#joy x ward

[ghostoffuturespast]

Date Night I - Grandpa V & Old Man River

VP comm by @breezypunk! Thank you so much for these. I love them 💕

These are somehow perfect for almost Christmas because Grandpa looks like a present. And it looks like her and River are dancing. And I'm crying again...

Okay, I fucking adore these photos. Like truly. That being said... I'm cackling because Grandpa would literally never pick this outfit for herself. It's mega frilly, floor length gown, she's wearing a goddamn bow in her hair. She'd be like, hard nope. So the fact that she's in it is amazing and hilarious to me.

I've now concocted a fic scenario where she's essentially been coerced into wearing this getup for reasons. I also maybe have several scenarios on how she's getting out of that dress too...

[spider-stark]

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I��m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

[lidiasloca]

hi! could you do an azriel fic where he gets really angry/upset and reader is the only one who can help him calm down and open up?

you calm azriel when he is upset

azriel x reader

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You walk to the balcony, not even bothering to grab a jacket to ward off the night's chill. You had arrived about two minutes ago, and Rhys had told you immediately what had happened. 

It was a vague explanation, probably because you had stopped listening the second he said the mission had gone wrong. A mission Azriel was in. You cut him off, asking where Az was. If he was fine. If he-

“He’s fine, Y/N. Calm down. He’s at the balcony.” And that was all you needed. You turned to go and find him outside. But Rhys stopped you. “Wait,” he starts, running a hand over his face in worry. “He’s - he doesn’t want to see anyone. He’s in a very bad mood. The mission… it’s affected him.”

“I’ll try.”

“Y/N. Don’t make him regret later about how he treats you now. He’ll hate himself for it.”

“I can take a few unkind words, Rhys. Especially if I know he won’t mean any.” Especially if it’s him, but you didn’t dare confess that. “Let my try,” you asked instead. 

He gave you a tight nod in answer. 

And now you are here. Taking careful steps towards the male, his back turned. You can sense something is off. Maybe Rhysand was right. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone. 

But your feet keep moving. And then, it’s too late.  

“Get inside, Y/N” he commands. 

You try to sidetrack him. “How did you know it was me?”

But he’s silent, so you command your feet to walk closer enough so you can take a look at his face. 

When you are next to him, he moves his face to look away. You don’t try getting closer, moving your gaze to the sight in front of you. The night was beautiful, very cold, but beautiful. 

Your eyes follow a line of stars, going down and down until your eyes meet Azriel’s, who observes you without expression. 

You can still see the glints of anger in his eyes, frustration painting his tense body. But the silence has made him calmer, so you seize the opportunity. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Guess this is not going to be easy. You decide to go all in. 

“Rhys has told me the mission didn’t go well.”

He lets out a loud sigh. “Will you get inside,” he says exasperated. “I don’t want you here” You try not to flinch at his rudeness. 

“I know you don’t. But… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

He is silent, but at least he is looking at you. There is a more neutral expression in his face that gives you hope. 

“You… I hate that you always see me like this. Why do you always come when - never mind.”

Now you are the one quiet. Silent for the vulnerably lacing his words. 

“Because I care for you, Azriel,” you reply, your voice soft as a whisper. As if you were sharing secrets. The way his eyes regard you intently, intensifies the intimate feeling. 

He doesn’t have any words for a reply. So you continue. “Az, you don’t have to tell me what happened today. Not if you don’t want to. But please don’t close in yourself completely. Let me try to help you.”

He has never been a worldly male, yet his prolonged silence is killing you tonight. 

But you don’t feel like pushing him further. 

Eventually, as if he had been giving thought to your proposition, he replies, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Help me,” he says, and you see the effort he puts in giving you a weak smile. “Please.”

You suddenly hype up. Joy filing your lungs as you say, “Thank you, Az. You won’t regret it. Now,” you say, smiling broadly. “I think this will make you better: Board games with Cassian!”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “I think I am already regretting this,” he tells you, but the bright in his eyes tells you he is much better than a minute ago. And that is all you need. 

“Well - how about,” you start, too exited about your brilliant idea. “I convince Nesta to play with us.”

“Mmmm, that is a good offer. You know how I love watching Nesta destroy him in a game.”

“I know well.”

He pretends to think about it, and you feel eternally thankful that he is putting in an effort to make this work. That he is letting himself think that he can unburden himself from his demons. To let himself have fun with you. 

“I think it’s a deal,” he says, cocking his head in interest when he takes in your broad grin, your overjoyed look. 

You extend your hand, waiting his to seal the stupid deal.

He is hesitant for a second, a flash of sadness in his eyes. But he extends it at last, shaking yours in a gentle movement.

“Thank you, Az.”

He responds to you without words, moving his hand in a caress, going from your hand to your arm, and up, up. He has his hand on your cheek when he whispers, “Thank you.”

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3

and you can also request any fic idea you have through my inbox so i can write it down :)) i much appreciate requests for azriel and other acotar characters

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag VI (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

~

“I… I don’t know, Sarah,” you sighed, gaze resting on your wall as you held your phone up to your ear.

“What is there to think about? Rafe and my dad left this morning and won’t be back until tomorrow night…”

“I know.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” you heard her huff over the phone. “Rafe won’t know. You’ll be back in your house and waiting for him like the perfect girlfriend before he even has time to pull into the driveway.”

She said it so sweetly that you almost laughed, but all you could do was worry. Ward and Rafe needed to go to Charleston—they’d be staying the night—and for the first time in a while, you’d be without Rafe for at least a day. When he told you, all you’d been able to focus on was 24 hours without having to walk on egg shells or having to overthink every word. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that this was an opportunity for…more.

Rafe had been extra irritable as of late so doing anything that could bring on his wrath was so far from your mind…but then Sarah called you the moment they left…and all of a sudden the idea of going to The Cut of all places was being presented to you. You sat up, sliding your legs underneath you as you wracked your brain. You cursed Sarah in this moment.

…because you did kind of want to go.

When it came to Outer Banks, the farthest you’d ever gone outside of Figure 8 was the beach which technically didn’t count. It was a middle ground of sorts. No man’s land, and because your parents hardly discussed what went on on the other side of the island, you’d never had much desire or curiosity about it. Things were different, now, though.

…and it wasn’t just because of Sarah.

Blue eyes came to mind…and they didn’t belong to Rafe. If someone had told you months ago that your thoughts would be consumed by one JJ Maybank and the effect he was starting to have on you, you’d suggest they needed to be in a padded room. A year ago, you could barely recall his name. Months ago, he was that guy from The Cut that your boyfriend hated with a passion. Now…

Now, he was the guy who sometimes sought you out for painkillers after his dad put his hands on him. He was the guy who liked to tease you and tell you how much of an asshole your boyfriend was. He was the guy who wasn’t afraid of Rafe…and he was the only one outside of your family that had access to your parents’ pool house.

So far you didn’t think you’d seen him using it, and you supposed he didn’t have to take you up on the offer, but you did feel better knowing he had access to a place where he could safely sleep for a few days if need be. As much trouble as it could possibly bring, you definitely didn’t regret what you did. JJ was in trouble, and while he was in trouble like you were in trouble, it wasn’t exactly the same.

He didn’t have security and resources like you did. You’d never seen his house, but the way Sarah talked, you felt it safe to assume that he didn’t have a cozy space where he could just lock himself away to safely hide in. You both were in pretty crappy situations, but you felt you had a lot more to be grateful for than him, and the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to see him just to make sure he was okay.

So, your next words didn’t surprise you.

“I can’t take my car,” you told Sarah, thinking about the AirTag.

You heard Sarah’s hitch of breath, and you knew that she was both surprised and excited by your response.

“You’ve seen John B.’s van. He could fit like ten people in there if he really wanted to,” she laughed. “I’ll ride my bike to your house and then he’ll pick us both up from there.”

You were a little in disbelief that you agreed to this, and you were still in disbelief ten minutes later as you looked in the mirror adjusting your skirt. You felt overdressed, but the most casual thing you owned was an oversized t-shirt that actually belonged to Rafe, and you didn’t feel comfortable walking out of the house in that. You’d changed three times in the span of seven minutes, and you would wonder why you felt so flustered and nervous if you didn’t already know deep down.

When your mother let Sarah into the house, standing in front of the mirror was exactly where the blonde found you once you gave her the okay to come into your room.

“It’s really not that big of a deal. They’re my friends, not Congress,” she said to you as she sat on your bed.

“…but what if they don’t like me?”

Sarah playfully rolled her eyes before standing. You watched her walk around your room, taking in the odd detail here and there.

“They’ll like you just fine. They’re not nearly as judgmental as the usual crowd you hang out with,” she murmured, pointedly eyeing a picture of Rafe on your nightstand. “Kie and JJ are really the only ones you need to worry about. Kie just has a natural distrust of anyone who hangs around Rafe and Topper and Kelce, to be honest.”

You pressed your lips together, unable to find it in yourself to blame her for that.

“…and JJ just has a natural distrust of Kooks, period, but…” she looked at you. “Considering you apologized to him for what Rade did, I’m pretty sure he won’t be nearly as hard on you. Plus, you gave him drugs. I’m willing to bet he probably even kind of loves you, now.”

She laughed to herself, and you had to remind yourself that she didn’t know about all of the little run-ins you and JJ had since then. You decided to trust her advice, fingering your skirt just as she looked at her phone. You’d only just been able to relax when she told you John B. was outside, and telling yourself that you were really going through with this, you followed her downstairs.

You gave your mom a kiss on the cheek on the way out, only telling her you’d be with Sarah for a few hours. While your parents were a far cry from Rose or Topper’s parents, you didn’t know how she’d feel about you going to hang out on the other side of the island, and you felt like it was the worst time to find out. When you made it outside, your heart had only just settled some…and then the door to the van opened.

…and your heart dropped.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing JJ along for the ride.”

“He wanted to see where Y/N lived,” the brunette shrugged.

You barely paid attention to Sarah and John B.’s small back and forth, still thrown by the sight of the blond. You thought you would’ve had more time to prepare yourself to be in close proximity with him for hours on end. You weren’t ready for it to start so soon, and you swallowed as Sarah climbed into the passenger seat, signaling that you were the last one holding everyone up.

While Sarah and her boyfriend discussed something or another, JJ held his hand out to you.

Your lips parted at the sight, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest…but not because of JJ. He was certainly staring at you with that intensity you weren’t used to from anyone but Rafe, but unfortunately…it was Rafe that you were thinking about. Your boyfriend wasn’t even on the island, and all you could think about was what would happen if he saw you take JJ’s hand, right now. It had you frowning and then frowning some more when you thought about what he would do if he found out you went to The Cut.

For a moment, you wondered what the hell you were thinking, and you had a feeling that it was written all over your face too. You were suddenly paralyzed by fear and doubt, and you opened your mouth, a thousand apologies on your mind for wasting their time. It was just on the tip of your tongue, and you were even about to take a step back…when JJ’s hand circled around your wrist.

Your wide eyes met his, and with a subtle shake of his head, he halfway leaned out of the van to take your other hand too. In a daze, you allowed him to pull you inside, carefully stepping up when he told you to watch your feet. His hand was still on yours when he closed the door, and you sat beside him just as John B. pulled out of the driveway.

You couldn’t tell if that had all happened so fast or if Sarah and John B. were just that caught up in their conversation.

You blinked, looking around the inside of the van and taking in every sticker and imperfection and every homemade effort to make the van comfortable. You looked at each of your sides with a frown, and you heard JJ snort from beside you. When you looked up, you weren’t surprised to find his gaze resting on you.

“There aren’t any seatbelts…so if things get rough, I guess you’ll just have to hold onto me,” he told you with a small grin.

Sarah heard that.

“Don’t be disgusting, JJ. She’s dating Rafe, and you know he’d run you down in a heartbeat for talking to her like that,” she threw over her shoulder.

“It’s fine, Sarah. I know he’s just joking,” you nervously chuckled, hating the mention of Rafe.

“Yeah, Sarah, it’s fine,” JJ seconded, and you chose not to focus on how he didn’t confirm that he was joking.

You gave him a look when he shot you another grin, and you tried not to focus on how awkward you felt. You couldn’t quite place how you felt about JJ, and that’s what made this whole thing even more nerve-wracking. Sarah’s friends were Sarah’s friends…but JJ didn’t exactly easily fit into that simple categorization anymore. He wasn’t your friend…he couldn’t be your friend…and yet weirdly enough, he kind of felt like it.

“So, Rafe won’t be back until tomorrow night, huh.”

You glanced at him, and accepting that you simply couldn’t ignore him like you usually liked to do, you sighed. You were in his best friend’s van on the way to his side of the island. Avoiding conversation with him under these circumstances would really make you seem like another stuck up Kook…and you liked to think that you weren’t.

“Yeah,” you told him. “He and Ward are in Charleston, and it just makes sense to stay the night.”

JJ seemed to be thinking that over, a slight frown on his face.

“So…what…? You were just going to wait around at home until he gets back?”

You didn’t like JJ’s tone, and you rolled your eyes.

“I do have a life, you know.”

JJ fixed you with a look as if urging you to go on.

“I have…online classes and things to do around the house…”

You trailed off when JJ snorted, and it didn’t sound humorous.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “What’s the point in going through the fuss of dating when you’re already his perfect little housewife?”

You felt yourself bristle at the blonde’s words, and by the slow smirk on his lips, you knew that he could tell how they affected you.

“I’m just saying. The way you act with him, you’d think that you’d have a ring on your finger and a baby on the way.”

You bit your tongue at that, unsure of how to even respond because he wasn’t completely wrong. All this talk about Rafe only made that uneasiness return, and you swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” you murmured.

You felt JJ’s eyes on you as your gaze found your lap. Sarah and John B. were still talking up front, and after some time, you heard JJ sigh. When he touched your hand, you reluctantly looked at him, and he at least had the sense to look apologetic.

“Hey,” he quietly said, voice lowered and gentle. “I’m just teasing.”

You tilted your head at him, privy to just what he thought of Rafe, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Mostly,” he slowly said. “I do think Rafe’s a controlling asshole, but…it’s not my place.”

He held your gaze, and you eventually nodded at him, letting him know you appreciated the unspoken apology. You turned to stare ahead, trying to ignore JJ’s close proximity and the way it made you all too aware of every feeling in your body.

You were reluctant to take a drink, knowing exactly how Sarah would react, and she didn’t disappoint.

“That’s…disgusting,” she spat, looking like she was moments away from being sick.

“Well, what am I supposed to do Sarah? Lie?”

The rest of her friends found the situation funny while the blonde was far from amused. A game of Never Have I Ever turned from something lighthearted and silly to something a little more…personal. With a few drinks already in you, it hadn’t occurred to you to just lie when Cleo said the words ‘never have I ever done anal’. Now, Sarah was looking at you like you’d just told her Ward liked to be handcuffed to the bed and slapped.

“I feel like that really shouldn’t surprise you, Sarah,” Kie commented.

“No, it doesn’t surprise me, I guess, but it’s not something I enjoy having confirmed,” she sighed. “Okay, considering Y/N is literally dating my brother, how about we forbid any more sex related topics.”

She was only met with more chuckles.

“I’m serious. For my sanity…”

“How about game over? I feel like going for a swim, anyway.”

JJ’s voice and tone startled you, and you only realized why when you looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but it was only then did you remember that when your gaze passed over him a moment ago, like Sarah, he too hadn’t been laughing. In fact, he’d been pretty quiet, and the sudden reminder of his presence caught you off guard.

“Yeah, I do want another beer,” John B. agreed, pushing himself to his feet.

Sarah and Kie followed him while Pope moved closer to Cleo, the dark-skinned boy saying something to her that made her snort.

“You know I have to ask, right?” he suddenly said to you, and you laughed to yourself, having a feeling where this was going. “What do you possibly see in Rafe?”

You could tell that Pope wasn’t trying to be an ass about it or nosy—he was merely genuinely curious. And thrown. Cleo shook her head at her boyfriend, bumping his shoulder with hers.

“The heart wants what it wants…”

Your attention was pulled away from them by the sight of JJ hurriedly getting to his feet. You eyed him, still thrown by his change in attitude, but you forced yourself to look away when he reached behind his head to pull his shirt off. You reluctantly gave Pope your focus again when he spoke.

“I mean, everybody knows that you and Rafe are together. You guys are probably going to get married, and sure it’s one thing to hear about Rafe’s girlfriend and see her in passing, but now I actually have you before me and I can ask you for myself… What do you see in that guy?”

Cleo laughed, and you forced yourself to join her. You shook your head, knowing that you could never tell Pope the truth in a million years.

“Cleo’s right,” you relented with a shrug. “The heart wants what it wants.”

Your answer was followed by a splash, and you glanced over, noting that you couldn’t really make out JJ in the dark. Pope’s soft noise of disapproval reached your ears, and you felt your face fall a little as you stared out into the water. Glancing at the couple before you—and seeing that they were wrapped up in a conversation—you stood and slowly made your way to where JJ was.

On the dock, you could make him out much better, and you eyed him as he slowly waded through the water.

“Isn’t it a little cool to be in the water?” you wondered after a few moments of neither of you saying a thing.

JJ chuckled, and in the dark, his teeth looked predatory.

“Only one way to find out for yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

He moved closer, and you watched him place his hands on the wood of the dock…just in front of your feet.

“Do I seem like I’m joking?” he wondered.

You rolled your eyes.

“For one thing, it’s a little too cold for me,” you told him. “…and also I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Like a bra and underwear are really that different,” he commented.

“They are to me,” you argued.

The blond didn’t reply right away, and eventually a humorless chuckle reached your ears.

“I bet they are,” he dryly said. “Let me guess… One, Rafe wouldn’t mind you wearing out in public and the other he’d literally lose his shit over.”

You pressed your lips together.

“Am I right?” he wondered, reaching over to touch your leg.

You jumped at the cold wet feel, and JJ laughed to himself.

“It’s too cold for you to be in there. You should get out,” you advised.

“You sound worried…”

You were, and you pressed your lips together, wondering why that seemed so crazy to him.

“Besides, I don’t exactly enjoy hearing about your sex life with Rafe Cameron,” JJ drawled. “So, if that’s what I have to look forward to if I get out…I’m good.”

You blinked at that, and something in his tone told you he wasn’t opposed to it for the same reasons Sarah was.

“It was just a game, JJ…and he’s my boyfriend,” you whispered.

It was then that the blond finally decided to listen to you, pulling himself up onto the dock. His hair was weighed down with water, droplets dripping over his face and body as his gaze met yours. You didn’t understand how he wasn’t shaking—you’d long regretted putting on a skirt—and you straightened once it registered how close he was.

It took a lot of effort to keep your eyes on his face, and his own gaze briefly lowered when you crossed your arms over your chest. You could briefly hear his friends talking around what sounded like a small fire, now, but your attention was solely on JJ. His eyes flitted over your face, and you hated the way they lingered on your lips—mostly how it made you feel.

“Yeah, and we both know how I feel about that little fact.”

His words were quiet, just loud enough for you to hear, and you shuddered when his arm grazed yours as he brushed by you. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to take a deep breath before turning and reluctantly following him. As you rejoined the others, you couldn’t stop glancing at JJ as he made his way inside, and knowing that you had no real reason to, you had a pressing desire to join him instead.

“I called you last night.”

You blinked, staring out into the yard at Sarah and her friends.

“I know. That’s why I called you back. I knocked out pretty early yesterday,” you told Rafe.

It was a lie.

John B. didn’t bring you and Sarah back to Figure 8 until after midnight. You’d made the decision to leave your phone at home. The only other option was to simply stop sharing your location with your boyfriend, and if you did that…he’d know something was up. It was better for him to think you were at home and just away from your phone in some way.

It was risky…so risky��but it was the most fun you’d had in almost two years.

Sarah’s friends were nice—mostly. Kiara was really the only one who hadn’t warmed up to you much, and considering Sarah’s explanation for why that may be, you didn’t fault her for it. She had every right to be wary of you, and truthfully, in her shoes, you might’ve done the same. Aside from that, you felt welcome…included…and most of all like your own person.

It felt good to be around people where you didn’t have to tip toe around anyone and be overly cautious of what you said or did. For the first time in so long, you could just be, and the thought had you blinking back tears. You didn’t know when you’d get to feel that again, and the train of thought almost had you missing Rafe’s response.

“You get too wrapped up in homework. Always falling asleep on your computer,” he chuckled, and you forced one in response. “I see you’re at my house.”

You pulled your eyes away from the window…only to be startled by the sight of JJ leaning against the wall.

“Yeah,” you told him after gathering your thoughts. “You know I just relax better in your bed, sometimes.”

Rafe hummed, and you eyed JJ again, frowning at the blond. He didn’t react, merely raking his eyes over you.

“We’re going to be leaving in a few hours. Is that where you’ll be waiting for me when I get back?” his tone of voice wasn’t subtle, and you felt your face fall. “I missed you last night.”

You took a deep breath.

“Of course,” you evenly told him. “I missed you too.”

Your phone call with Rafe only lasted a few more minutes, and when you finally hung up, JJ was still hanging around.

“You’re a lot quieter than you look, you know that?”

You moved past him, making your way towards the back door. You didn’t exactly expect JJ to follow you—fully expecting him to go out the front and rejoin his friends—but for some reason you weren’t all that surprised by it either.

“Why are you with him?”

That was the question that met your ears the moment you stepped outside. Scrunching your nose, you turned to face JJ, giving him a questioning look.

“Haven’t we been down this road before?”

“Yeah, but that was before…”

There was nothing humorous about JJ’s tone, and your own smile fell once you took in the evenness of his expression. There was a slight frown between his brows as he stared at you, and you felt a frown of your own taking over as confusion filled you. JJ was entirely serious—a first—as he gazed at you, and something on your chest sank.

“I don’t…”

“That was before when I thought…” he trailed off, throwing his arms up. “When I thought you were just another spoiled Kook princess.”

You briefly glanced away, shifting on your feet.

“I mean, sure. You come from a nice family, and you’re polite, but you’re dating Rafe, so I thought…how nice can she really be?”

You didn’t know how to feel about that, and JJ kept going before you had time to linger on it.

“You see those girls who’s dating some asshole that doesn’t deserve her, and sure, he doesn’t, but then you realize they’re more alike than you thought, and she actually isn’t too much better than him, and you know what, maybe they’re more suited than you assumed,” he scoffed. “Maybe her willingness to overlook what he’s like isn’t because she wants to see the good in him but because she can actually relate in some ways.”

Your face hadn’t evened out once since he started talking, and you eyed JJ when he stepped closer. There was a look in his blue gaze that you couldn’t place, and when he studied your face, you felt very…exposed.

“That was when I thought you were that girl…”

You swallowed.

“…but you’re nice,” JJ whispered, and for some reason, you really hated the way he was looking at you. “Actually nice.”

Your lips parted, and you fought to find something to say.

“Sarah’s always said it, you know, but…”

JJ’s words died in the air as he glanced away, and you watched his face harden, jaw ticking as he seemed to be deep in thought.

“All I could think last night was…” his eyes met yours again. “Why is a girl like that with Rafe Cameron?”

You took a deep breath, it was shaky, and you reached up to rub your forehead.

“JJ-.”

“What do you see in him?” he wondered, closer now. “Why are you with him?”

You shook your head, fighting to come up with the words.

“You…you don’t know him like I do,” was your response.

It wasn’t a lie.

“I don’t know him like you do?” JJ incredulously wondered, his face so close to yours. “My face and his fist are actually best friends, if you didn’t know.”

“I love him.”

You stared into JJ’s eyes as you said this, and the longer he stared into yours, the deeper his frown became. JJ blinked at you, once then twice, and you watched him rear back slightly. A few blond strands hung into his face as he eyed you…from head to toe and back, and he scoffed.

“You’re lying,” he whispered.

He continued just as you opened your mouth.

“You’re a good liar,” he said, just…watching you. “…but you’re not the best. You’re lying.”

Wanting this conversation to end, you looked away.

“Believe what you want, but why I’m with Rafe doesn’t concern you. It’s literally not your business.”

When you tried to go back inside, JJ blocked your path, and you looked at him like he’d lost his mind. It didn’t have the desired effect though, JJ staring you down with one raised eyebrow.

“Maybe I want to make it my business,” he bit out.

“Why? Because I was kind to you? Because I offered you a place-?”

“…because your boyfriend’s a dick.”

You stumbled back when he moved closer, the blond invading your personal space.

“…and I don’t think you want to be with him,” he murmured.

JJ’s boldness threw you off, and you frantically blinked, shaking your head at him.

“You don’t know what I want,” you whispered.

You only just realized how close JJ was, his nose brushing yours when he only leaned in a tad more. The realization had your breath hitching, and as JJ’s chest grazed yours, you felt like there was a roaring sound in your ears. For a moment, you forgot all about Rafe—your boyfriend—and all you could focus on was the relaxing scent of JJ and his nose touching yours and his chest being so close to yours.

Your heart was going crazy in your chest, and it took you too long to realize that you were…anxious…and yearning…for a kiss you thought was about to happen. That was because you wanted the kiss to happen, and that realization had you taking a step back, eyes wide and disbelieving. Your fingers were shaking as you stared at JJ, but the blond didn’t look nearly as distressed as you felt. In fact, there was a glint in his eye that was so familiar to you.

The problem, however, was that it was only familiar with Rafe.

…but JJ was not Rafe.

…and while the look was the same, the way you were feeling was not.

In a panic, you rushed by JJ, determined to go back inside and far away from him. However, your hand was on the door when JJ spoke again, his words making your hair stand on end.

“I think I can guess…”

You felt your stomach turn, and swallowing down food that threatened to come up, you hurried inside, slamming the door behind you.

[springtyme]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ♡

I just want to steal this man's clothes. I just know he has the warmest, softest jumpers.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Simon comes home to you wearing his jumper.

word count: 820

note: This is pretty self-indulgent, but since it's just a drabble I let myself have it. No gendering terms are used for the reader, but I would say that they are somewhat fem coded. The reader is wearing Simon's jumper which is described as being oversized on them, and Simon picks up and carries the reader.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you enter the living room of your and Simon’s flat, the cool air nipping at your skin. As you shuffle around the room, your eyes fall upon one of Simon’s jumpers hanging on the back of a chair. It’s soft and cosy, just the thing you need to ward off the cold. Without a second thought, you pick it up from the chair before slipping it on, relishing in the way it engulfs your frame.  

The jumper is much too big for you, the sleeves extending far past your fingertips and the hem grazing your mid-thigh. But you love it. You love how it makes you feel small and protected, cocooned in Simon’s embrace even when he’s not around. It is as if you are wearing a piece of him, and it brings a smile to your face.

Inhaling deeply, you catch a whiff of his cologne clinging to the fabric. It’s a comforting scent, fresh and earthy, one that instantly transports you back to the moments you’ve spent wrapped in his strong arms. It lingers around you, comforting and familiar, as you settle down on the sofa.

You sink into the soft cushions, your body relaxing against the plush fabric. The jumper’s oversized nature envelopes you, making you feel safe and secure. The warmth seeps into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a tired, content sigh as you close your eyes, surrendering to the cosiness, and soon you drift into a peaceful slumber. 

· · · · · 

As Simon opens the door to the flat, a familiar sense of comfort washes over him. As he toes off his boots, the scent of home greets him, a familiar blend of your favourite scented candle and the fresh flowers you always insist on having. The sweet aroma filling the air, instantly putting him at ease. 

The familiar creak of the wooden floorboards under his feet echoes through the hallway, a sound that signifies he is truly home as he makes his way towards the living room. His heart swells with affection as he sees you lying there, fast asleep, wearing his jumper.

He can’t help but smile at the sight. You look so peaceful, curled up on the cushion, radiating warmth and comfort. The jumper, far too big on you, engulfing your figure, making you look even more adorable.

Simon’s steps are careful as he approaches, not wanting to disturb your peaceful rest. He crouches down beside the sofa, his eyes tracing the contours of your face.

Admiring the way you look in his jumper, Simon feels a surge of love and affection. It’s in these simple moments that he realises how lucky he is to have you in his life. You bring him a sense of comfort and joy that he never thought possible.

As you stir in your sleep, Simon leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead. You smile, sensing his presence, even in your dreams. With a content sigh, you snuggle deeper into the jumper, feeling the warmth and love it represents.

Simon’s heart swells with tenderness as he watches you sleep peacefully. The sight of you curled up, vulnerable and content, fills him with a deep sense of affection. Gently, he scoops you up in his strong arms, careful not to disturb your slumber as he carries you towards the bedroom. 

With each step, he feels a surge of protectiveness, a desire to keep you safe and secure. The softness of your skin against his arms, the warmth emanating from your body, it all fuels his determination to care for you.

As he enters the bedroom, he lays you gently on the soft bed, tucking you in with the utmost care. He adjusts the covers, making sure you’re snug and comfortable. 

He takes a moment to admire you, his heart overflowing with love. He still can’t believe how lucky he is to have you in his life. The way you trust him, the way you bring him peace and happiness, it’s a gift he cherishes every day.

Simon leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He whispers words of affection, knowing you won’t hear them but wanting to express his love nonetheless. 

Simon knows that this is a moment he will remember, one he’ll think back on fondly when he’s on deployment and misses you. The image of you curled up in his jumper, etched into his mind. He knows that no matter where life takes you, these small moments of care and tenderness will always be the foundation of your love.

In the quiet of the night, Simon finds solace in knowing that he can be there for you, just as you have always been there for him. And as he lays next to you, drifting off to sleep, he dreams of a future filled with more stolen moments, shared laughter, and the warmth of your love.

[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 4

Summary: Wanda and R have their first date ;)

Wanda: Sorry I missed you before you left for work. Wanna come over for dinner with us?

Y/N: Would love to :)

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who just got dumped” Darcy says as you smile at your phone.

“Who got what?”

“Carol and Maria…”

“No one dump me, there was no relationship to end” you say, locking your phone. You have noticed that Carol has been avoiding you, which is pretty idiotic, considering a lot of the trauma cases that come your way are ortho related.

That would also explain why Kamala rambled so much every time you requested a consult, so you made a note to speak to Carol about it.

“So…” Darcy ponders, and you wish she’d just drop it. She snaps her fingers. “The hot mom!”

“Her name is Wanda, and we are just talking” you refuse to look at her, knowing she can smell the bullshit from miles away.

“Something tells me talking wasn’t the only thing you did with your mouths” she insists, pulling on your sleeve.

“Fine! We kissed and it was awesome! Happy, you little pestering gnome?”

“Yes, lesbian whore. Congrats on securing a ticket to MILF paradise”

“Fuck you”

“Doctor Y/L/N” Kamala enters the room as you give Darcy the middle finger. “I can come back! Sorry!”

“Look what you’ve done” you mumble as Darcy cackles. The joy doesn’t last long, as you steal her chips. She’s too distracted making fun of you to notice.

“Hey, not fair”

You close the door and go after the resident.

“Hey, Kamala”

“Oh, hi. Doctor Danvers asked me to show you some X-Rays”

“Tell Doctor Danvers to show me herself. Or better yet, I will go directly to her. Where can I find her, Doctor Kahn?”

“Uh… I…”

“Never mind, I’ll ask Maria” you turn to leave  and Kamala screeches in horror.

“OR 2. She’s in OR 2. Please don’t do it, my Baba will never forgive me if I get kicked out of the program” the young doctor clings to your arm.

“Kamala. Get it together. It’s gonna be fine. If Carol gets mad, you can be in my service for a week” you promise and she barely stops hyperventilating.

By the time you reach the OR, Carol is done with her surgery. She stops in her tracks when your eyes meet.

“Doctor Danvers, a word?” you ask, trying to sound professional.

“Of course” she nods. Leading you to an empty scrub room, Carol opens the door for you, fidgeting. “What’s up?”

“Stop making everything so awkward. I’m not mad at you. Kamala is about to have a stress induced stroke from all the consults you send her to avoid me”

“You’re really not mad?” Carol says.

“No! I never expected anything else from you. We didn’t talk about it but I always knew what your true feelings were”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, honestly. Just, stop acting like you left me at the altar or some weird shit. We’re colleagues and friends”

“That makes me happy. I didn’t want to stop talking to you” she relaxes. “Though I have to be honest, I told Maria what happened between us”

“Is she mad?”

“Only a bit and just to me. I’ll manage to turn it around” the blonde smiles, a dreamy look on her eyes.

“If it helps, tell her I have a date on Thursday” you say, leaving the room, Carol right behind you.

“Oh, let me guess. The hot mom?” she jokes.

“Her name is Wanda!” you repeat.

“Well, let me know how the date goes?” Carol pats your shoulder, and you nod.

“Will do. Now page your resident and tell her we’re all set before she gets admitted to the Psych ward”

—

The footsteps approaching on the other side make your heart jump. You wonder if the flowers are too much, but when Wanda sees them, her face lights up and you know it was the right thing to do.

“Come on in” Wanda says, taking the flowers and then standing on her toes to kiss your cheek. “The boys are in the living room”

“Want some help with the food?”

“No, I’m almost done. It will be more helpful if you entertain the twins for a little” she says, pulling the flowers close to her chest.

“Alright, then” you’re about to kiss her when the boys walk in. They’re so excited to see you that they don’t notice how close you are to their mother.

“Y/N” Billy says, running towards you.

“Hey, kiddos” you pick them up, carrying them over your shoulder and they giggle. “Come on, there’s a new game I wanna show you”

You take your time to set everything up, explaining a bit about the game. They giggle as Crash jumps and turns in the sand of the first level, and you finish it all, including the tricky jump at the end.

“Who wants to go next?”

“Me” Tommy says, sitting next to you. They are both focused on the game, so you take advantage of the distraction to go see Wanda.

Sliding into the kitchen, you grab her by the waist.

“You scared me” she laughs, allowing you to press against her back, kissing her temple. “What’s going on?”

“I have approximately fifty seconds before they ask for my help so I’m making sure they count” you turn her around and lean forward, capturing her lips and sighing against her mouth. “You look very pretty”

“Thank you”

“You smell really nice” you add, kissing her again, making Wanda laugh. “And I really, really, like kissing you”

Wanda smiles at that, her hand caressing your cheek.

“Y/N!” the boys chant in unison.

“Like clockwork” you mutter, kissing Wanda’s forehead as you go back to the living room.

You spend a few more minutes playing with the kids, until Wanda calls everyone for dinner.

“How’s the arm, kiddo?” you say, sitting next to Billy with Tommy and Wanda in front of you. As you take a bite of the chicken, you notice a funny flavor. “Is this brocc…”

Wanda widens her eyes and kicks you under the table.

“Ouch”

“You ok?” Tommy asks, none the wiser.

“Yeah, I just bit my tongue” you lie, Wanda taking a sip of her water to hide her laugh.

“Kids, eat” she encourages them, and you get the hint. The flavor of the broccoli is hidden with the cheese, so you smile and continue to eat, enjoying every single bite.

“I’m on cleaning duty” you say as soon as everyone finishes, taking the dishes and cleaning the table.

Billy and Tommy run to the living room to continue playing, and as you get ready to wash the dishes, Wanda leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“It’s nice to have you here”

“You have an odd way of showing it, Miss Maximoff” you joke, leaning against her touch.

“In my defense, it’s the only way to get them to eat their greens” she jokes and you lean forward, your lips inches away from hers. In that precise moment, the boys call for her.

“Behave” she warns the children, pulling away to see what the fuss is about.

“Have you thought about boarding schools?” you joke and she pinches your side. “Ah, kidding! I would miss them too much”

You load the dishwasher, clean the pots and put the rest of the food on some containers. By the time you’re done, the kids are getting ready to go to bed.

“Can you come over again tomorrow?”

“If your mom wants me to, sure. I can bring the food this time so she takes a break from cooking” you offer, smiling at Wanda.

“We’ll see about that, Y/N works hard enough as it is. Say goodbye to her, boys”

Tommy and Billy wave at you, already dragging their feet. You stay on the living room, and a few minutes later Wanda comes down.

“Hi” she plops down next to you and you smile.

“All good?”

“A bit tired, that’s all. Just ignore me, you’re the one that works all those crazy hours”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to it by now” you shrug your shoulders.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Sure, I don’t have work tomorrow”

“How come?” Wanda asks when she returns, handing you a glass of red wine and sitting closer to you on the couch.

“Well, I have a really hot date coming up and I need to plan every detail”

“She sounds like a lucky girl” Wanda blushes, biting her lip.

“Oh, I’m the lucky one” you say, placing both of your glasses on the coffee table. “She’s smart, funny, has legs for days, cooks amazing food…”

“Stop” she laughs, and you shake your head no. Wanda is still laughing when you connect your lips with hers, a sigh leaving her mouth when you lift her and place her on your lap, her legs straddling you.

“Is this ok?”

“Yeah” she nods, leaning her forehead against yours. “More than ok. As a matter of fact, I remember reading that kissing is good for your health”

“It’s so good” you say, your lips traveling to her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck. “I’d say do it as often as possible”

“Doctor’s orders?” Wanda jokes, her voice faltering as you come back to her mouth, your tongue swiping across her bottom lip.

“Doctor’s orders”

—

The plan is coming along. You have the tickets for the exhibit and the next thing on the list should be the dinner reservation. Your pager beeps the minute you call the restaurant. 

911.

“Shit” 

You sprint to the car, knowing no one would call you outside of work if it wasn’t serious. 

“What’s wrong?” you walk to the ER, looking around.

“What on Earth is this?” Tony Stark, neurosurgeon and professional asshole gets in your face the minute you get there.

“I don’t know, I’ve been off work since yesterday, Stark” you take the chart, reading all the information until you get to the signature. The writing got progressively worse, until it was just senseless lines.

“This person was clearly having a stroke, and the staff didn’t notice. I have to scrub in and see if I can save his life”

“And you’re wasting time arguing with me” you roll your eyes, pushing the chart to his chest and walking to the OR.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To scrub in. If you want to blame me, that’s fine. I’m staying by this patient’s side until he pulls through”

“If he pulls through” Stark says angrily and you ignore him. 

Before scrubbing in, you check your phone.

Wanda: Is everything ok? I saw you leaving in a hurry. 

“By all means, take your time” Stark says, glaring as he walks by you.

You spend the entire surgery in his OR, standing still and doing everything he asks. He’s a rude, pretentious cunt, but if anyone can work a miracle, it’s him, so you suck it up and take every snide comment with a blank stare.

After hours working, Tony sighs, nodding at his work. 

“Close him, Parker,” he asks his resident. You stand watching the young man’s work, until the surgeon asks you to come with him.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out the minute you step out. “This wasn’t your patient, nor your responsibility. And I made it seem like it was”

“It’s still not right. If I had been here, I would have noticed”

“I know. Your work is impeccable” he acknowledges and you nod. Even if he’s an ass, this is the hospital his father built, and he’s a genius with years ahead of you in experience.

“Will he be alright?”

“There’s a good chance he’ll pull through. Let’s be cautiously optimistic. I’ll let Parker explain everything to the family. Sorry for interrupting your days off”

“Not a problem” 

“It’s the first time you’ve taken PTO in 3 years. Fury’s gonna have my head for making you come” Tony says, laughing.

The patient is moved to the ICU, but you’re still not comfortable leaving, so you go back to the on-call room, sitting in a bed to gather your thoughts. Yelling in the hallway makes you stand up, watching as Parker tries to speak to a man and his wife. 

“You discharged him, said he was fine” the man yells, pointing at Peter’s face. 

“Sir, I can assure you, we’re doing our best to make sure your son…”

“We wanna see him now” the man takes Peter by his coat, almost lifting him off the ground. The young man stutters, not knowing how to deescalate the situation.

“Hey, that’s enough” you step in, not realizing the man is about to throw a punch until you make him drop Peter, his elbow connecting with your cheek.

“Crap, Doctor Y/L/N, are you ok?” Peter says, rushing to your side.

“Yeah, fine”

Fucking fantastic. 

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to wait in the foyer, or I’ll call security” Carol steps in, glaring at the man. She waits until he’s gone, muttering an apology your way. “You ok?”

“Mhm, great”

“I thought you had a few days off”

“Yeah, me too”

“Come on, let’s have a look at that punch” Carol says, dragging you to one of the exam rooms. You sigh, trying to keep your eye closed. “No stitches needed”

“Great” you mumble, pulling out your phone. There’s like five messages from Wanda but before you can answer, she calls you.

“Hey”

“Hey, are you ok? You had me worried”

“Yeah, there was a thing at the hospital and I… ouch! Carol, a little warning?” you hiss as the blonde pours some disinfectant on the bruised skin.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were busy” Wanda says, her demeanor changing. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone”

“Wait, Wanda!” you say but it’s too late, the call cut off. “God, could this day get any worse? I have to go”

“Want me to drive you there?” Carol says with a smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah. That will make Wanda so happy”

“Whipped” Carol jokes and you try to glare, but it hurts your eye.

Wanda barely put the kids to bed, when she hears a knock on the door. She’s prepared to give you an attitude but then sees your swollen cheek.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you, are you ok?” the brunette says, immediately forgetting she’s mad at you.

“It’s a long story. But that doesn’t matter. Listen, I know how it seems, I tell you I’m busy and when you call me I’m with Carol”

“I know you work together. It’s fine” Wanda lies.

“No, it’s not, come on”

“Ok, just come in and explain everything while I get you some ice, ok?”

“Thanks” you mutter, sitting at the kitchen counter. You fidget with your hands, not looking up until Wanda comes closer, her eyes soft as she moves the hair out of your face.

“Cold” she warns, placing a compress against your skin. You sigh with relief, holding her hand close.

“I’m sorry. I was called in to fix something I didn’t break”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job, Y/N” she says in a soft voice. “Is everyone ok? Is that how you got hurt?”

“Everyone’s ok. The parents were just pissed and I tried to break the fight”

“Does it hurt?” Wanda pulls the compress and examines the skin. It’s a little bruised, but not too swollen.

“It will later” you sigh.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You can kiss it better”

“Is that what Carol was doing earlier?” Wanda tilts her head, a dangerous look in her eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh, come on! Not fair!”

“I’m kidding” she says, finally kissing you softly. You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in 12 hours. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, you were saving lives”

“What you feel is valid. Don’t apologize for it, ok? I’ll always listen to you, I promise” you kiss her hand, smiling when she blushes. “We’re still up for our date, right?”

“We can reschedule, you must be exhausted”

“Not a chance” you say, pulling her closer again. “I’ve been waiting too long for this”

“Well, alright. If you insist” she pecks your lips and you nod.

“I do”

“I have an… odd request” she says, avoiding your eyes.

“I won’t kink shame you, I promise”

“Can you be serious for just a second?” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. You make a motion to keep quiet, and let her speak. “Can you… pick me up around the block?”

“I can. But why am I doing it?”

“First of all, if the kids see you, they’ll want to tag along. And also… I’m not trying to be pessimistic here, I just want to protect them. It’s been the three of us since they were born and I’ve never even dated anyone, let alone someone they know” she takes a deep breath, hoping you won’t get upset.

“Billy and Tommy come first, always” you nod. “I agree to the new rule, or I can wear glasses and a fake mustache”

“Nope” she shakes her head, covering your mouth with her hand.

“A bald cap then” you mumble against her palm.

She figures the only way to make it stop is by kissing you and she leans forward, her lips against yours. You smile dreamily as she pulls apart.

“Now. Would you like some dinner?” Wanda offers, and you almost drop to your knees.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Wanda Maximoff”

The way she blushes and giggles makes up for all the shitty things that happened in the past hours.

—

“There’s food and snacks, a list of phone numbers on the fridge in case of an emergency”

“Yes, Mrs. Maximoff,” Morgan says, following the woman around the house. It’s her first time babysitting the twins, but Wanda has known the girl since she started giving her private art lessons and trusts her.

“Boys, I’m leaving” Wanda calls, the kids standing up from the table to hug their mom goodbye. “Be good to Morgan, ok?”

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks.

“A work thing” she lies, feeling terrible about hiding the truth from the twins. But still, she knows it’s for the best to keep this private.

She waves goodbye one last time and walks past the house, noticing your car is no longer in the driveway. Her heart beats fast at the expectation of an evening together.

“Hey, gorgeous” you greet, leaning against the passenger door. “You look absolutely stunning”

You admire how amazing she looks in a pair of jeans, a white tee and a long sleeve sweater.

“So do you” she kisses you, smiling as you open the door to the car.

“Thanks, the purple eye gives my look a nice touch” you say as you begin the drive.

“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough” you say, hoping she likes the surprise. “First stop” you announce, opening the car door for Wanda and looking at the building in front of you. 

“Artechouse. Oh, I’ve heard about this” Wanda nods, intrigued.

“I did too, but never made the time to go. Come on” you lead her to the entrance, showing your tickets. “There’s a small bar if you wanna have a drink before we go in” 

“Let’s go in now” she says, looking everywhere. 

You think it’s a good sign that she’s so interested in the exhibit, so you lead her to the start, both of you gasping as you enter a room that is projecting videos of flowers from floor to ceiling. Wanda’s hand searches yours in the dark, and you smile shyly as she holds it, walking around the room.

The intimacy of the place allows you to come closer, sharing everything you see in a low voice and enjoying the show. 

“Check this out” you say, lifting your arm, the animation following your movements. Wanda lets out a laugh, doing the same.

Each room enchants Wanda even more, the next installation featuring plants that react to the touch with light and sound. Your favorite by far is the tree that reacts differently if you’re holding hands or hugging. As you walk up to it, Wanda is still holding your hand and you both look at the screen. Well, she’s looking at the projection and you’re looking at her, thinking how beautiful she is. 

Taking a step forward, your arms go around her waist and you smile, admiring how the images change.

“It’s beautiful” Wanda whispers, turning to you. “You’re not looking” 

“I have the best view right in front of me” you smile, happy when she kisses you softly.

Wanda takes her time examining everything and once she’s done, you walk to the exit. 

“That was amazing. I forgot how much I enjoy these things. Thank you, Y/N”

“Glad you liked it” 

“Best first date I’ve had,” she smiles.

“Oh, this is only the first part. You don’t really think I’d forget about the food, right?” 

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a very fancy option but I don’t feel like going with this thing on my face” you point at the bruise, annoyed. “If you’re feeling adventurous we could try something different?” 

“You look perfectly fine, darling” she kisses your cheek. “But I’m up for an adventure, so lead the way” 

“Awesome” you hold her hand, walking down the street and away from the museum. This is your favorite part of town, close to the pier and the little shops that are open until late. 

You walk down the promenade, showing Wanda some of the places you love. There’s a small gallery, a cafe, and other shops. 

“We’re here” you announce, pointing excitedly at the kebab shop. “This is fine, right? We can still go to the fancy place if you like”

“Sorry this place isn’t fancy enough for you, Majesty” the owner pops out of nowhere, scaring you.

“Samir! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your food”

“Mhm” he glares, but then smiles at Wanda. “What can I get for you, angel?”

“Well, what’s good here?” Wanda wonders, not as familiar with the dishes. “Maybe a shawarma” 

“How about a kebab box, fries to share and a doner” you suggest, “And her shawarma, of course” 

“That’s a lot of food” she protests and you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m always eating leftovers before I leave for work so it’s fine, babe” 

“Oh, well” she wants to scold you about your eating habits, but the pet name makes her dizzy. 

You pay and lead them to a small table outside, unaware of Wanda’s flustered state. You hand over a soda and open your can, taking a sip.

“We can go to other art shows whenever you want, you know? Even if I don’t understand anything, I do enjoy watching you” you smile, laughing as Wanda’s cheeks go red at the comment.

“I did enjoy it, thank you. You come here often?”

“I do, I love the food here. Samir noticed I came late because of my shifts and he always saved me some food. Nice fella” you turn to make sure he’s not listening. “But I promise I’ll take you to dinner to that other place when I don’t look like a raccoon”

“You don’t have to” 

“I kinda want to see you in a dress, all fancy like that time you left for another date” you smile at the memory of how beautiful she looked.

Wanda’s heart bursts with the way you look at her, complete adoration in your eyes. She’s almost left speechless, but her phone saves her. 

“It’s my brother” she apologizes, taking the call. “Hi, Pietro. No, I’m not with them. Because, I’m out. Of course with a babysitter, stupid” she rolls her eyes, and then switches to a language that you don’t understand, but sounds like Russian. You look at her in awe, until Samir calls for you to get the food. By the time you’re back at the table, Wanda already hung up.

“Sorry about that” 

“No, don’t worry. I guess I never asked, but are you Russian?”

“Sokovian” she corrects. “We moved to the States when Pietro and I were ten” 

“Wow. I never… you don’t even have an accent” 

“It slips up from time to time, especially if I’m angry or… flustered” Wanda says, and you almost choke on the food, thinking of all the ways you could make it come out. 

“Oh, well” you clear your throat. “Is your brother ok?”

“Yeah, he wanted to ask the boys something about video games that I don’t understand. I’m sure you would” 

“I don’t know, my knowledge is limited to things that existed when I was a kid. How’s the food?”

“Amazing. Wow” Wanda says, pleased with the flavor of the meat and how it compliments the rice and dips.

“See? We’re good enough for a first date” Samir shouts from the kitchen.

“Stop listening to our conversation” you shout back and he grumbles. Wanda smiles, thinking of something she’s wanted to ask for a while now.

“Do you ever visit your family?” 

“No, not really” you shake your head. “I pretty much left for college and never returned. Except this one Christmas, where I was feeling kind of lonely and tired. I just wanted to be home, but everything was so different, my half siblings were just too much to handle for anyone… and I didn’t even know what to do, no one bought me a present because I was never around and they just thought I’d be gone like last year”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

“It’s fine” you shrug your shoulders. “I know it’s weird, but I like my life, you know? My colleagues are great, I’m doing what I love… and if I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have met you”

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s their loss” Wanda smiles, kissing you. You smile against her lips. “You can always spend the holidays with us, you know? I mean, it’s too soon to talk about it, I’m just saying”

“That would be nice” you interrupt her rambling. “Now, I have something very important to ask. Out of all the neighbors, which one is the most annoying and why?”

“Well, I’d say it’s… Agatha”

“Harkness! Yes! I knew you disliked her too” 

Wanda laughs and you keep the conversation going. By the time you’re done, you pay and leave a big tip for Samir, who gives you a hug as you leave the store.

“I’m so full” Wanda says, patting her stomach. 

“I know. Oh, you want ice cream?” you say, remembering the gelato store that is a few shops ahead. 

“You just said you were full!”

“It’s ice cream, come on” you take her hand, and pay for two cones. Wanda orders strawberry while you opt for chocolate.

“How is it?” you ask as you walk down the pier, enjoying the view. 

“Amazing, have some” she offers the cone, but you kiss her instead. “That’s not what I meant” Wanda laughs against your lips.

“Well, it tastes amazing to me” you say, leaning forward and chasing after her soft lips, the flavor lingering as you deepen the kiss. Wanda sighs against your mouth, pulling you closer until your hand goes down her waist. “Best ice cream I’ve ever had” 

“Yeah” Wanda nods, her eyes closed. You peck her lips one last time, and continue your walk, still talking about everything you can think of, enjoying each other’s company.

When she checks the time more than once you get the hint, ready to go home.

“I’m sorry, I’m just being annoying, we can stay longer” 

“It’s ok, I know you like to be home early. Come on, we can drink wine or I’ll let you go to bed”

You rest your hand on Wanda’s leg for the entire ride home, unaware that your touch is making the woman restless. When you’re close to your house, you stop exactly where you picked Wanda up.

“I can just park at home, right? The boys are probably asleep”

“Yeah” Wanda nods, flustered. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when she moves forward, pulling you down for a rough kiss that takes your breath away. It’s a bit messy and desperate, and you ignore the strain of your seatbelt as Wanda pulls you closer to her, sighing against your mouth.

“You can’t park here!” an annoying person knocks on your window and you both break apart. “Oh, my! Wanda? Doctor Y/L/N?”

Damn it, it’s Agatha Harkness. Your nosy, annoying neighbor. Rolling down the window and smoothing your clothes, you smile at her.

“Hey, Miss Harkness. Sorry, I’ll move right now” 

“No, don’t worry” she gives you a sly smile. “Have a good night, you two love birds”

“Night, Agatha” Wanda says and you turn on the car, finally parking in your driveway.

“That was fun” you comment, opening the door for Wanda and crossing the street to walk her home.

“Yeah, just our luck” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. “Wanna come in? Or do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Not until Saturday. Come on” you let her lead you to her house, opening the door as quietly as possible. Wanda sees Morgan at the kitchen table, doing her homework.

“How did everything go?”

“Great, they went to sleep an hour ago” 

“Morgan Stark?” you greet, closing the door behind you. 

“You two know each other?” Wanda says.

“Yeah, my parents work at the hospital with Doctor Y/L/N” Morgan says, waving at you. “Nice to see you” 

“Did you drive here? Or want me to take you home?” 

“It’s fine, I drove here” she says, and you hand over some money before Wanda can pay her. 

“Drive safely, ok? Don’t want your dad giving me crap on the next meeting”

“Will do. Good night, Miss Maximoff”

“Night, Morgan”

“You didn’t have to pay for that too” Wanda says, kissing you. “But thank you” 

“Anytime. How do you know Morgan?” you nod when she offers you a glass of wine and you walk to the living room with her.

“I’m giving her private art lessons. She’s really good. Had no idea her parents were doctors”

“Not just any doctors, baby” you say, taking a sip. “Tony’s father built the hospital we work in. And he’s done some amazing research in neurosurgery. Pepper is also one of the best plastic surgeons in the world” 

“Wow, Morgan is so sweet and down to Earth”

“She gets that from her mom, Tony can be an ass” you mutter and Wanda laughs. “So, did I secure a second date?”

“A third one as well. But only if I can pay for the next one”

“Nu-uh. I’m spoiling you, baby” you say, your hand going to her leg. You notice how Wanda’s cheeks turn red, and you’re not sure if it’s the nickname or the contact. “Come here”

You take her glass of wine, approaching her slowly and kissing her. It’s tender at first, but then your hands travel to her lower back, and Wanda moans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss, sighing when she pushes you on your back, climbing on top of you.

Wanda kisses down your neck, biting slightly. The sudden nip makes your hips jolt forward, and she has to hold back another moan.

“I don’t know how you do it” she says, shivering when your hands travel down and cup her ass through her jeans.

“Do what, baby?”

“Drive me crazy with just one touch”

“Let me take care of you” you ask, kissing her, your hands going all the way to the front of her pants.

“Mom?”

“Shit” she mutters, both of her hands covering your mouth. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m thirsty,” Tommy says.

“Alright, don’t come down, I’ll be right there, ok?” she says, hoping the boy hasn’t noticed anything strange. But he’s too sleepy so he just agrees and returns to his room. “I’m sorry”

She removes her hands from your mouth, helping you up.

“It’s fine, I enjoy the choking but just give me a heads up”

“Stop” she says, blushing. “I’ll be right back. Unless, you want to go? I’m sorry”

“I can stay” you nod, smiling at her disheveled state.

“Alright, I’ll be back” Wanda promises, pecking your lips.

You sit up, fixing your hair and taking a sip of the wine to calm down.

“Everything ok?” you say as Wanda comes down. She nods, smiling and sitting next to you.

“Yeah, I just didn’t think they’d be up. Maybe… we could wait a bit? When I’m not worried about the boys walking in on anything”

“Of course. Come here” you open your arms, and she settles, leaning her head against your shoulder. You kiss her temple. “Wanna watch some tv?”

“What about a sitcom? I love watching those”

“Like Friends?”

“Like Bewitched or… The Dick Van Dyke show” she says and you laugh, completely caught off guard by the suggestion.

“You’re fascinating, Wanda Maximoff” you say, handing over the remote, ready to watch whatever she wants.

[atinyslittleworld]

San meeting his newborn baby

newdad!san x newmom!reader

Genre: pure fluff

Warnings: none

San was in the middle of a rehearsal for ATEEZ’s next concert in Paris when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He rarely checked his phone during practice, but something told him to look this time. It was a message from his girlfriend, Y/N, back in Seoul. Her text read, “It’s time. The baby is coming.”

San’s heart skipped a beat, and a wave of excitement and anxiety washed over him. He immediately showed the message to Hongjoong, who was closest to him, and the leader quickly gathered the rest of the members.

“I need to get back to Seoul,” San said, his voice filled with urgency. “Y/N is in labor.”

The members exchanged concerned glances but nodded in understanding. Hongjoong placed a reassuring hand on San’s shoulder. “Go. We can handle things here. Your family needs you more right now.”

With the full support of his bandmates, San quickly packed his things and rushed to the airport. He managed to book a last-minute flight to Seoul, his mind racing with thoughts of Y/N and their unborn child. The flight felt like an eternity, every minute stretching into what felt like hours as he anxiously counted down the moments until he could be by her side.

San finally landed in Seoul and rushed to the hospital, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. As he entered the maternity ward, he was greeted by Y/N’s mother, who was waiting anxiously in the hallway.

“How is she?” San asked breathlessly.

“She’s doing well,” Y/N’s mother replied, her voice calm but tired. “She’s in labor, but the doctors say everything is progressing smoothly.”

San let out a sigh of relief, feeling a bit of the tension leave his body. He thanked Y/N’s mother and quickly made his way to the delivery room. As he entered, he saw Y/N lying on the bed, her face flushed with effort and concentration. Despite the pain, her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“San,” she whispered, reaching out for him.

He rushed to her side, taking her hand in his and kissing her forehead. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, and she squeezed his hand tightly. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” San replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re so strong, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

The next few hours were intense. San stayed by Y/N’s side, offering words of encouragement and support as she labored to bring their child into the world. His heart ached seeing her in pain, but he marveled at her strength and determination. He held her hand, brushed her hair back, and whispered words of love and reassurance.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor announced that it was time to push. San’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Y/N summon all her strength. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, but also the fierce determination. With one final push, their baby entered the world, filling the room with the sound of their first cries.

San’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at his newborn child, tiny and perfect. The nurse quickly cleaned the baby and handed the little one to Y/N, who cradled the baby in her arms, her face glowing with joy and relief.

“San, look at our baby,” Y/N said, her voice choked with emotion.

San leaned in, tears streaming down his cheeks as he gazed at their child. “She’s gorgeous.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes full of love. “We did it, San. We made this beautiful little person.”

San kissed her forehead, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for bringing our baby into the world.”

The nurse carefully took the baby to check her vitals and clean her up a bit more. San and Y/N watched in awe, their hearts swelling with pride and love. When the nurse brought the baby back, she placed her in San’s arms.

San looked down at his daughter, her tiny fingers curling around his thumb. “Hey little baby” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m your daddy. I’ve been waiting so long to meet you.”

The baby opened her eyes, looking up at San with a curious expression. In that moment, San felt a connection stronger than anything he had ever known. He knew that his life had changed forever, and he welcomed it with open arms.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

You do realise your gonna have to do an uncle Harry fic now x

Uncle Harry.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - gemmas a mum, i feel so emotional for a some reason 🥹🥹

word count - 1.1k

in which, after the birth of her baby, you and harry decided to stop by the hospital to see her, where tears fall and memories are created.

“Can you please tell us what room Gemma Styles is in, please?”

In the early hours of the morning Harry’s phone rang, it was his sisters boyfriend announcing that Gemma had gone into labour and that the baby would be here any hours now.

The two of you were unable to sleep for the rest of the evening, harry was bouncing his foot on the floor in anticipation as he patiently waited for his phone to ring once more.

And when it did, you had never seen him cry so much, not even the day he proposed to you.

Harry gives you a reassuring smile before turning to the nurse behind the counter, waiting for her answer.

The nurse looks up from her computer screen and studies the two of you for a moment before asking, "And what's your relationship to her?"

Harry's grip on your hand tightens as he responds, "She's m’sister, and this is m’fiancée."

The nurse sighs softly and taps away at the keyboard in front of her before answering, "She's on the maternity ward, room 9. When you get to the ward, you'll need to press the intercoms and wait to be let in."

“Thank you.” You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as you follow Harry down the hallway towards the maternity ward. The anticipation of meeting your future niece or nephew fills you with a sense of joy unlike any other.

As you and Harry make your way down the hallway towards the maternity ward, you feel his hand slightly sweaty in yours, a telltale sign of his nervousness. You give his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a reassuring smile as you approach the entrance.

Standing in front of the door to the ward, Harry takes a deep breath, his eyes flickering with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"I hope she's doing alright," he murmurs, his voice tinged with worry.

You nod in understanding, your own heart racing with anticipation.

"She'll be absolutely fine," you assure him, giving his hand another squeeze before reaching out to press the intercom button. “She’s a Styles after all.”

A moment later, a voice crackles through the speaker, "Can I help you?"

You glance at Harry, sharing a soft smile before leaning towards the intercom.

"Yes, we're here to see Gemma Styles," you say, your voice calm and steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

The nurse on the intercom asks a few more questions and shortly after, the door to the ward clicks open. You and Harry exchange a glance before stepping inside, the sterile smell of the hospital filling your senses as you make your way down the corridor towards room 9.

As you reach the door, Harry hesitates for a moment, his hand tightening around yours.

"M’nervous," he admits quietly, his eyes darting towards the closed door.

You reach up, cupping his cheeks in your hands and meeting his gaze with reassurance.

"It's okay to be nervous, Harry," you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and understanding. "After all, your sister just had a baby."

Harry nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he leans into your touch.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes reflecting his gratitude as he squeezes your hand.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door, hearing a soft murmur of an ‘come in’ before you softly push open the door to room 9, stepping inside with Harry by your side.

The sight that greets you warms your heart - Gemma resting in the hospital bed, a tiny bundle nestled in her arms, her face glowing with love and exhaustion.

You stand back, giving Harry space as he approaches Gemma's bedside. Anne smiles warmly at him, her eyes filled with pride as she watches her son greet his sister and the newest member of their family.

Michal stands by Gemma's side, a look of pure adoration on his face as he gazes at the tiny bundle in her arms.

"Hey Gem, how are you feeling?" Harry asks softly, his voice filled with concern as he takes in her tired but radiant appearance.

Gemma looks up at him, her eyes shining with emotion.

"I've never felt anything like it, H," she whispers, her voice filled with wonder. "She's perfect."

Harry's gaze shifts to the baby girl nestled on Gemma's chest, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"She's absolutely adorable," he says, his voice filled with awe. "I'm so proud of you, Gem."

Gemma looks up at Harry with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with affection.

"Would you like to hold her, H?" she asks, her voice soft but eager.

Harry's face lights up with excitement, nodding his head enthusiastically.

"Yes, absolutely," he replies, his voice filled with anticipation.

Gemma carefully passes the newborn to Michael, who holds her securely as he steps aside to give Harry room.

Harry takes a seat in a nearby chair, his hands trembling slightly with nerves and excitement.

As Michael slowly and carefully passes the newborn into Harry's awaiting arms,

Harry's heart swells with love and awe. He cradles her gently, his eyes fixed on her tiny face as he marvels at her delicate features.

"She's so tiny," Harry murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he gazes down at the precious bundle in his arms. "And so perfect."

Gemma watches with tears of joy in her eyes as Harry holds her daughter for the first time, her heart overflowing with love for her brother and her newborn baby. She reaches out, squeezing Harry's hand in silent gratitude for this special moment they are sharing together.

As Harry holds his newborn niece in his arms, silent tears stream down his cheeks, his emotions overwhelming him in the most beautiful way. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself before speaking.

"You are so precious," Harry whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "And I promise you, I will always love and protect you. You'll never have to doubt that."

Gemma and Anne exchange tearful smiles as they listen to Harry's heartfelt words, knowing that he means every single one of them.

"You're going to have the best uncle ever," Harry continues, his voice filled with determination. "I'll always be here for you, through every laugh and every tear. You can count on me."

He looks up at you, noticing that you also have tears in your eyes upon witnessing the sight in front of you, Harry’s a natural with children.

You smile at him softly, watching as love shines his eyes.

The baby stirs in Harry's arms, as if sensing the love and sincerity in his words. Harry smiles through his tears, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I love you so much, little one," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. "Welcome to the world."

[gabgabwrites]

LOVE ON THE LINE | Art Donaldson [part 2]

summary ⇝ your and Art’s relationship progresses in college where you two find yourself in love with one another, with many promises on the line and a ring on your finger, what is there to lose? One word: everything.

warnings ⇝ swearing, kissing, cheating/affair, children, smut! p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, gagging, blindfold, oral (F), cum eating, marking, clothed sex, allusion to car sex, mentions of Patrick x reader.

read part 1 here

note: this is messy relationship

You and Art Donaldson were finally official. The transition from friends to something more had been surprisingly smooth, marked by a moment of sweet vulnerability on your third date at the cinema.

It was there, amidst the flickering lights and the hushed whispers of other moviegoers, that Art shyly asked you to be his girlfriend. You had smiled warmly, feeling your own heart skip a beat as you agreed, watching the relief and joy wash over Art's face, turning him into a lovesick puppy right before your eyes.

Art couldn't seem to take his eyes off you after that. His blue eyes, speckled with hints of brown, became a constant presence, following your every move. Whether it was during lunch breaks on campus at Stanford or late-night study sessions in the library, his gaze was always on you. It was both thrilling and comforting to be the center of his attention, knowing that you had become someone incredibly special to him.

During those lunch breaks, Art would sit so close to you that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, sending gentle tingles across your skin. His presence was reassuring, anchoring you in a world that sometimes felt chaotic and uncertain. You cherished those quiet moments together, sharing sandwiches and conversations that ranged from silly jokes to deep dreams about the future.

Art wasn't just attentive; he was also surprisingly thoughtful. He remembered the little details about you—your favorite coffee order, the way you liked to organize your notes, and even your secret fondness for cheesy romantic comedies. He would surprise you with small gestures, like leaving a handwritten note in your textbook or bringing you a hot drink on chilly mornings before class. Each gesture made your heart swell with affection for him, knowing that he was investing time and effort into nurturing your relationship.

He'd sneak out from his dorm to go to yours, where you'd often find yourself with your lips locked together. Spit dribbling down your chin while you both pathetically ground your hips together in a feeble attempt to relinquish pleasure. Dark purple marks would litter his skin by the time you were done, and your thighs would stick together from your recent endeavours.

Of course there was Tashi, who had broken up with Patrick after finding out that he was unfaithful to her, the last they spoke was when she injured her knee. You remember being there, in the nurse's ward, fingers intertwined with Tashi's to comfort her after her knee had seriously sprained. Her quiet sniffles filled the room before Patrick Zweig had come barrelling in, pleading for Tashi's attention only to be shown the cold shoulder.

Tashi had changed, not only physically, her hair a little shorter and her face was more mature, but she lost her spark after the injury, one that guaranteed her to never touch a single racket no matter how hard she tried—in her eyes, her future was over.

She had always talked about tennis, but now she hyper fixated on it, she's constantly talk about your form and how you could approve, you always listened and took her advice, but that was it. You'd try to talk about other stuff, like how you were excited to meet Art's parents, or how you hated your physics professor, but alas, the main focus was tennis.

You had a game that afternoon, and of course, both Art and Tashi were there. Before, Art had snuck into the locker room, after making sure it was just you in there, before his arms were around you and his nose nudged yours. "Good luck," He told you, big smile etched on his face.

"I won't need it if you're here," You said back, grabbing the collar of his polo shirt and bringing his lips down onto yours. The kiss had to break when another girl walked in and shrieked, leaving Art flushed from embarrassment while you had to hide your smile.

The match itself was a blur of adrenaline and determination. As you stepped onto the court, you felt the weight of Art and Tashi's encouragement spurring you on. Their presence in the stands, cheering and clapping, fueled your determination to perform your best. You could see Art's animated gestures of support, his eyes never leaving you as you played.

Despite a few tense moments and fierce competition from your opponent, you emerged victorious. The rush of adrenaline was matched only by the pride in Art's eyes as he pulled you into a tight hug after the match. Tashi's smile, though more subdued, conveyed a deep sense of satisfaction and pride in your achievement.

Then one day, everything changed. It was probably one of the moments in your life where you felt the most hurt. There was a dramatic shift between you and Art in your relationship, he became distant and you became quiet. You had both agreed to end things, you remember the night you did, you sat in your room, sobbing. Tashi was put in a different dorm, so you had to drag yourself off your bed, cheeks wet with tears, and walk a few passages until you faced her dorm's door.

You knocked against it once, then twice, but no answer. You looked down to where light shone from the crack underneath the door, you could even see shadows dancing so there had to be someone in there. You knocked again, harder, yet still got ignored. You waded back to your dorm, face buried in your pillow as you cried some more.

Two months since that incident passed, things had improved. Tashi became more talkative to you, you hadn't told her about that night, and if she knew, she didn't bring it up.

Then there was Art, who one day came crawling back, begging for you to let him into your heart again. You knew you had to deny him. You knew it was what was right. You didn't believe in second chances, but for Art, you made an exception.

Things were still patchy between the two of you, you weren't back to square one but you weren't exactly back to how they used to be. You decided to ask him why he went distant and what he did during your time apart.

"School and tennis got the better of me," He said. "I was so so stupid to let that get in the way between us. It won't happen again," And he was right, he somehow managed to get everything sorted and execute his plans accordingly. He also told you that while on your 'break', he had practiced more tennis and studied. He told you he had to ask Tashi for advice.

Fast forward three years later, and life had taken a remarkable turn for both you and Art Donaldson. Graduating from college marked the beginning of a promising journey towards becoming world-renowned tennis players. The countless hours of practice, the sacrifices made, and the unwavering support for each other had culminated in you both achieving your dreams.

Art, with his infectious enthusiasm and competitive spirit, was your perfect match both on and off the court. His sense of humor and spontaneity kept life exciting, whether you were training together or exploring new cities during tournaments. As your careers soared, so did your relationship, growing stronger with each shared victory and overcoming every setback together.

Then, one magical evening at a lakeside restaurant, Art surprised you with a proposal that took your breath away. It was classic Art—cheesy yet endearing, thoughtful yet spontaneous. After a delightful dinner overlooking the serene lake, he suggested a walk and led you to a secluded dock adorned with candles and rose petals. With a heart full of love and nerves, he knelt down, producing the most stunning ring you had ever seen. The words spilled out earnestly, and you couldn't help but say yes, tears of joy glistening in your eyes.

From that moment on, everything seemed even more perfect. You ascended to become the women's champion in tennis, while Art mirrored your success on the men's side. Together, you became the U.S.'s elite power couple, celebrated not only for your athletic prowess but also for your genuine love and support for each other.

However, the pinnacle of your joy came on your wedding day—a day that felt surreal, like a dream wrapped in hues of love and anticipation. The venue was adorned with flowers, the air filled with music that resonated with your hearts. Walking down the aisle, emotions surged through you—a mix of excitement, nerves, and overwhelming happiness.

Art stood at the altar, his trademark grin stretching from ear to ear, his curly hair slightly tousled by the gentle breeze. His eyes, reflecting his deep affection for you, met yours as you approached him, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The exchange of vows was heartfelt and tender, promising a future filled with love, laughter, and unwavering support. As the ring slid onto your finger, sealing your union as Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson, you felt a rush of emotions—gratitude for finding your soulmate, excitement for the adventures ahead, and a profound sense of belonging in his arms.

The reception was a celebration of your love story, with friends and family cheering as you danced the night away. Each glance exchanged, each touch shared, spoke volumes of the bond you had forged through dedication, trust, and mutual admiration.

And the consummation of your marriage was on a whole new level.

You still wore your wedding dress, sitting on the small foot stool while Art's head ducked under the white skirt of your dress, his tongue trailing up the length of your thigh before meeting your lacy underwear. His tongue soaked your panties more than what they were, sucking on your clit that hardened with want.

His eyes rolled right back when your thighs closed around his skull, suffocating him. He used his strength and pried your legs apart. He worked skilfully to slip your panties off, now face to face with your arousal. Art thought how ethereal the scene in front of him looked. Your dewy pussy, dripping and throbbing, crowned by the one of a kind wedding dress.

You couldn't see Art, except for the mound where his head was. You watched as it dropped when Art connected his lips back to your pussy, making you grab the sides of your dress and bunch it up in your palms with pleasure. "You make me feel so good, Art."

That spurred him on. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs while his tongue lapped at your folds, spit and arousal coated the whole of his face from the tip of his nose down. He was on his knees, hips thrusting into nothingness, he got high off your pleasure.

Between your moans and grunts, you could hear the wet sounds of his spit and your pussy, and his whimpers and whines. His tongue would go from your needy hole to your throbbing clit. His suckled and lick, spit and slurp you up until his name fell from your lips, cumming on his tongue.

When he came out from under your skirt, his cheeks were flushed, his lips were saturated and bruised, his hair was messy and his face was shiny with slick. "Come here, my baby," You cooed, grabbing him by the tie and kissing his lips. There was nothing short of delicate. It was full of desire, passion and love.

Your makeup was already ruined by the time he started kissing you, so you didn't mind when it got messier. Mouths open, hot kisses and shared saliva. Art used his strength and picked you up, carrying you over to the bed where he placed you down, immediately pushing you backwards onto your back so he could cage you in.

Your fingers worked to undo his tie, placing that to the side of the bed before popping his shirt's buttons open, exposing his pale torso. His blazer had come off, and his belt was loose. Your hands went to his shoulders and pushed him to the side, forcing him to roll onto his back.

You wasted to time to straddle him, leaning forward to connect your lips once again. You gently took ahold of his hands, breaking the kiss, and leaning to the side to retreat his tie. "What are you doing?" He asked, voice rough with arousal. He watched you bring his two wrists together before looping the tie around. He got a sense of an idea, making his throat bob.

"I want to try something new, is that okay?" You asked, he eagerly nodded making you smile. This moment reminded you a lot of when you two first had sex, you reminisced about the moment as you gazed upon your lover. White collared shirt open, showing his muscular body, hands wrapped up in his tie, hair askew and the common blush on his cheeks.

Bending forward at the waist, you kissed him once again, except this time, confusion clouded Art's mind when he felt something material brush his cheek. In a split second, your lips left his before something was shoved into his mouth.

Art had no hands to take it out and struggled with his tongue to spit it out, blonde eyebrows drawn together in confusion while you sat up to look at him. "It's my underwear, Art."

'Oh,' He thought, it surprised him, yet the idea of having your panties that he previously ate you out through in his mouth turned him on even more. His saliva soaked the underwear, his teeth clamped down on the lace.

You moved down slightly, going to properly undo his belt before sliding his pants down, Art raising his hips to help you. You didn't bother with foreplay, freeing his hard cock, pink tip leaking already, twitching once exposed. It took a hot minute to move your dress up your waist, now bunched at your hips, using one hand, you positioned his cock at your entrance before looking up at Art.

"You ready for me to fuck you? For Mrs Donaldson to fuck her husband?" You asked, Art nodded, a muffled plea escaped his lips, turning into a moan when you sunk down on his length. He watched you bite your lip, your hands on his ribs before he felt you slip off, then sink on him again.

Art choked on your panties when he moaned, so he opted to close his mouth around them and suck on the fabric, trying to taste you. Heavy pants and whimpers came from breaths our his nose. Your painted lips, smudged and blotchy fell open.

Art felt a desire, he raised his tied hands and managed to stick out a finger, bringing it to your lips. He watched your lips close around his fingertip before softly sucking away.

You snaked a hand to where you two met, and pressed your finger on your clit. Your wrist jerker from side to side, making you feel like hot lava was boiling in your tummy, this pleasure had you biting down on Art's finger, making him softly whine out in pain.

You don't know why you came as quickly as you did, gushing around Art's cock as you orgasmed for the second time. The feeling of you unravel had Art cumming just as fast, spilling his hot seed deep inside you.

Your hips slowed, taking a minute to lift your hips, his soft cock falling out. With a heavy sigh, you lay next to him, brushing his sweaty curls away, his eyes trained on yours, chest heaving. With a soft chuckle, you brought your fingers to his lips and pulled your panties out, coated in his saliva. "A little help here, please?" He raised his hands to you, allowing for you to undo his tie.

It caught you by surprise when you felt him grip the tie, now hands free, before snatching it out of your grasp. He scraped up some strength, on wobbly legs and got off the bed. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his strong hands found your ankles and yanked them, pulling your hips against his.

He climbed on top of the bed again, tie in hand. "You do a lot for me, so I want to do this for you," He told you softly, face hovering over yours. There was a pause, Art staring deep into your eyes, before he swallowed. "I've been think about you, about us, and I want to start a family."

"Yeah?" Your heart swelled in your chest, you felt your cheeks burn at the thought, that Art did not only see you as a wife, but a mother to his future children. "I'd really like that too."

Art smiled down at you. He didn't say anything, instead just maintaining eye contact. You could see the emotions behind his blue eyes, he had a much love and admiration for you, that it was overflowing. "So you trust me, right?"

"More than anything," You watched Art nod, before your vision went black. Art was tying his tie around your eyes, taking away your vision.

You felt him lift your one leg, his lips on your ankle as he placed soft kisses on the skin there before it was placed on his shoulder. Your dress was moved up again, exposing you to him.

Art could feel himself harden again. He took his cock into his hand and pumped it until it was fully erect. His pink tip nudged at your folds before he spoke up. "I love you," he said, holding his breath as he waited for a response.

He watched your lips part, exposing your teeth in a smile. "I love you too, Art."

Art waited for any hesitation before releasing his breath, pushing himself into you. He watched your pussy swallow him again before he began to thrust his hips. The both of you were already so sensitive, Art gripped your leg for support, his eyes caught sight of his ring that reflected the light.

His teeth grazed your calf, goosebumps rose in its path. Having one sense taken away had increased the others. Not being able to see Art made this ever the more arousing. "Mm, you're so good to me," Art moaned.

"You're the one that's...fucking me," You said with a choked chuckle, words being swallowed by your moans. "Oh g-god, you fuck me so good," Art bit his lip, already on the verge of another orgasm. He let his one hand find yours, holding the hand that had your ring on it, diamond shining brightly.

His thumb rubbed the shiny stone, a truckload of unspoken promises guaranteed by the small diamond. Art couldn't wait for you two to move into a luxurious apartment and have a family, have a creation of both your undying love for each other run around and call you 'mommy' and 'daddy'. He couldn't wait to grow old with you, watch your child grow up and start a family of their own.

He'd wait lifetimes for you in the heavens and stars if it meant your souls could spend every waking moment together. You were his, and he was yours.

"Ah, fuck Art! 'm cumming!" You mewled. Cum flooding from you like a broken dam wall. Art wasn't far behind, his arousal mingling with yours for the nth time. Your name fell from his lips.

He slipped out to help clean you up, undoing the tie around your eyes, carrying you to the bathroom—albeit on wobbly legs, and run you a bath.

That was six years ago. Now the two of you lived in a fancy apartment. Your wedding ring sparkled under the bright chandelier as you stirred your cup of coffee. You had four mugs lined together. Once all drinks were made, you set them on the table.

You walked around to your room to find your husband sitting on the bed, book open. "Your coffee's ready," You told him, he looked up from the book and gave you a curt smile and nod.

Art had changed over the years, his youth had faded and how replaced with mature features. His hair was shorter now, not having his luscious curls you loved. Scars littered his body where he had to have stitches from tennis related injuries.

You walked out of Art's room and down the passage, stepping into another bedroom. "Your hot chocolates are ready," you told the two five-year-olds. They both turned to you with happiness before bouncing past you.

"Thank you, Mommy," your little girl, Mila, said, bringing the pink mug to her lips and slurping away. She then slammed the mug down and whipped her head toward her brother, pigtails flying as she did. "Say thank you."

"I was gonna!" Zachary, your son and twin brother to Mila, retorted. His eyes found yours, his heterochromia always catching you off guard: his left eye brown, and his right blue. "Thank you, Momma."

"It's only a pleasure," you smiled at the twins, watching them drink away. You felt a warm arm wrap around your shoulders before a pair of lips were placed on your temple.

"Thank you, my love," Art mumbled against your hair before he too picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip. You picked yours up and brought it to your lips, savoring the warmth and the rare quiet moment in your bustling household.

"I'm going to meet up with Tashi later for lunch, m'kay?" you told your husband, who nodded.

"When can we see Auntie Tashi again?" Mila asked, her eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.

"Maybe on Sunday, remember Daddy has a match on Saturday," you replied, glancing at Art, who smiled back at you.

"We'll make time for a visit soon, sweetheart," Art reassured Mila, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I know you both love spending time with Auntie Tashi," The kids finished their hot chocolates, and you helped them clean up before they dashed off to play with their toys. You and Art stood in the kitchen, enjoying the rare moment of peace and sipping your drinks.

Three days had passed, it was not nearing evening. Art had a fan meet-and-greet to attend, which would only end in an hour and a half's time.

You had just dropped off the twins at your mom's for Friday night like you always did. You stood in the lobby of your apartment, waiting for the lift when a voice called your name.

Your eyes widened in surprise once you turned to see who called you. "Patrick?" You hadn't seen them man in years. Last you saw him was when you were still in school. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for dinner," He smiled sheepishly, pointing to some brunette woman who was staring at the two of you, when making eye contact, she was quick to look the other way. "Uh, congratulations by the way," He pointed towards your wedding band, making you cross your arms.

"Thank you, Zweig. If this is all, goodnight," You spun on your heel, only to have your arm grabbed and yourself pulled back. "Hey!"

"Wait, can we talk. Please?"

"There's nothing to talk about Patrick. Last I heard from you was me telling you to 'fuck off' after breaking Tashi's heart," You snapped.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry for how things turned out. It's just... there's something you have to know." Patrick's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes held a sincerity that made your heart pound. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Where's Art?"

"At a fan meet-up," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"He's not," Patrick said firmly, making you scoff and shake your head. "I promise you, he's not. And I can tell you exactly where he is."

"Oh yeah? Then where is he, Patrick? If you know my husband so well," you challenged, crossing your arms defensively.

Patrick chewed on his bottom lip, choosing his next words very carefully. "He's cheating on you, right now, with Tashi."

“And you expect me to believe you?” You scoffed. “I mean, I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t think you’d stop this low and—.”

“I swear I’m not lying,” He interjected. “I heard about this fan meet-up and it’s not until Sunday.” He told you, making you shake your head. “Remember that time when the two of you broke up? And he told you he was getting training from Tashi? That was bullshit, Art’s tennis playing is goddamn near perfect, instead be went to her and found his way between her legs.”

“Y-You’re making this all up,” You denied, you didn’t want to believe your fairytale ending was all receipt. “I’ll call him right now even.”

“Fine, but if he doesn’t answer, he’s probably too busy sucking off Tashi’s face. The two haven’t said anything because they felt bad. Things were awkward between the three of you, am I right? Art realised how much he messed up and went back to you, only to do the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, fishing your phone from your purse before punching in Art’s number. You pressed the metal device to your ear and waited. It rung, and rung, and rung, before a beep was heard. ‘You have reached the voice mail of Art Donaldson, please leave a—.’

You sucked your teeth before slamming the phone shut. “He’s probably busy.”

“Yeah, making out with your best friend.”

“And how do you expect to be actually believe you?”

“I’ve known Art since we were 12, he may seem all cute and cuddly, but trust me, he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Patrick watched as your bottom lip wobbled a smidge before you took it between your teeth. “You have to believe me.”

“Where’s the evidence?” You asked him. Patrick sighed before shaking his head. You watched as he retrieved a small piece of paper and a broken pencil from his pocket before scribbling on it.

“My number, if you ever want to talk,” He sighed, passing you the paper. “Goodnight,” with that, he turned around and walked back to his date, leaving you alone and confused.

That night, you lay in bed while Art was coming out from the bathroom. You wanted to ask him if he was actually at a fan meet-and-greet, or if he was out, having an affair. You laughed quietly to yourself, imagine how embarrassing it would be if you accused him of cheating and it all being fake, how bad you’d look, how you’d raise suspicion.

Art climbed in the bed next to you, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your cheek, arm pulling you into him. “I love you,” He said, moving back to stare at you with twinkling blue eyes before smiling and leaning back to rest his head on the pillow.

You could not bring yourself to echo his words, heart breaking in your chest as your eyes bore into the purple and red mark on his neck, it looked fresh and raw. It definitely wasn’t you, you and Art hadn’t bad sex in over two months.

You just nodded to yourself, turning your head to blink back tears. “I know.”

Art went silent at your choice of words, letting out a sigh before turning around, switching off his bedside lamp and falling asleep.

You did the same, except you could not fall asleep. There was no way, no fucking way. Where had it gone wrong? Why did it go wrong? Were you not good enough? How long had this been going on for? All these questions swarmed your mind.

You lay restlessly before sighing, sitting up and grabbing your phone. Quietly you got out of bed and out the room where you grabbed a long coat and slippers, putting them on. You found the small piece of paper and dialled the number on there.

So that’s how you found yourself in Patrick’s car by some cheap gas station. Tears staining your cheeks while Patrick watched you solemnly. “Tell me how you found out about all this, and I didn’t?” You asked him.

“Tashi told me, we had met up after the first time they… and she confessed. She told me how bad she felt, but also told me she couldn’t bear to tell you. Um, Tashi and I have been meeting up, if you know what I mean, she told me how she planned to meet Art this evening, when I asked why, she kept quiet.”

You let out a broken sigh. “Okay Patrick, now what?” You turned to him. “I mean, why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to, it’s just…you two seemed so happy—.”

“So you didn’t want to ruin it? Thanks, Patrick. No really. But I think I better get going,” You shook your head, going to undo your seatbelt before a hand on yours stopped you.

“I know you’re hurting, and I know how to help,” Suddenly his breath of on your ear. You dare not move to look. “This won’t hurt him as much as he’s hurt you.”

“I’m not a cheater, Patrick,” You whispered out.

“No, but you’re petty,” His words caused you to let out a breathy laugh. “You like to get even, it feels right,” His hand found its way on your thigh, a grin spreading on his lips when you didn’t stop him. “I’ll help you get even.”

Call yourself a monster and a heartless bitch for turning to face Patrick, smashing your lips on his. His hand unbuckling your seat belt, allowing for you to slide onto his lap, hands groping you everywhere. “Help me forget, Patrick,” You moaned against his lips.

“I will, baby. I will,” And he did. Any thoughts of Art and Tashi melted away faster and faster as you lost more items of clothing.

The sun beat down on your shoulders the following day, your head would love to and fro, eyes trained on the green ball that whizzed between Patrick and Art in the final match of the whole tournament. Patrick was winning, some on his own and some penalty points.

Sweat dripped down your husband’s face, he licked his lips to ridden the salty liquid. Patrick was much the same. When he felt you looked, he smirked, making you scoff and look away. You watched the clock tick by before it was half time, Art dipping his shirt off as he sat down, taking out his bottle while Patrick ate on a banana.

When the game resumed, Patrick was first to serve. His racket swung above his head, he adjusted his grip before he stalled.

You watched his brown eyes flicker to you, the corner of his lips rose, before his eyes went back to Art. He dropped his hand, kicking his left leg out a little before holding his racket and waist height, other hand holding the ball, placed the ball by the throat of the racket.

You turned to look at Art, after noticing that’s how he holds a racket. You watched his eyes move to you and his expression fall. A distant look in his eye. Patrick served the ball and it went straight past Art, who didn’t bother to hit it.

You seemed puzzled by this, watching Art’s head drop before he got a ball from the ball-boy. Like a switch, Art was playing ferociously, now winning every serve he had.

You watched with amazement as Art let out a roar, jumping high into the air, foot touching the net as he won an ace before he came tumbling into Patrick’s arms, both males bursting into smiles.

What had just happened?

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Where Kings Land

Part 1

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark! Reader

a.n: I finally get the hype about Jace. This right here is one fine man. the hair, the freckles, the big nose. ALL of it. this is part 1 of the miniseries for House of the Dragon, and it's my first time writing outside of the regular asoiaf series. Enjoy and please lmk what you think!!

Warnings: manipulation, not proofread, yelling, cursing? talk of beheading and treason.

Word Count: 4,900

masterlist link

summary: In the harsh lands of the North, where winter's bite is ever-present, a tale of duty, desire, and deception unfolds within the ancient walls of Winterfell. Y/N Stark, sister to the absent Lord Cregan, finds herself caught in a web of political intrigue as the realm teeters on the brink of civil war.

...

The heavy wooden door slammed behind her with a resounding thud, echoing through the granite corridors of Winterfell. Y/n Stark—sister to the Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark—strode purposefully down the hallway, her frustration evident in every step. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of her brow. She yanked her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders, warding off the perpetual chill that seeped through the ancient stones. The servants scurried out of her path, lowering their eyes as she passed. Y/n barely noticed them, her mind occupied with the litany of tasks that lay before her. The castle, a sprawling behemoth of grey stone and timber, was a living, breathing entity, and Y/n felt the weight of its responsibilities press down on her.

Cregan, her brother, was a warrior, a leader born to the battlefield. He thrived on the thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel, the shouts of battle. The day-to-day running of Winterfell, the endless paperwork, the constant negotiations, the delicate dance of alliances and diplomacy… these fell upon his shoulders. He was a silent force, a steady hand guiding the ship through the turbulent seas of politics and power.

Reaching the grand hall, Y/n paused, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. Their conversations buzzed like a hive of bees, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. She longed to be amongst them, to share in the joy of a feast, to ease the burden of her thoughts, but the weight of the impending winter hung heavy on her heart.

The biting wind whipped around Y/n's face as she ascended the final steps to the maester's tower. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and old magic, a familiar and comforting aroma despite its inherent chill. Inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the piles of scrolls and tomes that littered the floor. Y/n's boots clicked against the stone floor, a sharp counterpoint to the rustle of the raven that perched on the window sill, its beady eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence. The bird was a harbinger of news, always, and today, its arrival had filled her with a sense of foreboding dread.

“You've got ravens in your hair,” the maester, Alyn, said with a dry chuckle, his voice raspy from years of whispering secrets into ancient texts. He was a frail figure, his fingers gnarled and stained with ink, his eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to encompass the entirety of the world. She brushed at her hair, dislodging a stray feather that had become entangled in its braids. 'They know I'm coming for them,' she said, her voice tight. 'They always seem to.'

Alyn nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. 'King's Landing sends more than its fair share of worries north,' he said, gesturing to the table in the centre of the room. It was an imposing piece, carved from ancient oak, the surface groaning under the weight of a mountain of sealed parchments. Y/n sighed, letting the weight of the responsibility settle upon her shoulders. Every one of those scrolls contained a new burden, a new demand, a new headache she would have to unravel. The North had always been harsh, a land of unforgiving winters and fiercer people.

'What's the news, maester?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Alyn shuffled through the pile of scrolls, his gaze searching for a particular one. “They're now threatening us with dragon fire, my lady,” he stated solemnly, the chain around his neck clinking softly.

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the pile of letters that lay on the table before her. Her jaw clenched, her anger rising like a tide. “Burn them,” she commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. “Burn all the letters. We will not answer, nor will we cower.”

Alyn's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Y/n's resolve only grew stronger. “Prince Jacaerys should be here any day. We will make good with the Blacks.”

Maester Alyn leaned back in his chair, studying her face. 'Are you certain, my lady? This is a dangerous game we play. The Green's dragons—"

“Are no more fearsome than the winter that forged us,” Y/n cut him off. She moved to the window, gazing out over the frost-covered courtyard. “My brother may be in the north of the Wall, but we will not be cowed by southern threats.”

Her words echoed through the frigid halls, carrying with them a resolute determination that belied her youth. “You are right, my lady,” he said at last.

Y/n turned to him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Maester Alyn. Please, have the letters burned. We must prepare for the prince's arrival. We’ll show him true Northern hospitality. And maester," she added, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, "make sure we have plenty of that strong northern ale. We'll need it for the toast when we pledge our support to Queen Rhaenyra."

Maester Alyn nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reached for the candle on his desk, ready to carry out her orders. "As you wish, my lady. there's one more," he said softly, holding out a sealed parchment. "It arrived separately... and it's addressed to you personally."

Y/n hesitated, then took the letter. The seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, but something about it seemed different. More... personal. With a swift motion, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents, and her face hardened.

"It's from Aegon," she said, her voice tight. She began to read aloud:

"My dearest y/n,

The silence between us cuts like shards of Valyrian steel, slicing through my soul. Do you remember the stolen moments in the godswood, under the watchful eyes of the old gods? The promises we made beneath the heart tree?I await your reply to our ravens with bated breath, much as I once awaited your stolen glances across the great hall.

But make no mistake, my white wolf. Your beauty will not shield the North from my wrath should you choose wrongly. Aemond grows impatient and Vhagar hungers for blood. With one word, we could reduce Winterfell to nothing but ash and bone.

Remember this, my sweetling: fire destroys ice. And dragons do not forgive.

Choose wisely. Choose me.

Yours in fire and blood, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm"

y/n’s hand shook as she finished reading, her knuckles white where she gripped the parchment. The maester watched her, concern etched on his weathered face.

"My lady," he began cautiously, "what—"

"Burn it," Y/n interrupted, her voice cold as the Wall itself. "Burn it with the rest." She tossed the letter onto the pile, her eyes blazing with a fury to match any dragon's flame.

…

Amidst the icy grip of the winter, the last traces of sunlight had long since disappeared beyond the horizon when a thunderous beating of dragon wings shattered the bleak silence. Y/n stood in Winterfell's snowy courtyard, her chilled breath leaving clouds in the frigid air as she looked up to witness the dark shape descending from the sky.

With ethereal grace surprising for its size, the dragon landed with a resounding thud and steam rising from its scales as they met the frosty ground. As its rider dismounted, y/n found herself frozen in place, her carefully prepared greeting dying on her lips.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon strode towards her, his Valyrian features softened by Stark coloring. Dark curls framed his face, windswept from the flight. But it was his eyes that caught y/n off guard - soft and kind, yet holding a depth that spoke of burdens she had yet to find out.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Y/n's heart raced as she stood before the prince, a stranger yet somehow familiar. She couldn't explain the sudden pull she felt towards him, as if they shared a connection beyond words. But at the same time, fear and doubt crept in, questioning if this was all just a dream or a cruel trick of fate.

Jacaerys approached, his movements as graceful as the dragon he rode. His brow furrowed slightly at her silence. He glanced around, perhaps wondering if he'd made some misstep. Finally, he bowed low, breaking the spell. "Lady Stark," he said, his voice a low, warm timbre that sent a shiver down her spine. " I am honored to meet you. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Y/n blinked, suddenly aware of the eyes of the entire courtyard upon them. She straightened, pulling her mask of cool composure back into place. "Prince Jacaerys," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Winterfell welcomes you. Please, come inside where it's warm. We have much to discuss."

As she turned to lead him into the castle, Y/n caught the prince studying her with curiosity. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of her own. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't afford to let it distract her. The fate of the North hung in the balance.

Yet as they walked, she couldn't help but be acutely aware of his presence just behind her, like the warmth of a flame at her back in the cold northern night.

…

The Brown Room lived up to its name, with rich walnut paneling and fur-draped chairs that spoke of comfort in the face of long northern nights. Y/N led Jacaerys inside, the scent of beeswax candles and old parchment greeting them. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered table where ledgers and letters vied for space.

Y/N gestured to a high-backed chair. "Please, sit," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She reached for a decanter, the crystal cool against her fingers. "Would you care for some wine, my Lord? It's a Dornish red – my favorite one."

Jacaerys settled into the chair, his eyes roaming the room before settling on Y/N. "Thank you, my lady. And please, call me Jace."

As she poured, a drop of wine escaped, staining the cuff of her sleeve crimson. Y/N barely noticed, too aware of Jace's proximity, the warmth radiating from him in the cool room.

"What did you wish to discuss, my lady?" Jace broached softly, accepting the goblet with a nod of thanks.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Y/N's heavy fur cloak, a necessity in Winterfell's drafty halls, now seemed unbearable. She shed it, draping it over the tall oak chair behind her. The firelight caught the silver direwolf clasp as it settled.

"Our support," Y/N replied, forcing herself to meet Jace's gaze. His eyes, she noticed, were flecked with gold in the candlelight. She swallowed hard and continued, "We have two thousand men. Strong northern fighters. We call them Winter Wolves."

Jace leaned forward, interest piqued. "Winter Wolves? An apt name, I'd wager."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "Indeed. They're as fierce as their namesake and twice as loyal." She moved to the table, rifling through the papers until she found a particular map. As she spread it out, the familiar scent of ink and parchment helped ground her.

"Here," she pointed, "is where we've gathered them. They await only my brother's word - or mine, in his absence."

Jace stood, moving to study the map. His arm brushed Y/N's as he leaned in, and she caught a whiff of leather and something else - perhaps the lingering scent of dragon scales. Jacaerys studied the map closely, tracing his fingers over the different markings and symbols. He was impressed by the precision and detail of the Winter Wolves' gathering points.

"Your brother must be a formidable leader to have gathered such a force in such a short time," Jace remarked, straightening up and turning to face Y/N.

"Yes, he is," Y/N said with pride.

"This is... more than we dared hope for," Jace admitted, his voice low and warm.

Outside, a wolf howled in the distance, a lonely sound that seemed to echo Y/N's inner turmoil. She squared her shoulders, pushing away the unwelcome feelings. Jace's brow furrowed as he studied Y/N's face. "My lady, are you well? You seem... flushed."

Y/N startled, realizing she'd been staring. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, painfully aware of the dampness at her temples. "I'm fine, my- Jace," she corrected herself. "I was... under the weather a few days ago. Nothing serious."

Jace's eyes softened with concern. Jace's hand hovers near Y/N's elbow, his fingers poised as if ready to reach out and catch her. She can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, and she can sense the electricity between them, even though he's not quite touching her. "Perhaps you should sit. We needn't discuss everything tonight."

The gentleness in his voice made Y/N's heart flutter. She sank into a nearby chair, Jace following suit. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving her his full attention. His eyes were pools of liquid silver, soft and caring as they searched Y/N's face.

"Tell me," he said softly, "how are you truly faring? It can't be easy, managing the North in your brother's absence."

Y/N's carefully constructed walls began to crumble under his earnest gaze. "It's... challenging," she admitted. "Especially with the constant stream of demands from King's Landing."

Jace's expression darkened. "Ah, yes. I've heard whispers of Aegon's... correspondence."

Y/N couldn't hide the flash of frustration that crossed her face. "Correspondence," she scoffed. "Threats, more like. Your cousin seems to think he can bully the North into submission."

"My cousin," Jace said, his voice low and intense, "forgets that winter roses have thorns." He reached out, this time taking Y/N's hand in his. The touch sent a jolt through her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "You needn't face this alone, my lady."

Y/N found herself lost in his eyes, warm and sincere. "I... thank you, Jace," she murmured.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Jace glanced at the flames, then back to Y/N, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "You know, where I come from, they say the dragonfires pale in comparison to the warmth of a northern welcome."

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. "Is that so? And how does our hospitality measure up?"

Jace's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his touch feather-light. "Oh, it exceeds all expectations, my lady. Though I must confess, I find myself most warmed by present company."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but for once, she didn't mind the heat. A small smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she gazed into his captivating eyes. "You're quite the charmer, Prince Jacaerys."

"Only when properly inspired," is all he replied.

…

The pale light of dawn crept over Winterfell's stone walls, casting long shadows across the frosted courtyard. Y/N stood in the stables, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Her fingers, slightly numb from the cold, worked methodically on the leather straps of her horse's saddle. The familiar motions were soothing - tighten, adjust, check, repeat. The rich scent of hay and horse sweat mingled with the earthy aroma of leather oil.

As she worked, Y/N caught herself glancing repeatedly towards the castle, anticipation building in her chest.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart quicken. Jace appeared in the stable doorway, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He stifled a yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Y/N noticed the slight disarray of his dark curls and felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them.

"My lady," Jace greeted, his voice husky with sleep. He cleared his throat, offering a sheepish smile. "You're up early."

Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "The North waits for no one, Your Grace," she replied, handing him a set of reins. Their fingers brushed, and Y/N pretended not to notice the warmth that spread from the point of contact. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

As they set out, the rhythmic clop of hooves against cobblestone gave way to the muffled thud of earth. The misty woods enveloped them, tendrils of fog curling around the horses' legs. Droplets of dew clung to Y/N's eyelashes, refracting the weak sunlight into tiny prisms.

Y/N led the way, her posture relaxed and confident in the saddle. She navigated the invisible path with ease, ducking low-hanging branches and steering around hidden roots. Behind her, she could hear Jace's horse snorting softly, its rider muttering gentle reassurances.

"I can hardly see the path," Jace called out, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Y/N twisted in her saddle, catching Jace's eye with a mischievous glint in her own. "That's because there isn't one," she replied, allowing a rare, playful smile to cross her features.

The forest was a symphony of morning sounds. Birds trilled their dawn chorus, their songs echoing through the mist-shrouded trees. Small creatures rustled in the underbrush, sending leaves skittering across the forest floor. The earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whiff of wild mint when Y/N's horse trampled a hidden patch.

Hours seemed to pass as they wound their way through the increasingly dense forest. Y/N found herself hyper-aware of Jace's presence behind her. She could feel his eyes on her back, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder more often than necessary.

Finally, they came upon a rocky outcropping. Y/N dismounted with practiced grace, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. She patted her horse's flank, murmuring soft words of thanks. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jace dismount, noting the slight stiffness in his movements after the long ride.

Jace stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. His brow furrowed as he surveyed their surroundings. "My lady," he began, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I hate to question your expertise, but this looks suspiciously like a dead end."

Y/N's laugh echoed off the rocks, startling a nearby bird into flight. "Patience, Your Grace," she said, her eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. "The best treasures are often hidden."

She reached out, taking Jace's hand in hers. His palm was warm against her cool fingers, and she felt a flutter in her stomach at the contact. Pushing the feeling aside, she led him towards what appeared to be a solid rock face.

As they drew closer, a narrow opening revealed itself, barely visible unless one knew exactly where to look. Y/N squeezed through first, tugging Jace along behind her. The passage was tight, the rough stone scraping against their shoulders. Cool, damp air enveloped them, carrying the faint mineral scent of underground water.

Jace's breath was warm on the back of Y/N's neck as they inched forward in the dim light. She was acutely aware of his presence, of the way his chest occasionally brushed against her back in the narrow confines.

Suddenly, the passage opened up. Y/N stepped aside, allowing Jace to fully enter the cavern. She watched his face intently, savoring the moment his eyes widened in awe.

Sunlight streamed through an opening high above, illuminating a spectacular waterfall. The water, tinted an ethereal light blue by minerals in the rock, cascaded down in a thunderous rush before crashing into a pool below. Mist rose from the impact, creating tiny rainbows where the light hit just right.

"By the gods," Jace breathed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the falls. He turned to Y/N, wonder written across his features. "It's incredible."

Y/N felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his reaction. "Welcome to my secret place," she said softly, suddenly feeling shy. "Not even Cregan knows about this."

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said, his voice low and sincere.

They settled on a smooth rock near the pool's edge, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The mist from the falls cooled their skin, a welcome relief after the long ride. Y/N pulled out a small bundle from her saddlebag - bread, cheese, and a flask of sweet northern ale.

The conversation lulled, replaced by the constant rush of the waterfall. Y/N traced patterns in the damp sand with a stick, her eyes distant. Jace watched her, noting the slight furrow in her brow.

"A copper for your thoughts, my lady?" he asked softly.

Y/N looked up, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Just thinking about duties," she said. "They never seem to end, do they?"

Jace nodded, understanding in his eyes. "The burden of our birthrights," he agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be free of them."

"Free," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the mist between them. She sighed, tossing the stick into the pool. "Cregan writes often of my duties. He's pressuring me more and more to find a husband."

Jace's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I... I apologize if I'm intruding, but may I ask why you haven't? Surely you've had no shortage of suitors."

Y/N met his gaze, finding unexpected comfort in the warmth she saw there. "Because I want love," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want a simple life, filled with moments like this." She gestured to the cavern around them. "But how can I promise forever to someone when tomorrow is so uncertain? How can I build a life amidst a war?"

Jace was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "Love in wartime," he mused. "It's not an easy path, but perhaps... perhaps it's the very thing that makes the fight worthwhile."

Y/N felt her heart quicken at his words. "And what of you, Prince Jacaerys? What does your heart seek in these troubled times?"

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her. "I seek a partner," he said quietly. "Someone to stand beside me, not behind me. Someone who understands duty but hasn't lost sight of dreams." He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Someone who knows the value of secret waterfalls and stolen moments."

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility. Y/N felt drawn to him, like a moth to flame, but held herself back. This was not the time, not with so much at stake.

"It seems we both seek something rare and precious," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jace nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Perhaps the gods will be kind," he murmured.

…

The iron-bound gates of Winterfell groaned open, admitting Y/N and Jace as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, punctuated by the sharp tang of approaching frost. Their horses' hooves clattered against the worn cobblestones, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls.

As they dismounted, Y/N felt the day's exertion in her muscles, a pleasant ache that spoke of adventure and freedom. She caught Jace's eye, noticing how the fading light caught the silver threads in his jerkin, making them shimmer like starlight.

"Jace," she began, her voice low and tinged with an emotion she dared not name, "today was—"

"Lady Y/N! Lady Y/N!" The frantic shout shattered the moment like a stone through ice.

Y/N's transformation was instantaneous and mesmerizing. Her shoulders squared, chin lifting as if an invisible crown had settled upon her brow. The softness in her eyes hardened to flint, sharp enough to cut.

"What is it?" she demanded, her voice crisp as a midwinter morning.

The guard skidded to a halt before them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My lady, there's been... an incident. You're needed urgently."

Y/N nodded curtly. "Lead on," she commanded, then turned to Jace. "Your Grace, I must attend to this. Perhaps we could speak later..."

Jace stepped forward, close enough that Y/N could smell the leather of his riding gloves and a hint of something spicy—cloves, perhaps. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to accompany you.”

Y/N hesitated, then inclined her head in agreement. They followed the guard, their footsteps echoing through Winterfell's torch-lit corridors. The warmth of the castle was a stark contrast to the chill outside, yet Y/N felt a different kind of coldness settling in her bones.

They entered a small, dim room that reeked of fear and desperation. A man knelt on the floor, the rattle of his chains a counterpoint to his broken sobs. In the flickering torchlight, his tear-stained face looked ghastly, almost skull-like.

"What has he done?" Y/N's voice cut through the room like a blade.

The man looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. Y/N's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade, her words sharp and filled with accusation. The man shrunk back in his seat, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately tried to defend himself.

"My lady," he stammered, "I beg you... I was only going to King's Landing, to pledge myself to King Aegon, my children. Is that such a crime?" His voice trembled with fear and uncertainty, his hands shaking as he awaited her judgement.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, seeking any sign of deceit or treachery. Observation seemed to be her weapon of choice, and she wielded it with expert precision. Y/N's lips thinned. "If you wished to leave, you could have done so freely. We do not hold men against their will in the North. Or have you forgotten our ways so quickly?"

The guard cleared his throat, the sound like gravel underfoot. "There's more, my lady. He attempted to steal half the winter rations and one of our best horses. Caught him in the act, we did."

The man's sobs crescendoed. "You can't behead an innocent man!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "You and Lord Cregan, you'll be the death of House Stark! The North will remember this betrayal!"

Y/N stood motionless, but Jace saw the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight tremor in her clenched fists. The room fell silent save for the man's ragged breathing and the soft hiss of the torches.

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. Jace watched as Y/N stood motionless, her face a mask of stoic determination, but he could see the anger burning in her gaze.

"Send him to the Wall," Jace suggested, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Y/N's chest. "It's a harsh sentence, yes, but one that allows him to redeem himself in service to the realm."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Or I could let him go," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then, what message would that send? That theft and betrayal go unpunished in the North?"

"Take his fingers, my lady," the guard interjected. "It's an old punishment, aye, but effective. He'd bear the mark of his crime, but keep his life and limbs... most of them, at least."

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, and in that moment, Jace saw the weight of the North resting on her shoulders. When she opened them again, they gleamed with resolve.

"You've given me much to consider," she said, her voice steady as the foundations of Winterfell itself. "I'll not make this decision in haste. Guard, take him to the cells. See that he's fed and given water. I'll pass judgment when the sun rises."

As the guard led the prisoner away, his pleas fading down the corridor, Y/N turned to Jace. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp planes of her cheekbones and the weariness in her eyes.

Jace moved towards Y/N, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, a welcome warmth against the coldness that had nestled in her chest. He spoke gently, never breaking eye contact with her. "You carry your burden with grace, my lady," he murmured, his voice deep and soothing.

Y/N held his gaze for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the comfort of his words. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. She took a step back, "Grace," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grace is a luxury, Your Grace. In the North, we survive on harsher virtues."

Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a wintry gleam. The soft curves of her face seemed to harden, as if the very stone of Winterfell was seeping into her bones. With those words, Y/N turned away, her cloak swirling around her like a shroud. As she walked deeper into the shadows of Winterfell's halls, Jace was left with the unsettling feeling that he'd glimpsed not just the Lady of Winterfell, but a portent of the harsh days to come.

The torches guttered in a sudden draft, and for a moment, the corridor was plunged into darkness. When the light returned, Y/N was gone, leaving behind only the echo of her words and the lingering chill of premonition.

...

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[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader 

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.  

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

.

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

[dearggntlereader]

KISS ME - SMAU

I APPRECIATE EVERY NOTE, COMMENT AND REBLOG!! <333

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ─── ship: mattheo rddle x reader warnings: cursing disclaimer: haven't written in a while, this is my first SMAU on this account, everything on this blog is fiction ─── ･｡ﾟ☆ weirdo. :☆｡ﾟ. ───

the pictures do not represent the readers looks!!!

mattheo.riddle

liked by ur.username, theo.nott and 56.783 other people

mattheo.riddle the weirdos + me

tagged ur.username, theooo.nott, enzo.berkshire, blaise.zabini, the.draco.mlfoy, pansys.panties and Tom.Riddle

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ur.username

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mattheo.riddle

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part 2?

[reidmarieprentiss]

Second Chances and Serendipity

Summary: Y/N is Will's sister, she meets Spencer when Henry is born, but she is already seeing someone else.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: bisexual Y/N

Category: fluff

Word count: 4.1k

main masterlist

The antiseptic smell of the hospital filled the air as Y/N made her way through the maze of corridors to the maternity ward. Her excitement bubbled over; her brother Will and his girlfriend JJ were about to welcome their first child into the world. The anticipation was electric, and she could hardly contain her enthusiasm.

As she approached the reception desk, Y/N's eyes scanned the area for any familiar faces. Not seeing anyone she recognized, she stepped up to the desk and smiled at the receptionist.

"Hi, I’m here for Will LaMontagne and Jennifer Jareau. My name is Y/N," she said, her voice a mix of excitement and nerves. "Do you know where I can find them?"

Before the receptionist could respond, a tall, lanky man with tousled brown hair and glasses stepped forward. He had been sitting in the waiting area, absorbed in a thick book, but Y/N's question had caught his attention.

"Excuse me," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "Did you say you're here for Will and JJ?"

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly. "Yes, I'm Will's sister, Y/N."

The young man smiled, "I’m Spencer Reid, one of JJ's colleagues and friends. Nice to meet you."

Y/N smiled back, feeling a warmth in his presence. "Nice to meet you too, Spencer. This is such an exciting day."

"It really is," Spencer agreed, his smile growing. "Would you like to sit with me while we wait? I can fill you in on what's been happening."

"That sounds great," Y/N replied, grateful for the company.

They walked over to the waiting area and took seats next to each other. Spencer closed his book, giving Y/N his full attention.

"So, how's everything going so far?" Y/N asked, settling into her chair.

"JJ and Will are doing well. JJ went into labor a few hours ago, so it shouldn’t be too much longer now," Spencer explained.

"That's good to hear," Y/N said, a sigh of relief escaping her. "I can’t wait to meet my nephew."

Spencer smiled warmly. "He’s going to have a lot of love in his life, that’s for sure."

As they waited, the conversation between them flowed effortlessly. Y/N was fascinated by Spencer’s work with the BAU and his impressive intellect. They talked about everything from books and movies to their favorite childhood memories.

"You know," Spencer said, leaning in slightly, "it's not often I meet someone who can keep up with my random facts."

Y/N laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Well, you haven’t heard all of mine yet. Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?"

"Really?" Spencer's eyebrows shot up. "That’s fascinating! One heart pumps blood through its organs, and the other two pump it through the gills."

"Exactly!" Y/N beamed, enjoying their playful exchange.

Time seemed to stand still as they delved deeper into their conversation, sharing stories and jokes as if they had known each other for years. The connection between them was undeniable, a magnetic pull that neither could resist.

Eventually, the door to the waiting room opened, and a nurse stepped in, her smile broad. "Will and JJ would like to introduce you to baby Henry."

Spencer and Y/N stood up, both feeling a little reluctant to end their conversation but equally eager to meet the newest addition to the family.

They entered the room, where Will and JJ were beaming with pride, baby Henry cradled in JJ’s arms. But even amidst the joy and celebration, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for what she felt today with Spencer. The connection had been so strong, so immediate, that it felt almost surreal.

Will looked up, his face lighting up even more when he saw his sister. "Hey, Y/N! Did you and Spencer get a chance to meet?"

"Yes, we did," Y/N replied with a smile, glancing at Spencer who gave a small nod in agreement.

"Great," Will said, looking around. "So, where's Stephanie? I thought she was coming with you."

At the mention of her girlfriend, Y/N felt a slight tightening in her chest. She adored Stephanie, but today's encounter with Spencer had stirred unexpected feelings. "She couldn't make it," Y/N said, trying to keep her tone light. "She had to work late, but she sends her love and promises to visit soon."

Spencer's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, his smile faltering just a bit. He looked away, focusing on baby Henry, but Y/N noticed the change. The realization that she was already taken seemed to hit him harder than it should after one meeting.

"That's too bad," Will said, but he was quickly distracted by Henry's small movements. "Come on over, meet your nephew."

Y/N moved closer to the bed, her heart melting as she looked at the tiny baby in JJ's arms. "Oh, he's perfect," she whispered, gently touching Henry's hand.

JJ smiled up at her. "He’s stolen my heart already."

Spencer stood by the foot of the bed, his hands in his pockets. "He’s very lucky," he said softly.

Y/N glanced over at Spencer, feeling a mix of emotions. She couldn't deny the spark between them, but she also couldn't ignore her commitment to Stephanie. It was a confusing tangle of feelings that left her unsure of what to do next.

As the family cooed over Henry, Y/N found herself standing next to Spencer again. He seemed quieter now, more reserved, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

"I'm really glad we met today, Spencer," she said softly, hoping to bridge the sudden gap between them.

"Me too," he replied, his voice gentle but distant. "Congratulations on becoming an aunt. Henry's very lucky to have you in his life."

"Thank you," Y/N said, wishing she could find the right words to explain the confusion in her heart. But with Will and JJ so happy and Spencer standing just out of reach, it didn't seem like the right time.

They stayed in the room a while longer, sharing the joy of Henry's arrival. But the undercurrent of unresolved feelings between Y/N and Spencer lingered, a quiet reminder of the unexpected connection they'd shared and the complicated emotions that now accompanied it.

Over the next few years, Y/N and Spencer didn't have another chance to meet. Their paths never crossed again, but Y/N frequently heard stories about Spencer from JJ, Will, and the women of the BAU. Each tale only deepened her admiration for him, painting a picture of a man who was not only brilliant but also kind, compassionate, and remarkably dedicated.

"Spencer is something else," JJ would often say with a smile, recounting another of his incredible feats in solving a case or his sweet gestures towards his friends. "He’s always the first to lend a hand, and he’s so good with Henry. You should see them together."

Y/N would listen intently, her heart aching with each story. She couldn't shake the memory of their brief yet intense connection at the hospital. It was a feeling that lingered, haunting her thoughts and dreams.

Meanwhile, her relationship with Stephanie was becoming increasingly strained. They had grown apart over the years, their once strong bond now fraying at the edges. Stephanie was often busy with work, and their interactions became more perfunctory than affectionate. Despite this, they had gotten engaged, a decision that felt more like a logical step rather than a joyous celebration of their love.

Y/N often found herself lost in thought, wondering what her life would have been like if she had pursued a different path. The memories of Spencer, the way he made her feel so seen and understood in those few short hours, kept resurfacing.

One evening, as she sat alone in the living room, Y/N stared at the engagement ring on her finger, feeling a heavy weight in her chest. Stephanie was working late again, and the apartment felt eerily quiet. The silence gave her too much time to think, to reflect on her feelings and the growing disconnect between her and her fiancée.

She picked up her phone, scrolling through old messages and photos, and paused on a picture of Spencer from Henry's first birthday party that JJ had sent the lady’s group chat. They were both smiling, caught in a candid moment of laughter. She remembered how her heart had fluttered whenever she was near him.

Her mind wandered back to the stories JJ had shared recently. Spencer had rescued a kidnapped child, his quick thinking and bravery saving the day once again. She could hear JJ's voice, full of pride and admiration for her friend.

"He’s one of a kind," JJ had said, her eyes sparkling. "We’re all lucky to have him."

Later that evening, when Stephanie returned from work, Y/N took a deep breath and sat down with her on the couch. The conversation was long and emotional, filled with tears and difficult truths.

They both acknowledged the changes in their relationship and the love they once shared that had slowly faded.

In the end, they decided to take a break, giving themselves the space to reevaluate their relationship and their future. It was a painful decision, but one that felt right for both of them.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the Rossi estate. It was the perfect evening for JJ and Will's backyard wedding, and the atmosphere was filled with love and celebration. Y/N arrived, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. She had looked forward to this day for months, not just to celebrate her brother and JJ but also for the possibility of seeing Spencer again.

As she wandered through the beautifully decorated garden, Y/N’s heart raced with anticipation. She exchanged pleasantries with other guests, her eyes occasionally scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had been on her mind for so long.

Finally, near a cluster of trees adorned with twinkling fairy lights, she saw him. Spencer stood slightly apart from the crowd, adjusting his tie and looking as endearing as ever. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she felt like that same girl in the hospital waiting room, her heart fluttering uncontrollably.

Gathering her courage, she made her way towards him. Spencer looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise before a warm smile spread across his face.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft with a hint of disbelief. “Hi.”

“Hi, Spencer,” Y/N replied, her smile matching his. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” he said, nervously tucking his hair behind his ears. “You look… you look amazing.”

Y/N felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

They both laughed, the awkwardness of the moment breaking the ice. The sound of music and laughter filled the air around them, but they seemed to be in a bubble of their own.

“So, how have you been?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious.

“I’ve been good, a lot has changed,” Y/N replied, thinking back to her recent breakup. “And you?”

“Busy with work, as usual,” Spencer said with a chuckle. “But it’s nice to take a break for something as special as this.”

“Absolutely,” Y/N agreed, feeling the old connection between them starting to resurface. “I’ve heard so much about you from JJ and Will. It’s like I’ve been keeping up with your life through them.”

Spencer’s smile turned a bit shy. “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you too. JJ’s quite the storyteller.”

They both laughed again, the nervousness ebbing away as they fell into a familiar rhythm. The conversation flowed, filled with giggles and shared memories, despite the years that had passed since their first meeting.

Spencer glanced down at his feet, then back up at Y/N, his expression more serious. “You know, I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve thought about you too, Spencer.”

They shared a quiet moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Then, with a smile that was both nervous and excited, Spencer extended his hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

Y/N’s smile widened, her heart soaring. “I’d love to.”

They moved towards the makeshift dance floor, the music wrapping around them as they swayed together. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by a feeling of rightness, as if this was where they were always meant to be.

And as they danced under the twinkling lights, surrounded by the love and joy of JJ and Will’s wedding, Y/N felt a sense of happiness and hope that she hadn’t felt in a long time. The warmth of Spencer’s presence, the ease of their conversation, and the gentle rhythm of their dance all made the world outside disappear.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Spencer looked down at Y/N, his curiosity evident. “So, how’s Stephanie? I remember Will mentioning you two were engaged.”

Y/N felt a pang of guilt and hesitation. She had known this question would come up eventually, but it still caught her off guard. She took a deep breath, deciding to be honest. “Stephanie and I… well, we’re not together anymore.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked at her with concern. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said softly, her gaze lowering for a moment. “We grew apart over the years. It became clear that we were more like friends than partners. We tried to make it work, but in the end, we realized it was best to part ways.”

Spencer nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was,” Y/N admitted, meeting his eyes again. “But it was the right decision. We both needed to move on and find our own paths.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you were able to make that decision, even though it was hard. You deserve to be happy.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her at his words. “Thank you, Spencer. That means a lot.”

They continued to dance, the conversation flowing naturally once more. Y/N shared some of the challenges she had faced during the breakup and how she had focused on rediscovering herself. Spencer listened intently, offering support and understanding.

“You know,” Y/N said after a while, “hearing all those stories about you from JJ and the others… it always made me wonder what could have been if we had kept in touch.”

Spencer smiled, a hint of shyness in his eyes. “I’ve wondered the same thing. I thought about reaching out a few times, but I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Well, here we are now. Maybe it’s fate giving us another chance.”

“Maybe it is,” Spencer agreed, his smile growing. “I’d like to think so.”

As the song ended, they stopped dancing but remained close, neither wanting to break the connection they had rekindled. Spencer hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Y/N, would you like to go out for coffee sometime? I mean, to catch up and… see where things go?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “I’d love that, Spencer.”

They exchanged numbers, their fingers brushing slightly as they did. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, stories, and the comforting presence of each other.

When the night finally came to an end, and it was time to say goodbye, Y/N felt a sense of anticipation she hadn’t felt in years. As she walked away from the Rossi estate, she couldn’t help but smile, knowing that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in her life—one filled with hope, possibility, and the promise of something truly special with Spencer.

Y/N arrived at the cozy little café, a smile already tugging at her lips as she spotted Spencer sitting at a corner table, looking around nervously. The warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, blending with the soft hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of cups and saucers.

As she approached, Spencer’s eyes lit up, and he stood to greet her. “Y/N, hi! It’s so good to see you.”

“Hi, Spencer,” she replied, her heart fluttering with excitement. “It’s great to see you too.”

They hugged briefly, the familiarity of his presence already bringing a sense of comfort. They both sat down, and Spencer pushed a menu towards her.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I thought we could decide together,” he said, his smile shy but warm.

“Perfect,” Y/N said, glancing at the menu. “Do you have a favorite here?”

Spencer nodded. “The lavender latte is really good, and their pastries are amazing. I usually go for the almond croissant.”

“Lavender latte sounds interesting,” Y/N said, her curiosity piqued. “Let’s go with that and two almond croissants?”

“Great choice,” Spencer agreed, signaling the waiter.

Once their order was placed, they settled into an easy conversation. There was a lightness to their interaction, a mutual understanding that they didn’t want to waste any more time. The years apart had only intensified their appreciation for each other’s company.

“So, what have you been up to since the wedding?” Spencer asked, his eyes twinkling with genuine interest.

Y/N smiled, leaning in slightly. “I’ve been focusing on my career and spending a lot of time with my family. I’ve also picked up a few hobbies, like painting. It’s been really therapeutic.”

“Painting? That’s wonderful,” Spencer said, his admiration clear. “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

“I’d love to show you,” Y/N replied, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. “What about you? Any interesting cases lately?”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “Every case is interesting in its own way, but some are definitely more challenging than others. It keeps me on my toes.”

“I can imagine,” Y/N said, her tone playful. “You’re always the hero, aren’t you?”

Spencer’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “I wouldn’t say that, but I do my best.”

Their drinks and pastries arrived, and they took a moment to savor the first sip. The lavender latte was fragrant and soothing, and the croissants were buttery and flaky, just as Spencer had promised.

“This is amazing,” Y/N said, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the taste.

“I’m glad you like

it,” Spencer replied, his smile widening. “I’ve thought about this a lot, you know. Just being able to talk to you.”

“Me too,” Y/N said softly, her eyes meeting his. “It feels like we’ve been given a second chance, and I don’t want to waste it.”

“Neither do I,” Spencer said, his voice earnest.

They continued to talk, their conversation punctuated with laughter and shared memories. The flirtation was natural and effortless, each playful comment bringing them closer.

“You have a way of making even the most complicated things sound fascinating,” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “I could listen to you talk all day.”

Spencer chuckled, a hint of shyness in his demeanor. “And you have a way of making me feel like the most interesting person in the room.”

“You are,” Y/N said, her tone sincere. “At least to me.”

They finished their coffee, but neither made a move to leave. The connection between them was undeniable, and they both knew they wanted more.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, reaching across the table to take her hand, “I’m really happy we’re here together. It feels right.”

“It does,” Y/N agreed, her fingers intertwining with his. “I’ve thought about this moment so many times, and now that it’s here, it’s even better than I imagined.”

“Me too,” Spencer said, his voice filled with emotion. “I don’t want to rush things, but I also don’t want to let go of this feeling. Can we see each other again soon?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N replied without hesitation.

Y/N and Spencer left the café, their hands still intertwined, and strolled down the charming, tree-lined street. The morning air was cool and refreshing, and the bright sun cast a romantic glow on the cobblestone path.

As they walked, Y/N couldn’t help but steal glances at Spencer. There was something about the way his eyes sparkled and his smile turned shy that made her heart race. She decided to push the conversation into more playful, flirtatious territory.

“So, Dr. Reid,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “do you always sweep women off their feet with your extensive knowledge of, well, everything?”

Spencer chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I don’t know about that. I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile mischievous. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to have a few tricks up your sleeve. I bet you’ve got all sorts of interesting facts to impress the ladies.”

Spencer laughed, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down Y/N’s spine. “Well, I do know a lot of facts, but I’m not sure how impressive they are. For example, did you know that kissing burns 6.4 calories a minute?”

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him with a playful grin. “Is that so? And how exactly did you come across that piece of information?”

Spencer’s smile turned a bit sheepish. “Let’s just say I read a lot.”

She took a step closer, their bodies almost touching. “That’s quite an interesting fact. Do you have any others related to kissing?”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes locked onto hers. “Well, there’s also the fact that kissing releases dopamine, which can make you feel happy and relaxed.”

Y/N tilted her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Sounds like a pretty compelling argument for kissing.”

The tension between them was palpable, a magnetic pull drawing them closer. Spencer reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch sending sparks through her skin.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of desire and nervousness. “I’ve thought about kissing you since the day we met.”

Y/N’s heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. “I’ve thought about it too, Spencer.”

They stood there, inches apart, the world around them fading away. Spencer’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin. The anticipation was electric, every moment stretching out as they savored the closeness.

Finally, Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a tentative, tender kiss. It was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but the heat between them quickly intensified. Y/N responded eagerly, her hands slipping around his neck as she pressed herself against him.

Spencer’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Their lips moved in perfect sync, a dance of passion and longing that had been building for years. The world around them disappeared, leaving only the two of them, lost in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s. Spencer’s eyes were dark with desire, and Y/N could feel her own pulse pounding in her ears.

“That was…” Spencer began, his voice husky.

“Amazing,” Y/N finished for him, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

Spencer laughed softly, his hands still holding her close. “Yeah, amazing.”

They resumed walking, their hands clasped tightly together. The playful banter continued, but now there was an added layer of intimacy and sexual tension. Every touch, every glance carried the promise of more, a tantalizing hint of what was to come.

As they reached the end of the street, Y/N turned to Spencer with a playful glint in her eye. “So, Dr. Reid, are there any other fascinating facts you’d like to share with me?”

Spencer grinned, leaning in to whisper in her ear, lips brushing against it sensually. “I have plenty more where those came from. But maybe I should save some for our next date?”

Y/N laughed nervously, her heart racing with sudden arousal. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

They shared another lingering kiss under the shade of a tree, the promise of future dates and shared moments hanging in the air between them. In that moment, Y/N knew she had found something truly special with Spencer, and she couldn’t wait to see where their journey would take them. Her ring finger was feeling a little too light nowadays anyway.

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag V (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Happy New Year *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

~

You narrowly missed the hanger coming your way as Rafe ripped dress after dress out of your closet, clothes and hangers flying around the room as a result of his rage. You could do nothing but stand there with your arms folded over your chest, biting the inside of your cheek as you stared at him with a tearful glare. You flinched when a dress hit you square in the chest, and it wasn’t long before Rafe’s face was right in front of yours.

“Sometimes I swear you do this shit on purpose.”

“My mother bought me this dress, you know she bought me this dress-.”

“…and I hated it then for the same reasons I hated it today.”

You swallowed at the words he spat in your face, and when he moved closer you turned your head. Rafe was quiet for some time, just staring at you while you stared at your bathroom door. His breathing was even, so the deep breath he took was noticeable.

“Do you like being stared at like…like a piece of meat?” he quietly wondered.

“What kind of question is that?” you slowly asked, facing him.

Rafe’s hair kissed his forehead, strands going every which way as a result of his actions. His blue eyes were cold as he stared you down, a frown on his face.

“One I expect an answer to.”

He blinked at you, and you shifted on your feet.

“Of course not,” you whispered.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Rafe-.”

“I have eyes, you know,” he bit out, backing away from you and kicking a stray dress on the floor. “You think I didn’t see the way some of my dad’s friends were looking at you? You knew exactly what you were doing.”

A few tears spilled over at his words, and you quickly wiped your face. The sequined dress you currently had on was a holiday gift from your own mother last year. She’d loved it, and you’d loved it too, but when Rafe told you he wasn’t crazy about it, you really hadn’t given it much more thought. You just filed it away under one of those dresses you could only wear once a year.

You hadn’t expected a fight to break out over the sight of it.

Rafe’s jealousy fueled rampage only served to make you feel even worse. He spoke about Ward’s friends like it was something you wanted and not something that made you deeply uncomfortable. You did not relish in the attention from men old enough to be your father—some of them older than your own father—and having that thrown in your face just made you angry.

“Fuck you,” you defeatedly whispered.

Rafe snapped his head up, a glint in his eye as his face evened out.

“Excuse me?”

You wiped your face again, shaking your head.

“I said fuck you. Fuck you for throwing that in my face like I wanted that,” you tearfully continued. “Like I wasn’t uncomfortable-.”

Your words were cut off when Rafe gripped your chin and cheeks, pressing his fingers and thumb into your skin so harshly you winced.

“Well, maybe you should’ve worn a different dress.”

He shoved you away from him, causing you to stumble in your heels. He stared you down, challenging you to say something else, and you could only stare back, thinking to yourself that you wanted to be as far away from Rafe as possible. With a scoff, you stomped past him, unsurprised when you heard him right on your heels.

“…and where do you think you’re going?”

He stopped you at the top of the stairs with a harsh grip on your elbow, forcing you to face him.

“Away from this house, away from you, I don’t care,” you choked out. “Anywhere.”

“Well, maybe you should go buy a whole new wardrobe while you’re out,” he told you, a small smirk on his lips. “Who knows what I might do to that one in there.”

You pushed at his hand, trying to get him to let go when he shook you. You stumbled, a foot falling to a lower step, and you sharply inhaled. Rafe only chuckled, tilting his head to eye your foot.

“Careful,” he warned you. “My hand might just slip, and then you won’t be going anywhere.”

“Let go of me,” you demanded, and Rafe did, but not without a slight shove attached.

If your other hand hadn’t been on the railing, you would’ve stumbled down more than three steps. You hissed when your knee hit the wood, and pushing yourself to your feet was futile when Rafe shoved you again with a knee to your back. You were just barely able to throw your hands out to break your fall, a pained cry escaping at the flare in your knees as you hit the bottom.

His footsteps were loud as he cleared the remaining steps, and you were about to attempt to push yourself to your feet again when the harsh feel of his palm was on your head, pushing you down.

“Try to get up again, and I’ll rip your hair out.”

You froze, sitting back down as you kept your tearful gaze on the floor.

Your parents were still at the Camerons’, so the house was quiet save for your heavy breathing. Being alone with Rafe was always either good or downright terrifying. There was no in between. You didn’t move when he slowly started to move his fingers over your scalp, nothing soothing about the action. You heard your boyfriend heave a deep sigh.

“You’re the one who ruined this night…not me,” he slowly said, and you swallowed. “So, maybe a drive around the block will do you some good. Help you clear your head.”

Rafe shoved your head away from him before turning around, and you wiped your face.

“Don’t make me come find you,” were his parting words as he ascended the stairs.

You sat on the floor for what felt like way too long before finally pushing yourself to your feet. Your vision was blurry as you reached for your keys, and you quietly closed the door behind you, recalling the last time you dared to slam the door after a fight. You felt no solace when you slid into your car and started it up, more tears spilling over as you backed out of the driveway.

It wouldn’t be the first time you needed a moment to yourself after a fight, and like every other time, even your alone time was micromanaged. When Rafe didn’t want to see your face as much as you didn’t want to see his, he sent you on your way, and you chuckled at the thought of what would happen if you were gone too long. The AirTag on your car would just lead him straight to you, and you never enjoyed being dragged back like some dog in the street.

A drive or two around the block wouldn’t be enough, and before you realized it, you found yourself parked at the beach. The sight of the sand and water brought you back down to earth for all of five minutes, just staring through your windshield with parted lips. You suddenly had the brief urge to just…drive into the ocean. The thought took you by surprise because truthfully, as awful as Rafe had been to you, ending it all had never crossed your mind…and you didn’t even know why.

You didn’t think you had any hope that things would get better…but you also didn’t know if death would be better. Your future with Rafe was known. You knew what you had to look forward to, to endure. Nothing about death was known to you. For some reason, that uncertainty paralyzed you with fear. Even if you had the guts to do it, you weren’t alone…

You glanced down the beach at the small fire you saw, people crowded around it. It wasn’t some huge party or anything, appearing to be a relatively small group, but it seemed just enough people to be considered one. You just stared at them with a small frown, thinking on how differently their night was going.

Staring at your steering wheel, you thought about how you’d drive back to your house and walk inside to greet your boyfriend. Rafe would be waiting for you, staring at you with that look and how he wouldn’t apologize until you did. You’d admit you shouldn’t have worn the dress and then he’d say he hated when you made him act that way. He’d kiss you, maybe even pull you into a hug, and then you’d go upstairs like nothing happened.

You were pulled from your thoughts by a tap on your window, startled by the sound.

The last person you expected to see was JJ Maybank.

Your lips parted as you stared at him through your window, a frown slowly taking over as he had the gall to lean on your car. You weren’t quite sure what to do next. Not only was he the last person you expected to see tonight, but your last conversation with him was unfortunately something that had yet to leave your mind.

Staring at him through the glass, you recalled staring at the bruising on his face as he stood so close to you. He’d been too close, and you’d allowed it, and if you hadn’t had the sense of mind to slap his hand away, you didn’t want to linger on what might’ve happened next. Would he have kissed you just as he theorized doing? You wouldn’t have let him, of course, but you’d never forget the look on his face.

JJ Maybank was very dangerous for you to be around.

…and yet you found yourself getting rid of the barrier between you.

“If you came to join the party, you’re a little late,” were his first words to you. “Everyone’s breaking off, going to some other party or whatever.”

You glanced behind him, noticing the fire was now out and people were splitting up as he’d said.

“No,” you told him with a shake of your head. “I just came here to clear my head for a little bit.”

The blond was eyeing you when you looked back at him, and you didn’t think you liked how intently he was doing it.

“Rough night…?”

“I guess you could say that.”

You didn’t know why you said that instead of denying it. Maybe it was because you could feel how puffy your eyes probably were, and alluding to anything other than the truth would just insult his intelligence. A silence descended over you two, and you couldn’t decide if it was awkward or not. You knew that Rafe would bash your head into the mirror for even daring to talk to JJ, and somehow that didn’t stop your next words.

“Where are you headed?”

You didn’t know if you were still angry about the whole dress debacle or what, but you liked to think that anger was fueling your decision to offer JJ a ride when he told you he was heading to Sarah’s. JJ only raised an eyebrow at you.

“Do you have daddy’s permission to do that?”

“Please don’t refer to Rafe as ‘daddy’ ever again,” you sighed.

“Why not?” he wondered. “You probably do.”

You threw him a look, watching him chuckle.

“Besides, you knew exactly who I was referring to, and that’s all that matters.”

You found yourself regretting your choice almost immediately, but you still unlocked the door when JJ made his way around to the passenger side. It felt weird to have anyone other than Rafe sitting in your car, but especially JJ. He smelled like the burning wood he’d just been around, and the aroma filled your vehicle. When you asked him if the heat was too much, he kept his gaze on you as he told you it was okay.

“You know Sarah’s parents are having some fancy party, right?”

When you glanced at JJ, he was already looking at you, that cheeky grin on his lips.

“What are you trying to say? That I’ll stick out like a sore thumb?”

There was no point in denying that was exactly what you meant, but JJ only laughed to himself.

“I know,” he told you. “John B.’s picking her up at about 11, so he might as well take us both back to The Cut.”

You nodded at that, agreeing with his logic.

“Unless you want to do the honors,” the blond drawled.

When you glanced at him, you could see that he wasn’t joking, and you only shook your head.

“It’s time I start heading back home, anyway. It’s why I don’t mind dropping you off at Sarah’s since it’s on the way.”

There was a brief pause.

“Have you ever even been to the other side of the island?”

You didn’t know why he asked. You both knew the answer to that question and when—to no one’s surprise—you shook your head, JJ hummed. You didn’t know what that meant, and you looked at him again. Only, for once since he got into your car, he wasn’t looking at you. The blond was staring out of the windshield, but you didn’t miss the small smirk that danced along his lips.

“We’ll have to change that…”

You didn’t know what to say to that, thinking to yourself that the likelihood of it ever happening was low. The rest of the ride was quiet, and when you finally made it to the Camerons’, something in you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to say it had everything with not wanting to return to Rafe, but as you watched JJ exit your car…you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

“You look much better since the last time I saw you.”

JJ leaned his hands on your window sill, and you watched him blink at you, seemingly deep in thought.

“Thanks…I wish I could say the same about you…”

You pulled your lip between your teeth at that, hating the way the blond stared at you. When he thanked you for the ride, you only nodded with a small smile, glancing at the clock and telling yourself you had maybe five more minutes before Rafe started blowing up your phone. You resisted the urge to park your car and instead prepared yourself to drive back to your boyfriend.

The sound of buzzing was what pulled you from sleep. It wasn’t the kind accompanied by one single text but instead a phone call—continuous. It took you a minute to realize you’d fallen asleep on the couch—waiting up for Rafe—and that was exactly where the phone call found you. It wasn’t too late when you checked the time, only a little past 10, and Rafe’s text told you that he was still tied up with Ward and probably would be for another hour.

Both had left the Cameron house hours ago.

You were pulled from your thoughts by your phone again, and it was then that you realized it wasn’t Rafe who’d been calling you. You stared at the unfamiliar number in confusion for probably too long, debating on if you should answer or not. Against your better judgement, you did.

“Hello…?”

You sat up with a groan, glancing around the dark house and surmising that everyone else was asleep.

“It’s JJ.”

Those two words removed any remnants of sleep left, eyes widening and lips parting as you felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you. You blinked a few times, in disbelief and confusion, and you struggled with what to say next. It was the middle of the night, and JJ Maybank was calling you.

“What…? Why...why are you…?” you rubbed your forehead. “How did you…?”

You couldn’t finish a single question, but you were sure JJ understood you loud and clear.

“I stole your number from Sarah,” he answered, making you frown. “I’m outside.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach at that, and you frantically turned around. You craned your head to look out of the window as you stumbled to your feet. Sure enough, there was a familiar van outside and a familiar blond standing next to it. More concerned with Rafe coming home and catching him in the yard, you were in a hurry to see what he wanted.

JJ spoke up though before you could manage to find your shoes.

“I just need more of those painkillers you gave me…”

You paused at that, frown easing some as you started to understand.

“My dad wasn’t in the best of moods this morning and since I have the Twinkie for the day…I figured I’d come to the best plug in town.”

“Don’t call me that,” you whispered.

“Well, nothing else I’ve ever taken took the edge off like that, so…”

Something about the way JJ’s voice trailed off in combination with his tone had you reaching for your purse. You started to ask him how bad it was, but then you figured you’d be seeing just how bad it was pretty soon, anyway. As your feet carried you towards the door, you were in a bit of a shock to think that JJ was outside the Cameron house waiting for you to pass along prescription drugs. It didn’t feel real, but you had to remind yourself that it was indeed very real because if Rafe came home early…

There would be nothing unreal about his anger.

“How did you know I was here?” you asked the blond as he met you halfway.

“Let Sarah tell it, you’re almost always here.”

You eyed him as you handed him a familiar pill, drinking in the sight of a bruise under his eye. JJ didn’t comment on the scrutiny, opting for popping the pill instead. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him even if you wanted to, feeling too many things at the sight of his swollen lip. You weren’t even thinking about Rafe…

“I’m really sorry, JJ,” you whispered.

His gaze met yours at your words, and he shrugged. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to play it off or if he was really just that used to it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “It’s not your fault.”

“Why don’t…?” you trailed off, wondering if it was your place. “Why don’t you stay with John B. or Pope or something? They’re your friends, and I’m sure their parents wouldn’t be completely against it.”

You watched JJ sigh, turning to look away while running his hand through his blond locks.

“I probably should,” he admitted. “…but…”

He shrugged, looking at you with an eyeful of excuses.

“He’s my dad, you know.”

You gave him a look that let him know you didn’t agree with that, at all.

“JJ…”

Your tone made him smile, pink lips slowly curving upwards as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Gone was the battered teenager and instead the cheeky blond you were used to seeing. You didn’t think you liked the way he looked at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You worried about me?”

“Yes, actually,” you honestly replied. “I am.”

His smile dimmed some, but he still let out a soft closed mouth chuckle. He glanced away, nodding to himself before looking at you again. You didn’t have time to stop him this time when he reached out to gently touch your chin, and you couldn’t ignore how your stomach flipped at the brief contact.

“Don’t be. You should worry about yourself…and that asshole boyfriend of yours.”

He turned away from you before you could reply, and you opened your mouth before thinking better of it. You rubbed your forehead, watching him walk away, and feeling helpless, you told yourself there was no telling when you’d get another chance. Calling his name, you hurried to catch up to him.

JJ looked curious as to what you could possibly want when he turned around to face you. You felt nervous, and you wondered if it was noticeable because JJ’s expression softened some. You knew you felt bad, and you knew you felt helpless, but maybe a part of you felt compelled to help JJ because you couldn’t help yourself. Maybe, at the very least, you could make this easier for one of you.

“We’re not friends…”

His brows rose at that, and you hurried to continue when he snorted.

“I’m just putting that out there, so there’s no confusion with what I’m about to say because…we can’t be friends, JJ. Do you understand?”

JJ’s blue gaze held your own for some time, and he tilted his head. He ran his eyes over your face, and it was hard to place his expression.

“Trust me… I have no intention of being your friend.”

You knew he didn’t mean that in the way you wanted him to, but you refused to let that scare you into backing out of what you were about to say. You took a deep breath.

“My family has a pool house…”

He crossed his arms over his chest, intently listening.

“No one uses it…except for me when I was like sixteen and thought I hated my parents.”

JJ seemed to catch onto what you were hinting at, and he dropped his arms, slightly frowning at you, now.

“The key is under the plant on the right side of the door…and I don’t know… If it gets really bad with your father sometimes…that’s good information to have I guess.”

JJ didn’t respond, and you didn’t have anything else to say, so you just backed away, giving him a small smile.

“Goodnight.”

JJ didn’t wish you a goodnight back until you’d already turned your back on him, and you threw him another smile over your shoulder before going back inside.

Your lips trembled as you stared into the mirror, hands shaking as you struggled to wipe the mess off of your chest. The music from the party was loud, bleeding into the bedroom and bathroom through the walls, so you weren’t worried about Rafe hearing your soft cries. You threw the tissue into the toilet, the sound of the flush hiding another sob.

No matter how many times you fixed your dress, nothing about your appearance looked right in the mirror. It was funny. Before you left, you thought you looked okay. It was a dress you picked out that even Rafe liked, but it was only now as you stared into the mirror did you wonder if Rafe liked it too much. You’d had no problems with your dress and hair and makeup until after Rafe had held you down in some stranger’s room to fuck you on their bed.

You could still feel the pain from when he’d twisted your arm behind your back, harshly telling you to lighten up and relax. You hadn’t been in the mood, and Rafe hadn’t cared.

“If I waited until you were in the mood, I’d never get any,” he’d thrown at you, chuckling to himself like it was funny.

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you’d told him.

The only response you’d gotten was a kiss to the corner of your mouth as he’d shoved you down. No amount of protesting had deterred him—it never did—and you were sure the owner’s bed was stained with your mascara, courtesy of your tears. The same mascara you were currently trying to fix, something proving to be futile.

Rafe wasn’t wrong though.

You never initiated sex—not unless it could get you out of trouble—and why would you? Rafe raping you wasn’t what you’d consider a regular thing, but it was a sporadic one. Then again, the only reason you were even in this relationship was because you knew Rafe would slit your throat if you left him, so maybe, technically speaking, it all counted as rape.

You touched your chest to make sure you were clean, jaw ticking at the memory of Rafe coming on it. He hardly ever did that, and you knew the only reason he did tonight was to piss you off and humiliate you some more. You’d just straightened your dress for the umpteenth time when he banged on the door.

“I’m ready,” you harshly told him, swinging it open.

His fist had still been in the air when you did, and you didn’t hesitate in pushing past him to grab your jacket. You could feel his eyes on you as you slipped it on, and you turned your head when he leaned in for a kiss. Rafe paused, his gaze fixed on you, and you only huffed when he grabbed your face and forced a kiss on your lips, anyway.

“This party’s turning into bullshit, and Kelce said he might come by for a line or two,” he told you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he guided you out.

Ward was out of town for two days, and you wanted to roll your eyes at how predictable Rafe was. It’d cost nothing to do drugs at Kelce’s place, but you supposed that wasn’t as fun as doing them somewhere he knew he was forbidden to. Somewhere he knew Ward would lose his mind over if he knew…

Rafe held you tighter when you made it back downstairs, and you only realized why when you saw a few familiar faces.

“Yeah, this party���s definitely gone to shit, now…”

You said nothing, quickly looking away when your gaze passed over JJ who was standing by Sarah. You’d tried not to dwell on your secret meetups with the other blond, but it was hard. He wasn’t supposed to be your friend—anything like it—and not only had you given him a ride, but a possible place to stay sometimes too.

Not even Rafe knew about the pool house key.

You told yourself that it was just a desire to help Sarah’s friend where you couldn’t help yourself, but you couldn’t deny that something in you was drawn to the blond from the other side of the island. That night in which you’d dropped him off, you hadn’t really wanted to leave. You could admit that, now, and the same could be said for the night he showed up at the Cameron household. You didn’t know if it was JJ or just…

The feeling of talking to a guy who wasn’t Rafe.

You’d forgotten what it felt like to be treated like your own person…and not an extension of the man helping you into his truck.

“Isn’t sex supposed to fuck the attitude out of you or something?”

Those were the words Rafe said to you five minutes into the drive back to his place.

“I don’t have an attitude,” you quietly told him.

There was a brief pause, and you didn’t need to look over to know that Rafe was staring you down.

“Yeah…you do,” he slowly said. “…but that’s okay because the night’s over, and you can just…go to bed mad for all I care.”

Huffing was apparently the wrong thing to do.

“Wh-what is this about earlier? Is that what you’re…pouting about?”

You said nothing, trying your best to avoid a fight, but it seemed that Rafe was itching for one. When he grabbed your chin, you tried to snatch your head away, but his grip was firm, and you winced when he made you face him. Rafe looked between the road and you, nostrils flaring as he stared you down.

“If I didn’t know any better—and I do—I’d think you were fucking somebody else…” he roughly let you go. “…because you’re never in the mood.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring straight ahead as silence descended over the inside of his truck. Not soon enough, his house was in sight, and you were already reaching for your seatbelt when Rafe parked. However, before you could open your door, one of Rafe’s hands was curling around your neck.

The gasp you let out was loud—choked—and you reached up to grab his hand. The back of your head was forced against the window, and too busy trying to get him to let go, you paid no mind to his other hand. It forced it’s way between your legs, fingers searching and pushing their way into you, walls still wet from your previous activities.

A choked sound escaped you as you pushed against his chest. Rafe’s face was nearing yours as he roughly thrust his fingers into you, curling them and making you gasp and jerk in his hold. His nose grazed your cheek as he fingered you, and nothing about it was enjoyable as you let out a whine.

“You are my girlfriend,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “…and that means whenever and wherever I want.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a sense of relief when he pulled his hand from in between your legs. That relief, however, was short-lived when you heard him reach for his pants. He saw you reaching for the door, and he was quick to grab your arm, yanking you closer and twisting his other hand into your hair. The scream you let out was pained when he pulled as hard as he could, and Rafe wasted no time in climbing over you.

Pushing against his chest did nothing, and considering it was less than an hour ago when he’d fucked you at that party, you knew Rafe wasn’t actually in the mood again. He just wanted to hurt you, wanted to exert power over you and get it through your head that your body belonged to him.

You winced when he pushed his way into you, immediately thrusting into you despite your lack of preparation. One of his hands was around your throat, the other pinning your arm in place. Your free hand was digging into his arm, tears spilling over as his hips snapped against yours. The inside of his truck was filled with the sounds of your cries and his grunts, and when he leaned in to kiss you this time, you gave him exactly what he wanted.

[educatedsimps]

Ahh I'm so in love with the idea of timeskip!Kenma as a dad 🥺 You've really made me even more in love with your blog 😘 Can I please request timeskip!Kenma x fem reader where he introduces our son to his followers on his stream? Baby Kodzuken ❤️ I'd love it if his followers were a gushing in the comments about how cute the baby is and how happy Kenma is when he talks about his baby boy and us (his wife)? I love Kenma and the thought of him as a dad is just the cutest to me. Thank you so much! Take care 🫶🏻

≪ back to fics masterlist

kozume kenma x f!reader

a/n: OH MY GODSHKKAFYSYVUDNGUSYRGUKSYKS THIS IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST IDEA EVERRR OMG thanku for requesting my dear kenma anon ❤️ i'm so sorry this took WAY longer to publish than expected so THANK YOU for having the patience of an angel 😭 i really hope this was worth the wait so pls enjoy! lots of love and u take care too <33

cw: TIMESKIP SPOILERS, parenting au, domestic fluff, slice of life kinda thing, chat gg crazy bc kenma is an amazing dad. GREEN FLAG DAD KENMA

"Hey guys, welcome back. I've got a very special announcement to make today, so here we are," Kenma adjusted his camera, smiling slightly.

It was a regular Tuesday evening and you were taking the time to do some self-care, which left Kenma with his second favourite thing in the world - his son.

As a YouTuber, professional gamer, stock trader, streamer and CEO of his own company, Kenma's work schedule was extremely flexible, and both of you were grateful for that. Not only did he have various sources of income, but he could be home as much as he wanted. And being home meant being able to spend time with his precious son, Kozume Kaito.

Kaito was your six month old bundle of joy - literally. If you had told Kenma a decade ago that he'd be a dad one day, he would have never believed you. Until, that is, you had Kaito.

Even before Kaito's birth, Kenma had no idea how he was supposed to take care of and raise a whole child. He just knew that he wanted to be the best father you and Kaito could've ever asked for. And so, you saw how stressed he could got about even the tiniest of things.

"What size clothes do we buy for him? Will S or M be better? What if he's a huge baby? Let's just get one of each size... Wait, what about pacifiers? A-and bottle hoods? What shape will he prefer? Longer ones? Shorter ones? Softer or slightly tougher ones? Ugh forget it, we'll get one of each type too."

However, all his worries disappeared the moment he held little baby Kaito in his arms. Kenma had never really been a crier, but the second he laid eyes on your beautiful son, he couldn't help but let it all out in the hospital ward.

"Can you guys see me clearly?" Kenma asked. The excited responses of "YESSS" "what's the surprise??" "OMG YOU'RE SO PRETTY" "yes i can see your handsome face" confirmed that his camera was indeed working just fine. Amused, he chuckled lightly. "Great. I'll be right back."

As he left the frame, his viewers were left staring at the background screen in his office, a big logo of Bouncing Ball Corp. After a few seconds of silence, some shuffling could be heard as Kenma returned with a chubby ball of energy in his arms. The moment he stepped back into frame with his beloved son in hand, the chat exploded.

kodzukenner: NO WAY IS THAT YOUR BABY??? riceballzzz: CUTIEEEEEEEEE AHHHH nek0mab1tch: omg he has a kid ?? ADORABLE miyamiya07: hawajhjchdjvhhfjhfrsjkhfdhasjhjchjfhjvhkrh lookattheclouds: since when?! vballer1208: HE HAS A CHILD??????????????

Kenma proudly held up his son like he had won an Olympic trophy - he simply adored Kaito. Meanwhile, Kaito watched, enamoured, as comments flooded the chat. Among those comments were also questions about Kaito and even you.

He knew the news of his son would be a major surprise to his online community, especially since the two of you had very successfully hidden your pregnancy from the public. Neither of you wanted to deal with all the pressure from netizens, media and the public.

"'He has Y/n's smile'," Kenma read one comment aloud. Chuckling, he agreed, "He does, doesn't he? He's lucky to inherit the most beautiful smile on earth."

Another comment asked where you were, and when Kenma simply replied with "Doing her own stuff." some commenters gushed about how cute it was that Kenma was on "babysitting duties".

With a scrunch of his face, Kenma retorted, "It's not babysitting. He's literally my child. Y/n's just doing her own stuff, what's the big deal? Come on, y'all gotta delete those gender role stereotypes from your heads, that's so 1950s." He huffed.

"'What's his name?'" Kenma read. "Hm. Y/n and I have actually decided not to reveal his name, so we hope you'll respect our decision."

kodzukenner: omg i wonder what his name is he's so cute i'm sure his name is as cute as him! nek0mab1tch: what if they named him kodzuken bouncingballer: baby kodzuken HAHA miyamiya07: OMG BABY KODZUKEN ??

Kenma chuckled as he read the comments guessing his child's name.

"'Is he joining today's stream?'" Kenma read aloud. Turning to his son with a gentle smile on his face, he replied, "You bet. Aren'tcha, big guy?"

In response, Kaito burst into a fit of giggles, excitedly babbling and pointing at the big screen in front of him.

The comments once again exploded into cheers of happiness as Kenma sat down in his usual gaming position, but this time, with his beloved son in his lap.

a/n: i'm so sorry this is really short 😭😭 but i hope it's okay :,) tysm for requestingg! hope you liked it bae <3

© educatedsimps 2024. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarise any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[reallyromealone]

That's not a pet! That's a possible boyfriend!

Malleus x male reader

Fluff

Sorry if I didn't get his personality perfect, I'm not used to writing his character

🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇

Goodness it felt great to soak in the sunlight, (name) thought as he stretched in bunny form in the school gardens, a place off to the side where many didn't go thus perfect for (name) to relax in.

Or so he thought.

He was almost passing out under the warm sunlight when a hand gently pet down his back "a bunny here? How peculiar" the voice of none other than Mallues spoke out and (name) was to shocked to say the least as the horned young man sat down and began petting him "there's not many rabbits where I live one so please don't mind me petting you" (name) hasn't heard him be this gentle and soft in tone, usually his tone was more... Well Malleus!

(Name) couldn't help but relax under the gentle pets and scratches, leaning into the touch but ssdly this meant the Fae prince thought it would be ok to lift the little bunny in his arms and begin walking off, still petting him.

(Name) thought he was just petting him! Then he could go about his day and pretend that his crush didn't just pet him! Oh gosh he should transform! Why isn't he transforming!

(Name) wanted to die oh gosh!

People stared as Malleus walked past, the rather intimidating black haired prince was holding an adorable and absolutely petrified looking bunny who didn't know what to do. It was comical really but (name) was having a small melt down.

"What...what do you have there young master" Lilia was more than amused as he watched his ward carry a tiny rabbit that looked awfully familiar... Wait.

"I found him, I wish to keep him"

"I don't believe you can keep him sadly" Lilia said almost giggling at this and malleus looked confused "he sits behind you in potions, the poor thing looks petrified" he snickered and walked to the bunny and took him gently before placing him on the dorm grounds and before there eyes was (name) looking more than flustered, pulling his ears infront of his face but the slight wiggle of his tail said otherwise as he refused to meet /anyone's/ gaze "I-I should be going... I-uh... Yeah" (name) just wanted die right there as he quickly darted out and bolted to his dorm.

His room was turned into a burrow, blankets and pillows thrown around into a wonderful safe place for him to sleep, do homework and at moments like this? Panic.

"I let my crush carry me around like a plush toy, I let him pet me! Why didn't I stop him?! Oh god he probably thinks I'm so weird and won't even want to look at me oh god!"

(Name) downright avoided malleus, embarrassed and humiliated and just wanted to wallow in sadness but fate or better yet professor Crewel had better plans.

(Name) sat awkwardly in the library with malleus, unable to say a word as he stared at his portion of the project "you have soft ears" Malleus said passively and (name) froze before responding"t-thank you, you pet good" oh god kill him please oh god.

"Do you fear me?" Malleus asked bluntly to the flustered man who looked at him so fast he almost got whiplash "why would you think I fear you?"

"You don't look at me"

"Well... You already pet me so no need for ruining anything" (name) took a deep breath before speaking again "I like you, like in a romantic way and I know you probably think I'm weird or don't wa--""I don't think your weird" Malleus cut the rabbit off and looked at him "I have developed romantic feelings for you as well"

(Name) was practically vibrating with joy "oh this is wonderful! I promise to be a good boyfriend!" (Name) says happily and Malleus felt his heart grow warm "I return the promise, could I pet your ears again?"