deep breath, as if you had been submerged underwater.

"Your eyes are bleeding ice!" Feyre exclaimed, her hands on her head as she paced the room, seemingly talking to Rhysand in her head. While your body combusted with ice, you could feel Azriel tugging at the bond in a frantic manner, and you knew he was on his way here. You couldn't bear it.

"Madja is on her way with Rhy-" She could not finish her sentence, a scream erupted from her mouth when she turned back to you.

Your eyes were entirely white, your back arched in an uncanny manner as ice covered your being entirely. So much pain, and you had no control. It was an out-of-body experience, and you only prayed to survive. Rhysand and Madja burst into your room not soon after, both of their eyes widening in bewilderment at your form. "Don't you dare touch me," you growled at them, your voice unrecognizable.

You scrambled out of bed, though before you could get very far, Rhysand was grabbing you and Madja was pouring medicine into your mouth. In a second, you were knocked out cold.

After you were sound asleep with your powers controlled, Madja exited your chambers and was met by Rhysand, Feyre, and Azriel, who had been waiting for her to finish. "She needs to go home." Madja stated simply, her face stoic.

"Home? She is home." Azriel growled as he paced the corridor, his shadows swirling around him in an intimidating manner. They had been going crazy ever since he left Rita's. Rhysand let out a soft exhalation, "this display of uncontrollable power has never happened to her before."

"It sometimes happened on missions, when she was overwhelmed with emotions, but it was never like this..." Azriel stated, his expression one of sheer pain and anguish. The bond had calmed down once she fell asleep, but before that-- her pain had been haunting him. "And when she was mad at Cassian... but yeah, it was never like this." Feyre agreed, and Madja could only shrug.

"She is a snowling. Her kind thrives in the Winter Court, where it is cold," the healer said solemnly. Azriel shook his head. This was all his fault, he had done this to her. "But she's been fine all this time, years. What changed?" Rhysand asked.

Azriel knew what changed. He ruined her, just like he ruined everything in his life.

"The emotional turmoil the found mating bond sent her into was too much for her to bear. Snowlings like her are usually wild and solitary fae. I bet she was not taught how to regulate her emotions, not like High Fae usually are. And this distress... must have made her explode..." Madja did not want to point fingers, but she could not help her gaze from travelling to the shadowsinger.

"Let's let her rest, see where her head is at tomorrow morning." Rhys stated, and Madja agreed. Feyre then offered to take the healer home, leaving Rhys and Azriel alone in the corridor.

Silence lulled between them. Azriel's shadows withdrew themselves back into him, all while he looked down at the ground in shame. Rhys eyed the shadowsinger, "I told you to tell her."

Azriel gulped hard, his hazel gaze fleeting to Rhys and then back to the floor in embarrassment. "I tried... I've tried... I swear that all I ever wanted was to tell her, to take her into my arms and tell her of the love I feel for her. But she ran away. I kissed her... at our game night... I kissed her and she looked mortified."

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he continued, "she was disgusted. And I tried talking to her about it, for the entire week. I knocked every night, but she wouldn't answer, and I realized... she didn't want me. So how could I tell her? How could I chain her to me?"

"A mating bond is not a chain, Azriel. It is a connection, something wonderful and lovely." Rhys argued, his gaze stern and his tone unwavering. He was not having it.

"Being my mate would not be wonderful and lovely, not to her. You should have seen her face when I kissed her... I love her, but I could not be selfish..." Azriel tried to get Rhys to understand him, but the High Lord did not budge.

"I see right through you," Rhys stated, "you think you aren't good enough for her. But that isn't for you to decide. She had a right to know, had a right to choose if she wanted the bond or not. That girl has spent years loving you, Azriel. For a spymaster, you aren't very insightful."

Rhys gave Azriel one more look of disapproval and then brushed past him, leaving him standing in the corridor alone. Azriel leaned against the wall and sunk down into the floor, not even caring for the uncomfortable position his wings were in. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. How did this get so fucked? Why did he have to ruin something as good as this?

You woke up the next morning feeling relatively better. Happy to not feel like your insides were exploding with ice and coldness. You sat in bed and took a small breath, reaching down that golden thread that tied you to Azriel and tugging on it. A mating bond. You and Azriel were mated, and he never told you. You jumped slightly when you felt him tugging back, and when you felt all of his emotions swirling inside you like a wildfire.

Rage. Grief. Sadness. You seethed. What was he sad for? He was the one that would come out of this unscathed. You ripped the sheets off your body and were not pleased to find your legs covered in frost-- the veins under your skin shining black. Black ice, black ice that alluded to your anger. You beelined to your bath chamber, and the house had already prepared a steaming hot bath for you.

Thank the Cauldron. You relaxed in the tub for what appeared to be hours, as you were unable and frankly unwilling to face Azriel. And it was grating feeling his emotions through the bond. After your bath, you dressed in your usual attire and slowly, quietly, made your way down to the kitchens. The house had placed a breakfast dish for you at the table, and you were about to sneak back up to your room when you saw a shadow dashing down the corridor and back to their master.

You rolled your eyes, it took Azriel all of two seconds to appear in the doorway, preventing you from going back up to your room. "Let me explain." He stated, his voice void of any emotions and his wings tucked tightly unto his back. You thought sleeping would have calmed your heart, but once you saw him-- all the emotions rose within you.

You shook your head, stepping backwards when his shadows tried to reach you, "what is there to explain?"

"Everything, there is everything to explain," he answered, taking a step towards you, only for you to physically recoil away from him. "You knew about the bond, knew that we were mates, and you never told me..." you breathed out, your heart threatening to leap out of your chest as his shadows coiled around your hands in a possessive, protective manner.

"I..."

"You have been lusting over another female for two years and I have been wishing she were dead, wishing I were her... fighting over a fucking sweater... only for you to be my mate all along? And you knew?!" You shrieked, your emotions pouring out of you like vomit that you could not control.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you were spewing more words before he could even start. "Just reject the bond, reject me and get it over with, reject me so you could go be with Elain."

"I do not want Elain... I want my mate..." Azriel said softly, a stark contrast to his usual hardened and rage-filled tone. "Now you want your mate?!" You scoffed angrily, chucking your breakfast plate in the trash. You were no longer hungry.

"I have always wanted my mate," he stated simply. You seethed at his words. "How long have you known?"

Azriel stilled, and you could see him Adams apple travelling down his throat as he gulped hard. "I..." he wanted to lie, because he knew you would never forgive him for this. "Since we met." He decided against lying.

You felt a knife being plunged into your chest at this knowledge. He had known for centuries and never told you. Centuries in which he took lovers, in which he fawned over Mor, in which he decided not to acknowledge you as his mate. Azriel's face went from stoic to solemn, his hazel eyes stuck on yours as you remained still-- trying to come to terms with this. "Reject me. Please. Reject me now..." your words were a whisper, so low that he almost didn't catch them.

He stumbled forward, scarred hands reaching for your own, but you snatched them away. "Please... I... I... I have a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you... I love you... I swear..." you almost believed him, his eyes were so sad, his face looked so broken-- you could feel his honesty through the bond. But it wasn't enough.

"You do not..." you trembled, stepping back and back until you hit the cabinets behind you. Tears streamed down your face as you recalled all that you felt for him for all the centuries you had known him. The longing, the sadness, the self deprecation.

"I do, but I thought... who could ever love me? You've been my spy for centuries... you have seen my cruelty… seen what I am capable of." Azriel needed her to understand that it wasn't about her, it was about him. He was the problem.

"And I loved you! I loved you for all that you were... I still do... but this is not... you… you have no idea what it felt like. Having to watch you pine over Mor and then Elain while I died, while I made myself think I was not enough for your love!" You wailed, your heart breaking further than it had already; if that was even possible.

"You are good enough! Fuck!" Before you could even blink, he had thrown a punch at the cabinet next to you, making you yelp and flinch as the wood cracked under his powerful fist. He stilled, his arm falling to his side when he realized what he had done. How he had reacted.

You blinked, unmoving. "I think... I think..."

Azriel did not move, an icy rage settling over his expression, it made you shiver. "I..." he could not find what to say.

So you nodded your head. "I need space."

Author’s Note:

I just need her to be happy and not combust into ice

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livingdreams97 · 6 months

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Eloise Bridgerton - "The Prince" (Part 4)

Eloise Bridgerton x Male reader/oc

Summary: Two people who have never seen each other before, with the same need and desire to be free in different ways. What could come of that when both people meet each other?

Words: 4.581

Masterlist

Eloise's POV

A couple of hours ago my family arrived at Aubrey Hall and my youngest silings were running around the place like wild animals. My brothers have disappeared and Daphne is with mother, Lady Danbury, Kate and Edwina talking about the season somewhere around the house.

Which left me alone, sitting on an outdoor chair in the mansion's back garden and somewhat bored.

I did not want to participate in the conversation with my sister, mother and others; since the subject does not really interest me. I'd rather be with my brothers, but as soon as we set foot in Aubrey Hall two hours ago they disappeared and have shown no sign of life.

And I'm not going to be running all over the place, like Gregory and Hyacinth were doing.

I just pray that something interesting happens and it can keep me busy at least for a while. Because if this goes on like this, I'll end up cutting myself with the pages of my books and falling apart in the living room floor.

Apparently my prayers are answered, when one of the butlers appears and speaks to me.

XY: Miss Bridgerton, Prince Y/n of Hannover has just arrived and is waiting for you in the hall.- he informed me and I practically jumped out of my seat.

Eloise: That's great. - I comment happily and walking quickly towards the entrance of the mansion.

XY: If you don't need anything else, we'll take the prince's objects to his room assigned by Lady Bridgerton.- he comments when we reach the hall.

Eloise: We don't need anything else, thank you.- I thank him and after a slight bow he takes Y/n's luggage along with another man. -I thought you were never going to get there.- I say amused, crossing my arms and looking at the prince.

Y/n: I had a slight setback.- He informed me without much detail.

Eloise: What kind of setback? - I ask curiously, seeing the amusement in his eyes.

Y/n: One that doesn't concern you.- he answers me with grace and I just look at him badly. -Now, will you grant me the wish to give me a guided tour of the mansion or do I have to ask someone from the service?- he asks amused, raising an eyebrow and looking me straight in the eye.

Eloise: Ask someone from the service.- I answer challengingly, looking for a fun and entertaining reaction from him.

Y/n: I'll do that then.- he assures, leaning over and trying to walk towards the stairs.

Eloise: Where do you think you're going? - I ask amused running towards him and grabbing his arm to stop him.

Y/n: To ask if someone offers to give me a guided tour, since a certain Bridgerton doesn't want to and I don't want to get lost in the place.- he answers humorously and I look at him with narrowed eyes.

Eloise: Idiot.- I muttered hitting his arm. -Now follow me.- I order him and start walking towards the main hall.

I don't turn to see if he's following me or not, but I can hear his hurried footsteps and I smile helplessly, not knowing the reason for said smile.

POV Y/n

I don't know when I went from receiving a tour of the mansion to being in the huge back garden playing pall mall, but here I am now.

Daphne: We all know how the pall mall works.- she assures everyone present. - The first to choose the deck and strike first will be our guest Y/n.- she points to me with her hand and I look at her surprised.

Y/n: I guess thanks.- I appreciate it. -Which one does Eloise usually choose?- I asked Benedict in a whisper quickly.

Benedict: Yellow.- he whispers back to me with his hand in front of his mouth so that no one notices.

I nod surreptitiously and walk over to where all the decks are. I look at each deck and once my eyes land on the yellow one, I reach out without hesitation.

As my fingers wrap around the wood, I look up, meeting Eloise's blue gaze. I smile wickedly as I raised the mallet and I see the scowl on her face.

Y/n: Yellow is my favorite color. - I lie with a smile without taking my eyes off Eloise's.

The rest practically fight over the rest of the decks, before we start the game and the fights between the brothers are present.

Benedict: Eloise don't cheat.- he accuses his sister, who is moving her ball subtly and secretly with her foot.

Y/n: So besides being clumsy at dancing, you're a cheater at the game. - I whisper leaning towards her, so that only she can hear me.

Eloise: Shut up.- she growls at me pushing my chest with her hand.

Colin: Observe and learn people.- he says, positioning himself and hitting the ball with his mallet, but it doesn't go through the hoop.

Anthony: Sorry, what were you saying?- he asks his brother with an amused smile.

Kate: Don't you laugh so much.- she tells her husband, causing a bad face in him and laughter in the rest.

Daphne: None of you should laugh.- she assures everyone, preparing to her his ball with the mallet. -Because I plan to win as always.- she says confidently, hitting the ball and getting it through the hoop.

Benedict: Hey, I'm still in the game.- he reminds his sister with an amused smile.

Eloise: And me.- she assures them placing herself in the middle of everyone. -This year I plan to win.- she tells us all with confidence and I can't help but smile at her confidence.

We continue playing for a while longer, until the game ends and I end up winning to the surprise of everyone present. Although there is no surprise on my part, since I am a very good player and I am passionate about sports.

Y/n: And how about your victory Eloise? - I ask her amused while we all have dinner together.

Eloise: Very funny.- she says sarcastically looking at me with narrowed eyes. -But I know you cheated.- she threatens me seriously.

Y/n: And can you explain to me what cheating are you accusing me of? - I ask her amused, taking a sip of my wine.

Elosie: I don't know, yet.- she answered thoughtfully. -But I'm going to find out how you cheated to win and take away my victory.- she asures me and I just smile delighted.

Y/n: I'll be waiting then.- I assure her with a friendly smile.

The rest of dinner is spent talking to Benedict and Colin about minor trivia. We also make sure to taunt Eloise a bit, loud enough for her to hear us so we can tease her a bit.

When dinner is over, I sneak up to Lady Bridgerton and ask to speak to her in private. We entered the main library of the mansion and we both took a seat in the armchairs of the room.

Violet: And tell me my Lord, what is the reason for this conversation? - she asks me with evident interest.

Y/n: I wanted to talk about a serious and more important topic with you.- I answer trying to hide my nervousness.

Violet: Well, you will say.- she nods giving me the floor.

Y/n: As you may have noticed, I've been spending a lot of time with your daughter and it's clear that we've become somewhat close.- I start seeing how she nods with a small smile. -And I don't want to disrespect you or your family at any time.- I say trying to think of how to explain myself.

Violet: And you haven't.- she assures me with a friendly smile.

Y/n: I'm glad to hear that.- I nod with a nervous smile. -That's why I wanted to talk to you first, because you are Eloise's mother and it seemed the most appropriate thing to do in this situation.- I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. -I wanted to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.- I ask directly.

Violet: Oh my god! - she exclaims in surprise, covering her mouth with her hand.

The room remains completely silent for a few moments, where I play with my hands as a sign of nervousness and uncertainty about the response of the woman in front of me.

Y/n: So what do you say? - I ask her a bit uncomfortable by the silence.

Violet: Of course I'll give you my daughter's hand.- she nods energetically. -As long as Eloise agrees to the proposition, I have nothing against it.- she confirms and I can't help but release the air retained inside me.

Y/n: I'm glad to know that your answer is positive. - I smile letting the retained nerves dissipate from my body.

Now I just have to propose to Eloise publicly and organize the wedding. Since thanks to our agreement, I know that Eloise will agree to marry me and there will be no problem with that part.

Violet: And you already have chosen the ring? - She asks me interested, leaning forward in a show of interest.

Y/n: Yes.- I nod, taking the black velvet box out of my pocket. -What do you think?- I ask, opening the box and showing her the object inside.

Violet: Oh my god, it's so precious.- she whispers, taking the small box in her hands and looking at the ring in greater detail.

Y/n: My aunt gave it to me to propose to your daughter.- I comment, seeing the surprise in her eyes.

Violet: Has the queen chosen the ring for my daughter?- she asks surprised.

Y/n: More than that.- I commented with a slight smile. -That ring was one of the first that my uncle, the King, gave to my aunt many years ago. The emerald is my aunt's favorite stone and she thought that the ring had a deep meaning, so it would be the perfect ring for my future wife. - I tell her and I can see a different shine in her eyes.

Violet: And she's right. Rings with meaning are more unique than any recently bought. - she nods, giving me back the box with the ring.

Y/n: So with your permission, tomorrow I'll ask Eloise for her hand. - I nod, putting the velvet box back in my jacket pocket.

Violet: I just hope my daughter says yes, because it would be a pleasure to have you as part of the family.- she tells me and we both get up, ending the conversation.

We left the library, saying goodnight and parting ways. I head towards the bedroom assigned to me and on the way I meet Eloise with her little sister.

In order not to arouse any kind of suspicion, I wish them both a good night and secretly nod to my future fiancée.

I can see her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what my nod means and she gives me a slight nod letting me know she's understood.

Now I just have to think about how to ask for her hand tomorrow and do it in a way so that her family believes that we are really in love. But with how good of an actress Eloise is, I'm sure everyone will believe us right away without any problem.

Eloise's POV

I'm nervous. Why am I nervous? This is simply a trade and there is no reason to be nervous.

I just have to say a simple yes and the rest of my life will be taken care of. I will be completely free and I will stop feeling any kind of pressure to get married or find a husband. It is a simple word that will open all doors for me.

This is a simple transaction, there are no feelings involved and that's why I don't understand the reason for my nerves.

My hands tremble as they caress the soft fabric of my white dress, feeling the softness and delicacy of silk.

Violet: You look beautiful honey.- she whispers looking at my reflection in the mirror over my shoulder.

Eloise: I'm not going out. - I deny energetically.

Violet: And why is that dear? - she asks me interested with a smile on her face.

Eloise: I don't know if I'm ready to get married.- I answer, feeling my heart beat faster.

Violet: Oh dear.- she sighs placing her hands on my arms. -It's the nerves that are speaking.- she assures me caressing my arms with affection.

Eloise: Why would I be nervous? - I ask confused, feeling a certain amount of comfort from her touch.

Violet: Because it's one of the most important days for a woman, darling.- she answers with an understanding look. -The day of my wedding with your father, I was trembling with nerves and anticipation. It is understandable to feel nervous on your wedding day and especially when you love the person you will marry.- she tries to comfort me and I avoid opening my eyes for the last part.

Eloise: How did you know you loved father? - I ask a little scared by her answer.

Violet: I wouldn't know how to explain it.- she sighs with a slight grimace. -What I do know is that every time I thought of him, a smile appeared on my face without even noticing it, my stomach turned when he was near me, my skin quivered every time he touched my hand and every time that I was doing something i liked; immediately I wanted to share it with him.- she tells me and I remain thoughtful.

I think about the times when a smile adorned my face when I thought of Y/n, about how being with him makes me enjoy someone else's company and the long talks we have.

I think about how an essential warmth invades my body when he is near me, when he smiles at me or when he brings me books thinking that I might like them.

I find that every time I read a new book, I think about whether he would like to read it so we can discuss it together.

Finally, I am aware of how in the few times he has touched my hand and kissed it, my body reacts to his touch. I can remember the pleasant tingling that runs through my body at his touch and it is now when I open my eyes in surprise.

Eloise: I love Y/n.- I murmured without really knowing what to do.

I feel my mind go around and around without really knowing how it happened. At what point have I gone from supporting Y/n, accepting his proposal and maintaining a friendly relationship, to loving him.

Violet: Why else would you have agreed to marry him?- she asks with a certain degree of amusement in her tone of voice.

Eloise: I have to talk to Y/n.- I say alarmed.

Violet: You'll see him at the altar in a few minutes and then you can talk to him all you want.- she assures me with a smile.

Eloise: No mom .- I deny turning around and looking around upset. -I need to talk to him now!- I assured him in a hurry trying to dodge her and go looking for him.

Violet: No, no, no.- she denies grabbing my arm and preventing me from leaving the room. -The groom can't see the bride before the wedding.- she immediately denies.

Eloise: You don't understand mom, I have to talk to him.- I beg desperately and a few seconds away from a desperate cry.

Violet: Honey, calm down.- she asks me, caressing my arms again. -Take a deep breath and inhale slowly.- she orders me and I nod trying to regulate my breathing.

Once I am calmer, my mother takes me to the sofa in one of the many rooms in the palace and makes me sit down.

Violet: Are you feeling better?- she asks me and I nod, taking a deep breath once more.

Eloise: Yes.- I murmur directing my gaze to my hands, which are still trembling and apparently my mother notices as she places her hands on mine.

Violet: You don't have to get upset darling, everything will be fine and you don't have to get so nervous.- she assures me. -You're just nervous, just breathe and try to relax.- she tells me and I nod trying to stop my hands from shaking.

We stay in silence for a few minutes, where I manage to calm down enough so that my hands stop shaking.

Some light knocks are heard at the door of the room and Benedict's head appears through it.

Benedict: Everything is ready.- he tells us entering the room. -They are waiting for the bride.- he says with a smile and I take a deep breath.

Violet: Are you ready? - she asks me and I am only able to nod. -Well then, let's get going.- she says getting up from the sofa and helping me to get up too.

I walk to where my brother is, who immediately smiles at me and gives me his arm to intertwine with mine.

With each step I take toward the ceremony room, my heart pounding in my ears and my breathing becoming heavy. I swallow heavily, when my brother stops in front of the closed living room doors and looks at me for approval.

I stay for a few moments watching the big white doors of the room, as soon as they open everything will be real and I'll be walking towards my future husband.

I don't know what to do.

If I go through with the plan and say yes, I'll be marrying the man I love. But he doesn't love me and it doesn't seem fair.

And on the other hand, if I decide to run away and leave the plan behind, everyone will start talking about me and my family again. My family has already suffered a lot with the rumors and above all thanks to me.

Plus it wouldn't be the first time a Bridgerton wedding has been called off and we all know how that ended.

But that is not the worst.

The worst thing is that this time the queen is not only the hostess of the wedding, but she is the aunt of the future husband and that will cause me to be banished from London.

Because what Lady Whistledown wrote about me being a political radical turned her against me and made her have a bad opinion of me. I don't want to imagine the opinion she'll have of me if I leave her heir standing at the altar.

Benedict: Are you okay? - he asks me in a whisper taking me out of my thoughts.

Eloise: I don't know.- I answer honestly.

Benedict: It's not too late, you know right? - he asks me causing me to look at him confused.

Eloise: Late for what? - I ask wanting to understand what my brother tells me.

Benedict: Too late to cancel the wedding.- he answers me with a comforting smile. -Just tell me and we'll run away like no one has ever done before.- he assures me with a small laugh.

I watch him for a few seconds, considering the offer and weighing every possible outcome of my escape. The idea sounds tempting and I'm sure Benedict will defend me and help with everything.

You're POV

I swallow heavily, running my hands through my morning coat and wiping the sweat from my hands. I watch the guests talk to each other in whispers, causing my nervousness to increase and a knot to form in my stomach.

Lady Bridgerton has entered the room almost ten minutes ago, but she has entered alone and no one has entered after her.

She's supposed to be with Eloise, to help her get ready and her presence here assures me that Eloise is ready. But it doesn't show up anywhere, because she is nowhere to be seen.

I look over to where my aunt is sitting for comfort, seeing the impatience and worried look on her face. She seems to notice my look, as she offers me a small smile and a reassuring nod.

But I can't calm down when I feel hundreds of eyes on me and I can hear the murmurs of those present.

My gaze then falls on where the Bridgertons are sitting, muttering and talking a little erratically to each other. That alarms me even more.

What if Eloise regrets the deal and backs out? What if she leaves me standing at the altar?

That would explain the lateness and the stressed look on the face of the Bridgertons family matriarch. Maybe she already knows and is telling the rest of the family.

My breath stops when the doors of the room open and one of my aunt's waiters enters the room.

XY: Miss Eloise Bridgerton by the hands of Mr. Benedict Bridgerton.- he announces and I can feel myself breathing again.

But as soon as I start to breathe, the air gets stuck in my throat and it's because of something else entirely.

My mind goes completely blank as I see Eloise in her wedding dress with her hair up in a high bun. The light that enters through the windows of the room illuminates her dress and she looks like a complete angel.

The train of the dress trails gently across the floor, as does her veil, which rests just in front of the updo on her head and at the beginning of the train of her dress.

I'm not aware of the moment when Eloise has reached my side and Benedict offers me her hand. I'm only aware when my soon-to-be wife's brother clears his throat and the noise snaps me out of my reverie.

Y/n: Sorry.- I whisper embarrassed, feeling the heat flood my cheeks and receiving my fiancée's hand.

Benedict: Take care of her.- he threatens me seriously, before walking away and sitting with the rest of the family.

Priest: We are gathered here to celebrate the union between Prince Y/n of Hannover and Miss Eloise Bridgerton.- he begins to speak, but I only observe Eloise's profile and try to be as discrete as possible. -Love is something... ... ... ....- He speaks but I ignore him, looking only at the woman to my left. -Now I want you to repeat with me, you first prince. With this ring, I take you Eloise Bridgerton as my wife, to love you and take care of you in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty until death do us part.- he says and I look at the priest paying attention to him again .

Y/n: With this ring, I take you Eloise Bridgerton as my wife, to love you and take care of you in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty until death do us part.- I recite while staring at her eyes, receiving the ring from the priest and placing it on her finger.

Priest: Now your tourn Miss Bridgerton.- he says, offering her the other ring and I can see how she takes it with a trembling hand.

Eloise: With this ring, I take you Y/n from Hannover as my husband, to love you and take care of you in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty until death do us part.- she says nervously and shakily placing the ring on my finger.

Priest: With this exchange of rings, this marriage unites and will be consolidated with a kiss.- he says and I look nervously at the woman in front of me. -You can kiss each other.- he tells us.

I take a deep breath, before taking a step forward closing my eyes and leaning down feeling the erratic beating of my heart.

For a moment, my heart stops completely when my lips make contact with hers, and I can feel her breathing stop.

As we break from the kiss, I open my eyes to look at my now wife and see that she's still keeping them closed. I smile at the image and when she opens her eyes, she immediately smiles back at me.

I extend my hand to her, which she immediately entwines with hers and I direct her towards the large backyard where the celebration will take place.

Eloise: I have to talk to you.- she whispers so that only I can hear heron our walk outside.

Y/n: Bad or good? - I ask confused, smiling at the guests.

Eloise: It depends.- she answers me, doing the same action as me.

Y/n: Okay.- I nod almost imperceptibly.

But as soon as we set foot in the garden, people come to greet us and congratulate us on the wedding. Every time we try to get away so we can talk, someone steps up and stops that from happening.

But I take advantage of a moment when everyone is watching the fireworks, to grab Eloise by the hand and pull her behind some tall hedges a bit away from the crowd.

Y/n: What did you wanted to talk about? - I ask her in a whisper, not wanting to speak too loud and be heard.

Eloise: It's about the agreement.- she whispers, looking around making sure there's no one around.

Y/n: What about the agreement? - I ask completely confused.

Eloise: What happens if there is something that alters or changes the agreement? - she answers me with another question.

Y/n: I don't know.- I answer honestly. -I couldn't know if something could alter or change our agreement, if I don't know what it is about.- I clarify and see how she bites her lower lip nervously.

Eloise: Hypothetically speaking.- she clarifies nervously and I nod. -What would happen if one of the two parties ends up falling in love with the other party?- she asks, looking anywhere but at me and my heart races.

Y/n: Hypothetically speaking? - I ask and she nods. -That maybe the other party has also fallen in love.- I admit feeling the heat on my cheeks from shame.

She opens her eyes wide, directing her gaze to me and staring at me. I try to calm my heart; not wanting to have a heart attack.

Eloise: You...? - she asks me uncertainly, pointing to herself and I nod nervously.

Y/n: And you..? - I ask in the same way, pointing to me and she nods, joining her lips in a straight line.

Eloise: And now what? - she asks, avoiding my gaze and I decide to be brave.

I take two steps towards her, moving closer to her body and gently placing my hand on her chin. I force her head up and look at me, before I say what I've wanted to say for a month.

Y/n: Do you want to see the world with me? - I ask with a small nervous smile.

Eloise: Yes.- she nods with a slight redness on her cheeks after a couple of seconds.

I can't stand her closeness anymore, so I finish bringing my face closer to hers and I put our lips together again.

This time, the kiss is longer and lets us release all the feelings we had stored. My hands are placed on her waist, to be able to bring her closer to me and to be able to hug her by the hip against my body.

While her hands go up my arms and intertwine with each other at the nape of my neck.

We kiss until the air becomes necessary and we put our foreheads together to maintain the closeness between our faces.

Y/n: I love you.- I admit for the first time out loud without taking my eyes off hers.

Eloise: I love you.- she whispers and this time she is the one who brings our lips together in a hungry kiss.

If someone had told me that an agreed marriage proposal would have led me to meet the love of my life, I would never have believed it.

But fate is capricious and you never know where it will turn out.

But looking back from the backyard of my mansion with my wife, where I am playing with our four children and my beautiful wife is reading a book in a chair in the sun, that proposition was the wisest choice of my life.

THE END

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