#my beloved ethereal son..

[nigelgraz]

(OC) Luka 🌙

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 ����𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[chuluoyi]

soft gojo meeting his newborn hc, pleaaasee??

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 11:10 P.M 」

soft dad!gojo drove me to have another baby fever for the ntn time. you just have to put this idea in my head don’t you dear anon~

a part of gojo's love entries

the thing was so tiny, precious and squishy. it fit right in his hands, so red and fragile, almost like a toy—

only it was not. it was a real, living baby. his son, partly made by his own flesh and blood—his to protect.

“hello to you, my little minion,” satoru whispered to his newborn, wonderstruck by the sight of this small but clearly alive being. his eyes glazed, his fingers delicately tracing the baby's face, body, and tiny feet. “i’m your dad, yeah?”

his own soft voice sounded foreign to him. but at this moment, as he was utterly mesmerized by the sight of little human that just came out of you, his beloved wife, he couldn’t care less.

he had always imagined how his brat would look like. he even joked with you about how he’d get his good looks—and heck, the gods did hear him and this baby in his arms was the most handsome baby he had ever seen, blessed with his white hair and softest skin, as well as the rosiest cheeks.

his only dismay was that he also inherited the bluest of eyes, the curse in his family line.

well, but that’s a problem for another day.

he settled his newborn into the hospital's nursery crib, and nudged his pudgy cheeks once again. not even half a day had passed since he was born, and gojo satoru had developed a severe cuteness aggression for his son. he swore he’d spoil him rotten, shower him love he never truly experienced from his own parents, and of course, keep him safe.

with his heart full, he left the baby as he slept, and went back to your room.

in the very same predicament as your baby, you were still fast asleep. you were visibly exhausted, your hair was a tangled mess, and there was a line of dried blood along your lips—caused by accidentally biting them too hard earlier, during your labor pains.

even in the state of disarray, satoru still thought you looked ethereal, too good for him.

he ran his fingers through your hair, smoothing them, and he regretted it when your face scrunched up and your eyes fluttered open. “…hmm? satoru?”

“hey, sweets. how are you feeling?”

“i still feel like being split into two… but yeah, i’ll manage.”

“shush, of course. you feel that way often, each time when i—”

“don’t,” you warned, glaring at him. “i just birthed your heir, gojo satoru. don’t even start.”

satoru burst into a laugh so hearty and he realized he truly loved this dynamics with you. and that he was grateful for you.

he wanted to thank you for all that you had done for him. for returning his feelings. for marrying him. for going through that pain to bring his son to the world—

and most of all, for still being here. for staying alive to live another day with him.

“i saw him just now. our baby is perfect.”

“really? i want to meet him too…”

“soon, sweetheart... when you’re a little better, i’ll take you to him.”

but he wasn’t the best with words. and so even if he were to pour his heart out, everything would be condensed into this one sentence.

you were excited at the prospect of meeting your baby, when suddenly satoru leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“i love you so damn much… you know?”

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: You had only wanted to petition the god of summer for rain to ease the drought. Locked away for your crimes, the god of summer, Johnny comes to your aid to set all things right. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you both and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything. @itsagrimm it would feel wrong not to tag you in something I had written.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

Even on a summer night, wrapped in darkness and starlight, sweat insisted on gathering at your temples. The fire cracked as you added your willow bark and woven cattails to the flames, praying to the god of summer, Johnny, for rain. You anxiously rubbed your arm over your beloved leaves' trellising along your arms, watching the embers' pops fall on dead grass as you stood beside your bucket of dirty water. Crispy and dry, shriveled and withered, the once green leaves of the oaks looked yellow, some falling away to join the dusty ground below. When you traveled to the lake to gather your offering, the water seemed putrid, mostly evaporated, leaving muddy banks to dry in the heat. It reeked a musk so awful; you wondered how even the fish stood it.

Come harvest, the looming hunger would cause an instability you feared. If the tradespeople hadn’t food, your people would not have even a foraged berry; the livestock not a blade of grass to chew.

“The council of elders dictated no fires, little lady.”

You jumped, turning to face Phillip Graves, your neighbor and ever-faithful watchdog for Elder Sheppard. Clutching the fabric of your dress, you licked your lips before tilting your chin up.

“Someone had to appeal to the gods about the drought. Or does the council think they can strong-arm the clouds to gather?” You bit. Pressing your lips together as Elder Sheppard followed behind his dog.

“My mother used to wear the robes of a priestess. I find it odd you wear those robes as well when the last of them burned with her body,” Sheppard noted.

The body of the last holy woman, who had mysteriously burnt to death in her home as her son had conveniently been away, was found with chains tethered to her body. Your family had always insinuated it was Sheppard who had murdered his mother and tried to cover it up, but there was no proof, no investigation.

Power begets power without hesitancy, and nothing made Sheppard hesitate.

“They were a gift, Elder-”

“Stolen or forged items ain’t gifts, little lady,” Phillip interrupted. He moved to stand beside you, circling you wolfishly. His grin never seemed to fit his face, always too small for proportion, a liar in disguise—a mutt of deception.

“How dare you imply such things about my character without proof?” You hissed, hands coming to clutch your skirts.

Phillip lurched forward, grabbing your arm. He tore your sleeve from your dress, the fabric popping at the delicate seams. You stepped back, only for him to hold your arm still in a grip that dimpled skin and muscle. Pain simmered below his touch, dancing with the fear curling in your throat. Philip glared at the tendrils of silver scars blessed to you by Kyle, god of Spring.

If Sheppard killed his mother, what would keep him from murdering you?

“Are there more marks?” the elder inquired, hooking a finger under your belt with a tug to suggest removing the garment altogether. 

Enraged, you smacked his hand, retrieving your arm from Phillip’s death grip, “My body is none of your concern!”

“The safety of the village comes before you!” Graves sneered, yanking your skirts towards him until you toppled forward. His hands moved to your hips, and you shoved at him until his hand came sharply against your cheek, the sting of the slap making you gasp.

Phillip… had hit you. Your eyes stung with tears as you grappled against him, shoving your elbows and hands anywhere near his body until you were free, only to be pulled back by Sheppard.

“I think it’s time for you to learn your lesson on hearsay, foolish girl,” Shepard hissed. “The gods are unkind to those who take liberties.”

“I’ve found favor with them. Cannot learn a lesson that is not there,” you quaked. From the corner of your eye, Philip pulled his dagger from his belt, flipping the hilt. With one quick flash, he struck your temple, leaving you crumpled into the cracked, dusty ground.

The moonbeams blurred the walls covered in cobwebs, revealing a thin layer of dust on the floor. Your beloved temple once stood as the prized gem of your people, welcoming all to a haven of peace and community. Pushing into a sitting position, the room tilted like the waves of the rushing river. The darkness of the windowless temple entryway echoed with the dry summer winds, carrying nothing but the singing yearning of water from the plants.

Shepard and Graves deserved to be hung on the oak for treason against the gods, the people, and yourself. Your arms, once covered in Kyle’s beautiful marks, claiming you as beloved of spring, now were dotted with drying scratches and swollen welts of discolored skin from their harsh treatment.

“Happy summer solstice, I guess,” You huffed, slowly hobbling to your feet, using the locked door to bear your weight as the spinning room settled again.

There were worse prisons to be had than a dusty temple. At least in the dusty temple, you were safe and alone from those who wanted you dead. You furrowed your brow and pushed off of the wall, heading deeper into the holy rooms. If they had wanted you dead, they should have stabbed you.

“Gods help me,” you huffed, sitting on a bench along the hallway leading to the offering room. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the wall, feeling a touch of a headache thump harder against your skull.

“You called Fawn?” 

You cracked open your eyes to see a man standing at the threshold of the altar room, beams of fire light flickering from the once dark room. He stood on his toes, seemingly bursting with energy, trying to go. Where he wanted to go, who knew? Perhaps he didn’t know himself? 

“Johnny?” You guessed, gazing at the god of summer. His blue eyes glittered like gems as he nodded. 

“As smart as you are, bonny, ain’t ya?” he teased, coming closer. Standing before you, he narrowed his eyes, moving your jaw to examine your temple. “Ach, that will do. What happened?”

“Got in trouble for trying to petition for your favor. Tore my dress and all,” you huffed. “Now I'm locked in here. I'm sure I can get out through the window in the east corridor if I break it.”

Johnny chuckled, holding your chin in both hands as he ran his thumb over your temple, smearing the blood. A breath of warmth trickled from his hand, allowing the skin to stitch together. Your eyes fluttered closed as you soaked in the warmth. 

“You could. Or you can stay the night with me,” Johnny teased. “Feel better, Fawn?” He questioned, leaning down to place a kiss on the healed skin. Your face warmed, suddenly bashful of his affection. 

“If you want, I’ll spend the night, Johnny,” You muttered as his nose brushed your cheek.

“Nae, spend it if ye want. If ye did nae want to, don’t. I want our Fawn to be comfortable above all.” He gave a bright grin before leaping to his feet and stepping back. Rocking on his feet, he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“I am comfortable with you. I wouldn’t accept it if I weren’t.” You stood, slipped your hand in his, and followed him into the offering room.

The offering room, dressed in old tapestries covered in dust and neglect, still looked magnificent and of the wealth the gods deserved to be honored with. The wealth came in the delicate hand-spun embroidery lace that decorated tables, and in the hair-line needlepoint stitches one of your ancestors had sewn into the tapestries. It was in the richly dyed fabrics of floor cushions and pillows, the foraged metal bowls with intricate silver detailing that held fruits Johnny fed you with.

Fruits that he summoned after you had explained the drought and how you ended up locked in the holy shelter. You chewed on your berry, leaning against him as he pulled you to his side once you sat. The god of the West absentmindedly brushed your arm or hand like he couldn’t help it, needing your skin like a lifeline. He looked at you similarly, leaning forward as you spoke, quietly nodding or humming under his breath, staring at you like you spoke words of newfound wisdom that were important to him. Words he held deep in his heart.

“I am sorry. You might think these problems in the village bellow you, as a god,” You murmured, bashful under his intensity. Setting your meal of fruits and other delicacies aside by your water glass, you let the god pull you into his side once more. “Drought and intrapersonal strife are not new in this world- certainly won’t end anytime soon either.”

“I ken what ye mean, Fawn,” Johnny kissed your hair as you turned into his chest, more so laying on top of the god. His hand slid down to your back, continually moving. “But Kyle was the one to start the drought. These are not normal climate patterns or political drama; they come from us because we protect ours. And you are ours, no?”

You blinked, lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. You understood the gods had wanted you. You wanted the gods in return. But the gods came and went with the seasons, only able to be in the village one at a time, Kyle had once told you. Not all gods were as peaceful as the four who loved and cherished one another. Allowing the gods to gather in groups in mortal lands would destroy people, animals, and the Earth.

“Have I not dedicated my life to the service of the gods?” You questioned. “I belong to you, but you are a god- gods. You cannot belong to me, a mortal.”

Soap hummed, kissing your forehead before saying, “Willne stop us from being loyal to ye. But you need to ask for help, Fawn. We canne help without mortal consent. If either of those haughty bastards lay a hand on ye again,” He tipped your chin up and brushed his nose against yours as he spoke. “I’ll kill them myself. I’ll hunt down their soul in the other world and kill it until nothing is left of them or their legacy.”

A breath caught in your throat. The god of Summer was serious, bluntly stating how he would end the most immortal parts of a human for you. You opened your mouth once, twice, three times to find the correct words to thank him, but it did not matter. His lip quirked into a smirk, knowing he had rendered you speechless. You scoffed quietly in disbelief yourself, smiling, as you reached forward and kissed him, crawling into his lap.

“Mmf, Kyle dinne say you were this eager,” Johnny teased between kisses, eagerly pulling at your hips to be closer.

“I learned it from Kyle,” You giggled, tugging the hem of your skirts to straddle the god of the West. Johnny laughed, finding his hands beneath your skirts, slithering to knee the softest parts of your legs and hips.

“That I believe, but no more eager than me. Might say he learned it from me, Fawn,” He muttered between kisses along your neck until his hands slid to your ass, groping you while pulling you forward, cunt flush with his aching cock. You inhaled sharply, looping your arms around his neck as you gave a gentle rock of your hips.

“Go on, Fawn, take what ye need,” Soap encouraged, pulling your robes from your body with reverence for the material and laying it on the floor with care. His eyes flickered to your breasts, hands itching up to cup your breasts as he mouthed at your nipple. Closing your eyes, your hips continued their gentle grind as he licked and sucked and nipped your skin. His hips started to roll, his cock pulsing under your slick heat.

“Wanna ride you, Johnny,” You muttered as you slid your hand to his cock, stroking him with slow, twisting motions. The god tilted his head forward, resting it on your neck as he groaned.

“Ye could ask to kill me, and I would say yes,” He chuckled.

“Wouldn’t want that. Whose pretty cock would I get to sit on, then?” You giggled. “Besides, you’re not the one I want dead.” Rising to your knees, Johnny moved his hands to your hips and leaned back to watch you sink on him with a groan.

“Ye, ye want someone dead?” Johnny cursed as he throbbed inside of your slick pussy.

“Thought it was obvious, darling,” You breathed, letting your hips come flush to his thighs.

Legs settling to his sides, you sat there momentarily, soaking in the feeling of being connected to the god. He radiated heat, chest pressing against your own until your hearts beat a wild back and forth, call and response. His hand slid along your spine as the other cupped your cheek to bring your lips to his.

Just as it had been with John and Kyle, when the sun rose, and the village awoke, so too would Johnny leave. The infinite curtain of the universe had once separated your two worlds of divinity and morality. Still, it had been risen for you to peek into, touching and tasking the tremendous edges of the divine.

“I adore you,” You whispered against his lips. “Come what may in the morning, I adore you.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it, Fawn,” Johnny teased, smirking. “Move those hips, Gaz won’t shut up about.” He smacked your ass, making you squeak and jolt, but his hands pushed your hips back down. Moaning, you tangled your hands in his hair as he bent his head to play with your tits.

“Fuck, Johnny,” You gasped as he moved a hand to your clit, following the tilt of your pelvis until that familiar heat simmered in your abdomen.

“Feel good, Fawn? Yer choking my cock, love.” Bending his knees, he planted a hand behind himself as an anchor and thrust his hips up, taking the breath from your lungs. Since he couldn’t rub your clit anymore, you rubbed yourself, clenching tighter and tighter as the heat in your body rose.

“Our good little mortal,” Johnny groaned. “So pretty dressed in her robes Price gifted you. Bet you would be prettier spread out on my altar, huh? Dripping on the cloth as I watch you gift me orgasms.”

“I,” You whined at a harsher thrust, hips chasing his for more.

“Dinne fash, Fawn. We all will get our orgasms from you, altar or not. You’re too beautiful not to be blissed out before us.”

Your body tightened. Wetness gushed around his cock as you came unexpectedly from his mouth. Your eyelids blurred with black and white streaks as blood rushed to your head. In all of it was Johnny’s steady thrusts and your slowing rubs, dragging you through your orgasm. Johnny grunted and came, watching his cum spurt along your folds.

You both laid back on the floor to catch your breaths, Johnny’s cock still standing at attention. Brushing your head down to the ends of your hair, he kissed you gently.

“We adore you too, Fawn. So much,” Johnny whispered. “Orgasms on our altar or not,” He joked.

“Well, that’s good. I’m sure plenty of women in the village would offer it if they knew.”

“Wouldne want them, just yours. Few in your village believe like you do. We don’t care for offerings made out of obligation.” Johnny stretched his arms up, bracketing them behind his head. “Price is thinking of how to set things right in your village. But it is difficult.”

“A good many things in life are difficult,” You agreed. “It just depends on the price you are willing to pay for peace.”

It came about Wednesday morning. You had escaped the temple days before with help from the god of Summer to find your home, thankfully untouched by the elders or their dogs. Remaining in your home or the wilds of the woods, clouds slowly gathered. Soap visited you as he could with gifts of food to sustain you and other necessities, so you did not have to go to market, but the darkness gathered.

When the storms came, winds carried the dust like leaves, pelting rocks at your walls. Thunder cracked open the skies and earth, shaking the home’s foundations. You prayed through the storm, thanking the god of summer for rain and praying that your village would not be flooded.

Most said it was an unfortunate coincidence when Phillip Graves’ home got struck and sparked like kindling.

Some said his home alight in the rain was as moving as the dawn of a new day, a reminder of nature’s might.

The smoldering embers of Phillip Graves’ home told another story as they pointed to the West, marking this as the divine punishment for his despicable behavior. That night, when Johnny entered your home, he gifted you a small cloth bag of charcoal, promising you the gods were not done working in your village.

Me again! Hope y'all enjoyed. Don't forget to comment/reblog.

If anyone knows how to format here, could you tell me how to get an extra space between paragraphs? Having everything scrunched together is driving me nuts. When I try manually, the format reverts to the original. Any tips/tricks are welcome :)

[minhosimthings]

Elysian || 18+

Synopsis: you never wanted to fall for the only son of the family yours hated. And yet you did.

Pairings: Mafia boss!Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, mentions of dagger, kind of knife play?, P in v sex, fingering, angst, fluff, forbiddened love, mafia boss au, mention of poison, blood, food and alcohol, reader wears a dress, implied mental abuse, fluffy at the end but it's really angsty in the middle sorry yall

A/N: ahhh this took a lot of time to write because I wanted everything to be PERFECT. and in my opinion this is the best shit I've ever written Mona 2am brain go burr. Also this is dedicated to my beloved @astraystayyh and Hyunjin's photoshoots which have made me go feral approximately 143 times

Red.

You remembered it as a hibiscus, decorating the gardens of your family's estate as child. You remembered it as the ugly hue of your grandmother's rug, the only thing you'd fixate on whenever the stench of blood filled your nose. You remembered it as your family's emblem, in a kingdom of money and roses and whatnot. You remembered red as death.

But you never thought you would have remembered red as the colour which outlined the shadows of the painting in front you.

You never though red would remind you of one of your most favourite persons ever, of his plump pink lips and gorgeous waterfall of hair you would decorate with rose petals anyday.

You never thought red would remind you of Hwang Hyunjin.

Red, as the multifaceted colour it is, fascinated you. It was like an idea in your head, hard to drive out, impossible to kill. What was red truly? What shades did it hide?

Red as a ladybug or red as a lobster? Red as a tulip or red as red as a new bride's cheeks? Red as lipstick or red as a gown? Red as roses or red as blood?

Red as the dominating colour of Hyunjin's palette was the correct answer to you most of the time.

You could recall the first time you had ever met him. Five months ago or had it been a year? You didn't remember much, just the fact that Hwang Hyunjin saved you, the 'enemy' from a bullet wound when he could have let you rot and made his family proud. The Hwangs were nefarious for their merciless behaviour, and yet you found in Hyunjin, a different kind of warmer mercy.

A mercy which you preferred because no one else gave it to you.

And that was how you found comfort in Hyunjin, a sense of familiarity that made you believe that you could be your true self with him and not just another painted version of you. Granted, he did paint you, in various shades of golds, violets and reds.

Painstaking as they were, you loved your short lived secret sessions with him. He was like a thief, quietly sneaking in through a window, and stealing away your heart with his demeanor.

Both of you came from families who despised each other, there was a certain Romeo-Juliet element to it all that both amused and frightened you.

But no matter what thing troubled you, you always had your memories with him to come back to. Especially those soft tender moments when you realised how much you craved a normal life away from the money and the blood.

You remembered one moment better than most others. It was the first time you said the poisonous word. It was that time in Italy...or was it Belgium? All you seemed to actually recall was the time you first walked into the love which Hyunjin gave you.

Dark chocolate eyes flickered over your naked body as it sunk beneath warm water, a bottle of liquid soap shone a bit in the candlelight as Hyunjin poured it into your tub. His ethereal figure was like a God in the pale moonlight coming from the tiny window.

“Just a little something extra to provide you some… relief,” he smiled, dipping his elegant hand into the waters to stir it around.

Hyunjin knew you were an assassin, carefully molded into one by your family, nevertheless he saw more than what he was supposed to. He saw you as a human instead. A human who was tired of all the blood she had spilt.

Your body easing into the water, you barely noticed the ripples of Hyunjin slipping his carved body beside you. It barely registered, his arm wrapping around you, the warm water pouring down your neck to rinse off the blood, the trickles that run down your face as he wets your hair and washed it clean of sweat and more.

You couldn't remember the last time you had felt like this, so relaxed so taken care of. So you said it, you said the word without a moment's waste.

"I love you" you had blurted out without a second thought, "I love you, Hwang Hyunjin." The name mattered to you in ways you hadn't ever fathomed before.

And the worst thing was he said it back. With a kiss to imprint it.

And now here you were, eyes flickering between the ceiling and each other. The warm light of the massive ballroom shone its glory onto you as you clutched your champagne tight to your bosom, making sure to distract yourself with it, whenever your stolen glances at Hyunjin were caught by someone.

You hadn't been forced to attend the ball by any means by your family, in fact you volunteered for it. You had waited eagerly for your target's name, your mother stressed that it was an important one, and as the quietest daughter it would have been easy for you to kill in plain sight and prove once and for all to your father that you were ready to take over as the heir to his 'buisness'. Maybe you'd finally have the fame and the power you craved off as a child, like some starved deer eating its own kind.

But now, you clutched the tiny vile of hemlock close to your hip, carefully dropping it into your pocket, all the while staring at Hyunjin across the room, who was laughing with someone you recognised as a painter Hyunjin adored. His raucous yet polite laughter, gorgeous strands of hair framing his face, your heart sobbed at the thought of slipping poison into his veins.

If you had even a modicum of respect for your own head, maybe you would have sneaked the hemlock into his drink at the slightest moment. Unfortunately though, you didn't and so it came to be that you resorted to dissecting a serene painting until hopefully Hyunjin ultimately noticed you.

The painting fascinated you, it was one you hadn't ever seen before. Dark blue traced the outlines two people, with grey hair and wisened foreheads, holding hands through a rough brown canvas. You smiled at the painting before taking a sip of your champagne. Love, eternally, was one of Hyunjin's most beloved topics to waste all his blue paint on.

Words rushed through your mind as your eyes traced each brushstroke. Whips of harsh sentences and scenes of conversations, contrasting the soft daubs of paint, flashed in front of your eyes.

'The Parks? Mum I can't do that!'

'You want to be useful to this family? Marry him and you'll be more than useful'

'But Mum...!'

'You think you have a say in this? Shut up and do what's good for that useless head of yours'

"Admiring my work, my love?"

You flinched slightly at the different voice, which sounded like spring rain and lily pads. Spinning on your heel to face the source of the voice, you found yourself melting into a pair of beautiful eyes, the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they ever bothered to steal pieces of art. His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned you over with nothing more than a warm smile.

"What?" Hyunjin chuckled, seeing you stare at him, "Did I get fondue on my lips again?"

"No, just..." You trailed off, not finding the correct words, "You look good."

"As you do, my sweet." Hyunjin's hand took yours and brought it up to his lips, "God, I wish I could paint you right here."

"Hyunjin," you gave him a playful look, unsure of whether or not it was hiding your fright, what if someone saw?

Hyunjin's arms went to your waist, pulling you closer to him, which felt like syrup wafting through the air, sweet with a touch of familiarity. He leaned in, you felt his hot breath on your neck as he whispered, "None of your family or their spies are here don't worry."

You took in a shaky breath, as you felt his long, dainty fingers reaching up your thigh, fiddling with something strapped tightly to it. Hyunjin smiled into your neck, as he continued to fiddle with the leather.

"That's how they plan to kill me?" He chuckled, "With a dagger strapped to the ravishing thigh of the love of my life?"

"That's just Plan B." You whispered, shoving his hand off gently, as your eye caught a waiter in the corner glancing at you and Hyunjin, "Just in case the hemlock doesn't work."

"Willing to test that theory?" Hyunjin stepped away from you, leaving your body colder than you wished. His cocky smile, his raised brow and relaxed demeanour, he was like a like a cat lounging in a garden, at peace with watching the world pass on.

"In front of everyone?" You questioned, "don't tell me the only son of the Hwangs is becoming soft for someone like me."

Hyunjin's mouth stretched lazily as he grinned at you, extending a hand for you to take.

"Let's go somewhere private?" He asked, not giving you time to answer as he basically dragged you across the hall, where magnificent stairs led to the upper floors of the luxurious mansion. Gossiping eyes followed your movements, well, more precisely, Hyunjin's movements, as he led you up the stairs, making sure not to step on your tartine dress, as you carried the fabric behind you with regal grace.

"Now," Hyunjin smirked as you climbed onto the last step, now well hidden from the party downstairs, "Shall we?" And he broke into a run, dragging you behind him, giggling maniacally like a child in the summer. You were sure you heard your dress rip, but you had not a care as you ran with Hyunjin down the corridor, to the last door, his bedroom. The walls of the corridors were lined with paintings, Hyunjin's evidently, fading edges of canvases standing out against the ruby of the wall paint and the carpeted floor. You recognised each and every painting. A painting of a woman amongst daffodils, another of the same woman in an abandoned mansion which Hyunjin had always told you would be that women's one day. The day he married that woman to be specific.

'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his family when they asked him who she was. 'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his patrons when they asked who she was. 'You', Hyunjin told you when you asked, though you knew, but you still questioned him, in between chaste kisses on the neck and giggles. Hyunjin came to a halt in front of the oak carved door, a tiny metal label on top spelling his name in cursive letters.

"How about we put that dagger to use then?" Hyunjin pressed your back against the door in no time, devouring your being as he tasted the honey of your elysian lips. His hands went again, to your thigh, fumbling to take the dagger out, but you were quicker in your actions. Your hand had been resting on the door's handle, and as you tugged on it, both of you fell back into the room, lips never wanting to leave each other's company.

"Jinnie," you made a sound of pleasure as you pulled away from him, suddenly aware of the audible music coming from downstairs, "Maybe not now."

"Come now love," Hyunjin laughed, striding into the room, where painting supplies lay cluttered next to a pristinely made bed, "Don't say that after we escaped from the prying eyes of everyone downstairs."

"Hyunjin," you looked at him with reprimanding eyes, how could you tell him the actual reason? "Don't you think it'd be suspicious to my family if I return today with messed up hair and a torn silken dress after merely slipping poison into someone's champagne?" How could you tell him to make you stop falling more for him? "This shit is expensive you know."

"Would it not be more dangerous if you were to return without killing the Hwang family's brightest hope?" Hyunjin's voice, though low, spoke it's volume, as he removed his coat, throwing it onto an empty chair.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward Hyunjin, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around his hair, a palpable tension filled the space between you.

His ethereal eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Without even a moment of hesitation, you kissed him.

Hyunjin's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of his soft hair, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer.

He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"so pretty..." he mutters, taking in the sight of your body.

Hyunjin's lips attach to your skin, leaving deep marks of love all over which wouldn't go away for days now. You stifled your moan, as his lips sucked on your collarbone, you could feel his erection pressing through his pants to your core, making you accidentally whimper.

Hyunjin's ringed hands made their way up your right thigh, the slit in your dress allowing him to caress the soft skin, the cold metal of the ruby created dagger hitting his skin like soft cotton to a wound.

He couldn't explain how attractive it was to him, the carved golden hilt, the blood red jewel in the centre, and the carefully shaped blade of the dagger, decorating his most favourite muse. You were a painting come to life for him.

You were his painting, his magnum opus, a canvas as precious as an angel's wing.

Your mind, on the other hand, was racing at a hundred miles per the hour. How could you tell him? How could you tell him the truth he'd always known? That your love was one the stars crossed each other to find?

You draw him into another uncertain kiss, this one your confused mind didn't think much about, and trailed a hand up the smooth skin of his exposed chest. Hyunjin signs into your mouth and runs both his hands down your sides, pausing to squeeze your thigh, and the cold blade pressed against your skin again.

“My love, that was by far one of the most sexy things I’ve ever seen.” Voice low and seductive, your lips barely pulling away from him. "I really can't believe you chose this one out of all. You know it's my gift don't you?"

"Hyunjin..." You trailed off, impatiently pulling away from his lips, "we shouldn't, we really shouldn't."

"Why not love?" Hyunjin's lips pressed against yours again morphing into a gentler kiss, he was evidently trying to calm you down.

"Hyunjin please don't." You begged with him, as if you were begging for your mind to stop itself before you went too far. You had to stop falling for him before it was too late. And yet how could you?

"Princess-" Hyunjin began before looking at you with worried eyes, "You're scaring me what's wrong? You can talk to me."

"What's wrong is we shouldn't be doing this." You tried to feign disgust, but all that came out was pathetic love for Hyunjin, 'Don't let me fall in love again' was what you had meant to say.

"Princess—"

"No!" You all as but screamed, forgetting that you were currently above a party filled with guns and roses, Hyunjin stood shocked in front of you at your sudden outburst, the air around you stilled, as words came out like vomit.

"listen, I am to get married to the Park family's eldest son, and if anyone, anyone, finds out about this," you stopped and took in a breath, "we're dead, Hyunjin, both of us! Or worse shit I can't even fathom to think about!" You took a breath at every word, stressing each note like a violin's vibrato, "And I'd really fucking take this poison myself rather than living in a world where everything tries to stop us from being together. So, please Hyunjin," your eyes held whispers of pained love, "Don't let me fall into this depth of love, because I just know I can never climb out."

The silence that overtook the room was heavy, heavier than you would have liked. You could have endured bullet heads, burn marks, fractures, but this was the greatest wound of all. The greatest pain you'd endured was the one you had always been deprived of.

Love, had it always been such a sin?

Your head felt dizzy as you say down on the bed, letting the soft material of the cover sink in. The dagger round your thigh and the air round your being felt tighter. You felt as if you could have drawn oceans of blood at that moment.

"Love," his voice echoed through your entire being, "look at me.

Your head turned to look up at him, as his hands quickly straddled you onto his lap, one of them squeezing your right thigh, eliciting a quiet moan out of you.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The ethereal, devilish angel, Hwang Hyunjin had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

"Hyunjin I-"

"I don't care what or who comes in our way. You, my dearest, are mine, and mine alone." Hyunjin growled into your ear, his anger would never seep through to you but on certain occasions it would certainly scare you, the way his anger was cold as an icicle, rather than fiery like a volcano.

A groan rumbles through Hyunjin's chest, and he dips down to give a playful bite to your bottom lip, earning a squeak you will deny if asked about later.

One of his hands moves down to delicately play with your breast, kneading softly before pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. You break the kiss with a breathless gasp, tugging at Hyunjin’s roots, forcing a ragged groan from him. Hyunjin wastes no time to pepper kisses down the column of your neck. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before he grabbed you by the waist and rubbed his cock up against you. He could feel heat settle in his body as his cock throbbed for you. He wanted you, he needed you more than he needed air. And he was more than willing to let you know that.

Stripping off your clothes and throwing it to the side, Hyunjin climbed up the bed and grabbed your hand on the way, hauling you under him. He wasted no time in lining himself up with you, throwing his head back in a groan as your pussy enveloped him.

Hyunjin groaned through grit teeth as he pushed his cock into you. You tensed and he groaned louder, he held onto the bed under you and moved all the way inside of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly as he started to thrust. You moaned into his skin as he moved against you.

His mouth went to your neck, leaving dark scars there. His teeth hit the ruby of your necklace, as he took it in his mouth and tugged at it, making you gasp loudly.

Your body felt numb but in a pleasurable way. You could only lie there and accept all the pleasure that he was giving you. He kissed your soft face, he could feel your racing heartbeat under your skin. His face went back to your neck where he left more bruises on the flesh. He felt heat through his body as the pleasure coursed through his veins. It was arousing, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling.

"You're mine." Hyunjin growled through a symphony of soft sighs, "I will never let anything get in between us, alright?"

The only response he got was a pleasured moan escaping from your lips, but he took it. He took pride in the way he could make you feel like this.

Your head fills with pleasures, not a single thought could form in your head. “Fuck you feel so good doll” he groans holding your hips down and slamming deeper inside you. “G-god Hyunjin! Feels…s-so good!” You cry.

Your eyes begin to roll back feeling how good he felt. His tip hitting your G-spot making you ready to cum just as fast as before. “H-Hyune fuck I’m gonna c-“ you are interrupted by his hand gripping your throat, choking you.

“Fuck baby you got wetter just from that… god you're so good” his mixture of degradation and praise had your body a dripping, desperate mess. You couldn’t believe the hold he had over you.

His breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. His tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the bed with the sheer snap of his hips. Your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

He felt you trembling hard, pulsing around his cock as you got close to cumming. He works himself deeper inside you, stroking all the places you need to reach that high point. A few more thrusts and you burst. You gush around him with a long whine.

You squirm and buck as he holds you in place and keeps rutting into you until it becomes too much for him. He also lets loose and shoots his cum inside you. He fucks it into you a bit, before slowly pulling out.

Slightly panting and out of breath, Hyunjin's figure could be seen gracefully outlined by the moon's tears penetrating through the tall, stained windows. He gets up and fetches a towel, gently cleaning you up as your eyes flickered between sleep and consciousness.

"Are you alright, love?" He questioned you, his fingers tracing shapes on your hips as he layed down beside you again, clearly not in the mood for wearing his clothes. Neither were you, so you turned your body towards him, allowing him to wrap you into the cocoon of his warm muscles. Laying your head on his chest, you felt his hand, once again, reaching for your thigh.

"You really do like that dagger don't you?" You laughed, as he caressed the metal.

"You should wear it more often, maybe for a painting?" Hyunjin's suggested, a smile like the air after rain, fresh with the stench of earth and dew, imprinted on his face.

"Hyunjin I-", you began, taking a breath before continuing, "What about—about my family?"

You swore you could have heard Hyunjin gently scoff, but you ignored it as he brought you closer to him, the space in between you practically empty.

"Stay here for tonight." Hyunjin said, "and if they come in search of their 'beloved' daughter," he scoffed once again, muttering a curse underneath his breath, "I'll tell them I stole her away from her tower."

"More like stole her dagger away." You giggled, finding his obsession with the strap on your thigh amusing. Hyunjin merely smiled at that, and silence fell again.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Red wasn't that bad of a colour after all. Not when it reminded you of Hyunjin, not when it reminded you of secret kisses and poisoned paintings, and certainly not when it reminded you of love.

"I love you too, Hyunjin."

[takusan-no-ai]

My Hubby calls Shotgun

PAIRING: Piper x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: Phaethon is shocked when Piper’s husband makes an appearance.

Belle and Wise drove their car into The Outer Ring, with their destination being Blazewood. The Sons of Calydon had a new commission for Phaethon to aid in. “Fairy, remind me what Piper needed our help with again?” Wise asked Fairy.

“Of course. As my assistants it is only natural that I help you remember basic information.” Fairy sassed. Wise and Belle rolled their eyes and played along.

“Yes, yes, we’re stupid and need your help, Fairy.” Belle replied. In an instant fairy’s voice echoed throughout the vehicle as they pulled up towards Blazewood.

“Piper requested that Phaethon help retrieve lost cargo from inside a further out hollow; according to witnesses, bandits and ethereals were spotted nearby.” They finally pulled into a stop, parking just outside of Cheesetopia. The siblings exited the car, with Piper and Lighter waiting for them.

Lighter nodded for them to come over whilst Piper lazed around in her truck. “Proxies. Thanks for coming out here. Let’s just cut to the chase and get that cargo; those supplies are essential to the economy of Blazewood, and by association, the Sons of Calydon.” Lighter said. Belle already set up Eous, while Wise spoke with Piper.

“Ooh, and by the way proxies,” Piper put her truck into drive while Eous got in the passenger’s seat, “this is a really important commission for me, so I’m gonna be on my a-game.”

Belle and Wise look visibly shaken by the news; even Lighter cocks his head to the side. Piper yawns, “Ready, proxy?”.

Not long after, Piper parks her truck inside the hollow, now in front of the flipped over truck. “We got here pretty fast. All thanks to our hard working proxy!” Piper cheers on Eous, who was currently controlled by Belle.

Lighter swiftly hopped out the truck, immediately running off to fight against the gathering ethereals and fleeing thugs. Piper soon joins in with more energy than usual. The enemies are quickly dealt with, and Lighter proceeded to pack the cargo into Piper’s vehicle.

Eous walked up to Piper, who was currently looking at the drivers seat of the flipped truck. “Everything okay Pipe—WHOA!” Belle exclaimed, almost disconnecting from Eous in shock.

“Ahh, good. He’s just sleep’n. I could really use some good ZZZ’s myself.” Piper said while stretching, cuddling close to the passed out man before her.

Lighter walked over, having now finished packing up the cargo. “So he’s why you were so anxious for Phaethon to get here.” Eous looked between the two calydon members.

“I’m clearly missing some important details here!” Belle said.

“Yeah, who is that guy?” Wise asked, looking over Belle’s shoulder.

…

…

…

“He’s her WHAT?! I didn’t even know Piper was married!” Belle shouted with excitement. They had now returned to Blazewood, with the sleeping man who was called (Y/N), sitting beside his beloved wife.

“You youngsters get shocked over the littlest things. We’ve only been married for a few years. And we’ve only known you for a few weeks. It’s only natural you wouldn’t know.” Piper waved off the siblings clear as day surprise.

“So, (Y/N), why did you join the Sons of Calydon?” Wise asked curiously.

(Y/N) cracked his neck before leaning back in his chair, tiredness evident on his face.

“Cuz I won a bet and became Mr. Wheel.”

“?!” Wise and Belle were left even more confused. Meanwhile, Piper and (Y/N) just curled into each other without a care in the world.

- Fin

[marwyn]

The storyline concerning Lyanna and Rhaegar strikingly resembles an Arthurian tale present in various forms, notably Thomas Chestre’s Middle English adaptation Sir Launfal, but gender-swapped. To explain, I’ll start with the Tourney at Harrenhal:

But the next morning, when the heralds blew their trumpets and the king took his seat, only two champions appeared. The Knight of the Laughing Tree had vanished. The king was wroth, and even sent his son the dragon prince to seek the man, but all they ever found was his painted shield, hanging abandoned in a tree. It was the dragon prince who won that tourney in the end. (ASOS, Bran II)

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. […] Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses. (AGOT, Ned XV)

I’m sure the following won’t be news to asoiaf veterans, but for the sake of comparison let’s lay it all out. It hardly seems an accident that the infamous laurel happened to be made of a flower beloved of its recipient, and thus most likely Rhaegar did in fact find the Knight of the Laughing Tree, who turned out to be one Lyanna Stark; they conversed, and since she had had to flee the tourney and thus forfeit her chance of winning, he decided to win it himself in order to honor her publicly in the only way possible by crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty (not a particularly strategic move, but I have to say that I appreciate the sort of fairy-tale logic of it all); and finally, if you believe that she went on to run away with him willingly, they may have also made plans to secretly correspond in the future. With all of this in mind let’s take a look at some of the pertinent story beats of Sir Launfal:

Launfal rides off alone into a forest and rests under a tree

Two maidens approach and invite him to speak to their lady Tryamour in her pavilion

Tryamour is the ethereally beautiful daughter of the powerful fairy king of the west

The knight and the fairy princess profess their love for one another, she bestows upon him several gifts, and they set up a way to secretly correspond from then onward.

Rhaegar may be a less obvious choice than Lyanna “Knight of the Laughing Tree” Stark for comparison to a character of the opposite gender, but the gender paradigm in Sir Launfal is already an interesting one given that the fairy princess provides financially for her knight lover and ultimately rescues him as if he’s a damsel in distress (more on this later). Bran’s response to Meera’s story also contains a sly hint:

It was a good story, Bran decided after thinking about it a moment or two. “Then what happened? Did the Knight of the Laughing Tree win the tourney and marry a princess?” (ASOS, Bran II)

Furthermore, Rhaegar had also experienced some friction in regard to his prescribed Westerosi gender role, similarly expressed by his relationship to armament:

As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father’s knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’ (ASOS, Daenerys I)

“Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it.…” (AGOT, Arya II)

Now let’s take a look at why Lyanna and Launfal might have decided to run away with the royals they met in the woods.

“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” (AGOT, Ned IX)

Launfal and other noble knights, however, did not like [the future queen Guenevere], for the lady had a reputation for having lovers besides her lord too numerous to count. (Sir Launfal, trans. James Weldon)

Soon enough Launfal finds himself the unwelcome focus of the queen’s amorous intent and his refusal goes very poorly. He is saved when his princess lover rides up to Camelot and takes him away to the land of the fairies, leaving naught but a rumor in their wake:

Every year upon a certain day people can hear Launfal’s steed neigh and see him. Whosoever desires to joust and keep their armour trim in tournament or fight can find his match with Sir Launfal, the knight. (Ibid.)

Which of course tracks nicely with the happenings at Harrenhal:

The mystery knight dipped his lance before the king and rode to the end of the lists, where the five champions had their pavilions. […] The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called. (ASOS, Bran II)

Thus, the depiction of Lyanna and Rhaegar is quite metatextual in that they’re something of an in-universe fairy tale and one which strongly relates to the medieval chivalric romance tradition in our world. Was it love at first sight as in Sir Launfal? Almost certainly not, but it seems clear to me that they had a strong connection from the start and that he eventually helped her escape the arranged marriage to Robert which she clearly did not want.

Art credit: an illustration of Launfal and Tryamour by Kinuko Y. Craft

[faeriichaii]

Masterlist

A/N: This is my Masterlist filled with the stories I have written so far 💕 I will add other fandoms to my list soon but feel welcome to request anyone from lotr or hobbit🤭 I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them!!

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა Requests: Closed (For now <3) ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა Fluff: ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა Angst: ☂ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა Smut: ☆ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The Fellowship:

How they realise their feelings: ♡

Aragorn:

Worthy Enough: ♡ Summary: Aragorn slowly begins to understand you and tries to find out even more about you

Legolas:

Softest Touch: ♡ Summary: After looking at the etheral elven prince, you have the urge to weave your fingers through his silken hair, leading to more than just simple hair braiding.

Music to my ears: ♡ Summary: A trip to the tavern results in you not just winning new fans over with your music, but also winning the heart of a certain elven prince.

Immunity: ♡ Summary: Being sick is not fun, especially when you see Legolas' panicked gaze at your condition, which seems to get worse as the days pass by.

Words like Poison: ☂♡ Summary: Your beloved prince is stressed and busy with his duties. So, when you approach him to try and lighten the mood, he lets his frustration out on you.

Braiding Together: ♡ Summary: You have always received compliments for your cute braids, so you decided to offer the hobbits to braid their hair. However, Legolas really doesn't understand, why you would do that.

Lily: ☂♡ Summary: Being a princess with a gruesome father as a king makes you only wish to run away. So you do and run directly into the arms of an ethereal prince

Blessing: ♡ Summary: The journey of the fellowship ended a long time ago and suddenly you receive the invitation of the prince to join him in Mirkwood, meeting his father. But how will Thranduil react to seeing his sons best friend being a dwarf and his betrothed being an Avari?

Sensitive: ♡☆ Summary: You knew that Legolas could endure quite a lot, but what you did not expect is his reaction to touching his pointy ears

Little Quirks: ♡ Summary: The elven prince for some reason couldn't stop staring at you, which in return made you confused and very curious, as to why his eyes were constantly following you around.

Stormy Patrol: ♡ Summary: Tauriel and you were out on patrol without Legolas. But a storm takes you by surprise, resulting in you getting lost in the dark forest.

Sunkissed: ♡ Summary: You have been in love with the elven prince since quite a time, but never told him about it. Your sister Arwen however, is determined to change the course of your relationship with Legolas.

Keep Quiet: ☆ Summary: You seem to have teased your husband Legolas a little too long during one important meeting, so he teaches you a lesson.

Thorin:

A Part From Home: ♡ Summary: Tagging along for an adventure with Gandalf, you didn't expect to run into people that remind you of your lost home.

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

There's just Inches in between us: ☆♡ Summary: You were the princess of another kingdom, meant to marry none other than the dwarven King Thorin from the lonely mountain. You rarely get the chance to talk to him and decide to visit him the night before the wedding, asking him to give you some attention.

Symphony of Your Life: ♡ Summary: Thorin went to visit his old friend Bilbo in the Shire once more, without expecting to be enchanted by a melodic voice that fills not just his ears but also his heart.

Fading Light: ♡☂ Summary: Thorin and you, his daughter on your journey to Erebor. And also the journey of him as a single father watching his princess grow up.

Kili:

Hija de la Luna Series (warnings: none so far): Prologue; Chapter I

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

My Treasure: ♡ Summary: You have been travelling the sea for years on your wonderful ship with your crew, so you are a bit curious, when you find a bunch of dwarves hiding away in fish barrels.

Feathers: ♡ Summary: Joining the company on their quest, you knew to expect possible danger on the way. What you did not expect are the feelings between you and the prince.

My Sweet Valentine: ♡ Summary: You spent your morning hours with the wonderful dwarf prince Kili

Braiding Lessons: ♡ Summary: You always knew dwarves had various beautiful braids, but how come Kili doesn't? So one night you decide to change that and help him out.

Fili:

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

Thranduil:

Bookworm: ☆ Summary: Legolas let the secret of a restricted area in the library slip, which makes you of course very curious. So after deciding to enter the forbidden part, you get caught by none other than the elven king himself.

[thebunnednun]

In the Arms of a Stranger Charlotte Katakuri x Bride! Reader (Part 1)

He's been popping up on my timeline for a while so I think that means he's getting a series. Pretend he's younger, or don't.

This is gonna be a long one folks.

Spolier: Reader ate the "Kage Kage no Mi" fruit.

Summary:

Kidnapped from the safety of your Straw Hat family and drugged into a forced marriage as a cruel act of revenge by Big Mom, you find yourself in a luxurious yet suffocating room with Charlotte Katakuri, the formidable son of your captor. Fear and desperation grip your heart, but amidst the terror, an unexpected truce begins to form.

As Katakuri reveals his own discomfort with the marriage and vows to protect you, a fragile bond develops. Together, you navigate the tension and uncertainty, finding solace in each other's presence.

In the midst of vulnerability and shared fears, even in the darkest times, unexpected comfort and trust can emerge.

Now, on with the show!!~

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The opulent grand hall reverberated with the lively chatter of guests and the melodious clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere of celebration and merriment. However, amidst the splendor, [Name] couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of displacement.

Her thoughts continuously gravitated back to her beloved Straw Hat family, from whom she had been abruptly separated due to this arranged marriage. All you could remember was being stolen in the night and being presented before a large pink woman.

The entire ceremony had unfolded like a hazy dream, and now, as the night descended, it marked the beginning of their wedding night.

Your knowledge of Charlotte Katakuri, your enigmatic new husband, was shrouded in intimidating rumors, leaving you feeling apprehensive.

'Fucking shit.'

The heavy oak door to their lavishly adorned chamber clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing ominously in the vast space. Silence descended like a suffocating blanket, pressing down on you with palpable weight. Your breath caught in your throat as you stood in the center of opulence, surrounded by the extravagant display of wealth.

The room exuded grandeur at every turn—the king-sized bed, adorned with layers of sumptuous silk, beckoned invitingly, yet it felt more like a throne of isolation than a place of rest. Ornate furniture, carved with intricate designs, adorned the spacious chamber, each piece a testament to extravagance. The soft glow of the dimly lit chandeliers cast ethereal shadows across the room, adding to the surreal atmosphere.

But amidst the splendor, there was a profound sense of unease, a feeling of being ensnared in a gilded cage. Despite the luxurious trappings, the room felt suffocating, each embellishment serving as a reminder of the confinement you found yourself in. The air seemed heavy with unspoken tension, and the silence seemed to magnify your solitude.

Your gaze flitted around the room, seeking solace in its lavish décor, but finding none. Every corner seemed to echo with a sense of captivity, each ornamental detail serving as a stark contrast to the freedom you longed for. Your heart ached with longing, yearning for the warmth and familiarity of your Straw Hat family, where safety and love awaited.

In this ostentatious chamber, you felt like a trapped bird, yearning to spread your wings and soar back to where you belonged. The opulence that surrounded you only served to emphasize the stark reality of your confinement, amplifying your desire to break free from this golden prison and return to the embrace of those who cherished you most.

In a moment of sheer panic, you found yourself drawn to the large bed dominating the center of the room. Instinct took over as you dropped to your knees, your movements frantic and unthinking. With trembling hands, you crawled beneath the bed, seeking refuge in the shadowy space beneath its expanse. The rapid thudding of your heart reverberated in your ears, a deafening drumbeat of fear that seemed to echo through the room.

As you huddled beneath the bed, your breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhale feeling like a struggle against the weight of impending doom. The confined space offered little solace, but you clung to it desperately, your body curling into a tight ball as if seeking protection from the encroaching darkness.

In the dimness beneath the bed, the world outside seemed distant and unreal, as if you had retreated into a realm of your own making. The shadows enveloped you like a comforting cloak, shielding you from the harsh reality that lurked beyond the confines of your hiding place.

Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, the urgency of the situation pressing down on you like a heavyweight. You couldn't stay here, couldn't bear the thought of what awaited you on this dreaded night. Your only thought was to find your friends, to seek refuge in the familiar embrace of the Straw Hat crew.

But for now, beneath the bed, you allowed yourself a moment of respite, a brief reprieve from the chaos that surrounded you. The stale air hung heavy in your lungs, but you welcomed it, using the precious moments of solitude to gather your thoughts and steel yourself for the challenges that lay ahead.

In the suffocating stillness of the room, time seemed to lose all meaning, stretching out into an endless expanse of silence. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside, seemed magnified, as if the very air itself held its breath in anticipation. The weight of the mansion pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, its oppressive atmosphere adding to the unbearable tension that hung in the air.

And then, like a harbinger of impending doom, you heard the door creak open, the sound slicing through the silence like a knife. Your entire body tensed, muscles coiling with apprehension as your breath caught in your throat, the air thick with trepidation.

With each heavy footstep, Katakuri drew closer, his presence a looming specter in the darkness. The sound of his boots on the plush carpet sent vibrations rippling through the floor, each thud reverberating through your bones and echoing the pounding of your heart. Every nerve in your body screamed for you to flee, to escape the approaching danger, but you remained frozen in place, paralyzed by fear.

Closing your eyes tightly, you prayed fervently that he wouldn't notice you, that you could remain hidden in the shadows beneath the bed. The darkness offered scant protection, but it was all you had, a thin veil of concealment against the looming threat that lurked just beyond your hiding place. As Katakuri's footsteps drew nearer, you clung to the desperate hope that somehow, against all odds, you would remain undetected.

'Please, just go away. Don’t look under the bed. Please.'

As Katakuri's heavy footsteps halted mere inches from the edge of the bed, a tangible sense of dread settled over you like a suffocating shroud. His presence loomed over you, a looming shadow of menace that seemed to envelop the room in a cloak of darkness. The air grew thick with tension, each breath you took feeling like a struggle against the oppressive weight of fear that pressed down upon you.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as you held your breath, every second feeling like an eternity as you waited in agonizing anticipation. And then, mercifully, the footsteps receded, their retreat a faint echo in the silence that followed. The sound of water running in the adjacent bathroom filled the room, a stark contrast to the stillness that had preceded it. Relief washed over you in a shaky exhale, but beneath the surface, the gnawing fear persisted, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond your reach.

'This is my chance,' you thought, determination flickering in the depths of your eyes as you seized upon the opportunity before you. With a surge of adrenaline, you scrambled out from under the bed, your movements swift and urgent as you surveyed your surroundings for any sign of escape. Your heart sank as you realized the door was securely locked, a barrier that stood between you and freedom.

'No, no, no!' The panic threatened to overwhelm you, but amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of hope emerged. You remembered your Devil Fruit powers, a latent ability that held the key to your salvation. With a fierce focus, you channeled your energy, merging with the shadows that danced along the edges of the room. The sensation was eerie, like slipping into a cold, dark void, but you clung to it desperately, knowing it was your only chance at escape.

Invisible to the naked eye, you slipped through the crack beneath the bedroom door, your movements silent and swift as you navigated the dimly lit hallway beyond. Your heart pounded in your chest as you caught sight of Charlotte Opera, his figure looming ominously in the distance, a dagger glinting menacingly under the harsh glow of the overhead lights.

'Perfect,' you thought grimly, steeling yourself for the perilous journey that lay ahead. With determination coursing through your veins, you set off into the unknown, every step a testament to your unwavering resolve to reclaim your freedom at any cost.

As you moved stealthily through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, every step careful and calculated, your heart pounded in your ears like a thunderous drumbeat. The oppressive silence of the night was broken only by the faint sound of your own breathing, each inhale and exhale amplified by the tension that hung thick in the air. Every corner you turned seemed to hold the promise of danger, every shadow concealing a potential threat.

With practiced ease, you closed the distance between yourself and Opera, your movements fluid and silent as you closed in on your target. In a swift, decisive motion, you snatched the dagger from his grasp, the cold metal of the blade sending a shiver of anticipation coursing through your veins. It was a small victory, but in the face of the looming danger that surrounded you, it felt like a lifeline—a tangible symbol of your determination to fight back against the forces that sought to hold you captive.

Retreating back into the safety of the shadows, you clung to the dagger tightly, the weight of it comforting in your hand. It was a small but significant tool of defense, a reminder that you were not powerless in the face of adversity. With renewed resolve, you prepared yourself for the ordeal that lay ahead, steeling yourself for whatever challenges awaited you.

As the sound of the shower ceased and the lights in the bedroom dimmed, plunging the room into an even deeper darkness, your heart rate spiked once more. The tension in the air was palpable, each moment stretching out into an agonizing eternity as you resumed your hiding spot beneath the bed. Holding your breath, you braced yourself for whatever might come next, your mind racing with frantic thoughts as you prepared to confront the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

'Now I have the advantage but how do I get out of this?'

As you lay hidden beneath the bed, your mind raced with frantic thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. The weight of the dagger in your hand offered little solace as you grappled with the overwhelming fear of the unknown. How would you escape this predicament? What awaited you beyond the confines of this ominous mansion? The uncertainty gnawed at your insides, leaving you feeling small and powerless in the face of the looming threat.

Before you could formulate a plan of action, the bathroom door swung open with a sinister creak, unleashing a wave of hot steam into the room. Through the swirling mist, you caught a glimpse of Katakuri's towering figure, his presence like a malevolent shadow in the darkness. The air seemed to thicken with dread as his cold, unyielding gaze pierced through the haze, fixating on you with chilling intensity.

And then, in an instant, the shadows were banished by a blinding light that seared through the fog, illuminating you in its merciless glare. The stark contrast between light and darkness rendered you vulnerable, exposed to the full force of Katakuri's unwavering scrutiny. Panic surged through you like a primal instinct as his eyes bore into yours, stripping away any semblance of safety or sanctuary.

Before you could react, his hand closed around your wrist with a bone-crushing grip, dragging you unceremoniously out from your hiding place beneath the bed. The sensation was like being ensnared by a predator, helpless against the inexorable force of his advance. With each heartbeat, the reality of your predicament sank in, filling you with a visceral terror so profound it threatened to consume you whole.

"No, no, no!" The words escaped your lips in a frantic whisper, a desperate plea for escape that fell on deaf ears. In the face of Katakuri's relentless advance, you were overwhelmed by a sense of dread so potent it bordered on madness. As he loomed over you, a silent harbinger of doom, you were plunged into the depths of a nightmare from which there seemed to be no waking.

As you struggled against Katakuri's iron grip, fear surged through your veins like a torrential wave, threatening to drown you in its icy embrace. With a surge of desperation, you plunged the dagger into his wrist, a desperate bid for freedom born of sheer instinct. He grunted in pain, his reaction more annoyance than true agony, but it was enough to momentarily loosen his hold on you.

With a gasp of relief, you tumbled onto the bed, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drumbeat. Scrambling away, you fought to put as much distance between yourself and your assailant as possible, your movements frantic and uncoordinated. But your escape was short-lived, and you soon found yourself falling off the other side of the bed, landing with a jarring thud on the cold, unforgiving floor below.

As you lay there, your mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion, a thousand thoughts raced through your head in rapid succession. "I hurt him. What now? Will he kill me?" The questions echoed in your mind like a relentless refrain, each one more terrifying than the last. The cold floor pressed against your back, grounding you in the harsh reality of your situation as you struggled to catch your breath, your chest heaving with the effort.

Amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a fierce determination took hold, driving you forward in spite of the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume you. "I can't let him catch me. I have to survive this. I have to get back to my family." The words rang out in your mind with a clarity that cut through the suffocating haze of terror, fueling your resolve with a newfound strength.

Though the fear was almost paralyzing, the thought of your Straw Hat family served as a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the bonds that tethered you to the world beyond this nightmare. With each breath, you drew upon that strength, channeling it into a desperate bid for survival as you faced the terrifying unknown that lay ahead.

As you lay on the floor, your body trembling with adrenaline, the sound of Katakuri's approach sent shivers down your spine, his silent footsteps amplifying your terror. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, your senses heightened to a fever pitch as you struggled to control your racing heart.

'He's coming. What do I do? Think, [Name], think!'

The suspense was suffocating, the air thick with tension, as you fought to steady your breathing against the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume you.

With each step he took, the weight of his presence bore down on you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you gasping for air as if the very atmosphere had turned against you.

'I can't stay here. I can't let him catch me again.'

The thought echoed in your mind with a sense of urgency, driving you to action even as panic threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As Katakuri's shadow fell over you, his form looming ominously in the dim light of the chandelier, you felt a primal instinct kick in, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. His eyes, cold and unreadable, seemed to pierce through the darkness, fixing you in place with their unyielding gaze. Your heart hammered in your chest, thoughts whirling in a frantic blur as you braced yourself for whatever came next.

'This is it. This is my only chance.'

With fear coursing through your veins, you struggled against Katakuri, desperation lending strength to your movements. In a desperate move, you slashed at him again with the dagger, hoping to fend off the looming threat that hung over you like a shadow. But Katakuri's response was swift and merciless; with a single, precise motion, he knocked the dagger out of your hands, sending it clattering to the floor, far out of reach.

Desperation filled your eyes as you whispered into the cold night air,

"Please, don't touch me!"

The world seemed to stop at this notion. Your words hung in the air, fragile and trembling, a desperate request for mercy in the face of overwhelming fear. The room fell silent, the weight of your plea echoing in the stillness as you awaited his response.

For a fleeting moment, Katakuri's intense gaze softened, his resolve faltering in the face of your vulnerability. Slowly, he pulled himself back, giving you the space you so desperately craved. You lay there, still clad in your wedding dress, a poignant reminder of the night's cruel irony. Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you squeezed them shut, your body wracked with silent sobs.

In that moment of vulnerability, you were acutely aware of the fragility of your existence, a pawn in a game far beyond your control. The weight of the night's events bore down on you like a crushing weight, threatening to engulf you in darkness. Amidst the despair, a flicker of hope remained, a small ember of resilience burning brightly within you. You would endure this trial, you would survive, and you would emerge stronger on the other side.

But right now you really just needed to have a healthy cry.

Katakuri's massive form crouched down before you with surprising gentleness, his imposing stature momentarily softened by the tenderness in his movements. Despite the weight of his presence, there was a certain grace in the way he watched you, as if he were keenly attuned to the fragile state of your emotions. His usually stern expression bore a subtle shift, hints of compassion and understanding flickering across his features like shadows dancing in the dim light of the room.

As he spoke, his voice was a soothing murmur, low and gentle, cutting through the tense silence like a soft breeze on a stormy night. "I promise I won’t hurt you. I have no intention of consummating this marriage given the situation." His words hung in the air, a lifeline extended to you in the depths of your despair. For a moment, the weight of your fear seemed to lift ever so slightly, replaced by a cautious glimmer of hope.

Slowly, you opened your tear-blurred eyes, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of apprehension and longing. You searched the depths of his gaze, seeking any sign of deception or malice, but all you found was sincerity shining back at you like a beacon in the darkness. At that moment, with a trembling breath, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a fleeting second, that perhaps there was still goodness to be found in this world, even in the most unexpected of places.

As you looked up at Katakuri, his presence no longer looming over you like a specter of fear, you found yourself daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for him to be a decent man despite the circumstances.

In the tranquil hush of the room, every breath seemed to echo, a delicate symphony of tension and resignation. Katakuri's presence, once a looming specter of dread, now exuded a sense of quiet patience, a silent invitation for you to find solace amidst the chaos of your emotions. The opulence that had once felt stifling now appeared almost ethereal, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting gentle pools of light that danced upon the walls like fleeting whispers.

"I promise,"

His voice resonated like a soothing melody, a gentle reassurance that hung in the air like a fragile thread.

"You are safe here. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to."

The sincerity in his words was a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows of fear that lingered in your heart. Tentatively, hesitantly, you allowed yourself to believe him, to entertain the possibility of a sanctuary within the confines of this ornate prison.

Your trembling began to ebb, a gradual release of tension that mirrored the softening of your surroundings. With each passing moment, the weight of your fear lessened, replaced by a cautious sense of calm that settled over you like a comforting embrace.

Though the scars of your ordeal remained, there was a flicker of resilience in your gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the strength that lay dormant within you.

In the stillness of the room, you took a trembling breath, your pulse slowing as you dared to let go of the grip of fear that had held you captive for so long. And as you met Katakuri's unwavering gaze, you found yourself taking the first tentative steps towards reclaiming your sense of agency, your spirit unbroken.

Tears of anguish continued to stream down your cheeks, silent witnesses to the pain that still weighed heavy on your heart. But intertwined with the sorrow was a sense of gratitude, a profound acknowledgment of the small mercy that had been extended to you in this moment of vulnerability. And as you met Katakuri's gaze, you found solace in the silent understanding that passed between you forged by the circumstance you found each other in.

As Katakuri stood before you, his imposing frame now softened by the absence of his wedding attire, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in his demeanor.

His broad shoulders, previously concealed beneath layers of formal clothing, now stood bare and unadorned, accentuating the raw strength that lay beneath his stoic exterior. Black sweatpants hugged his frame, emphasizing the powerful muscles that rippled beneath his skin with each movement.

And then, there was his face. Without the intimidating mask that had become synonymous with his identity, Katakuri seemed almost vulnerable, his features exposed to the harsh light of the room. His expression was unreadable, a mask of neutrality that belied the turmoil that lay beneath the surface.

But it was the intricate tattoo that adorned his left shoulder that drew your attention. A complex design of swirling patterns and symbols, it seemed to tell a story of its own, each line and curve a testament to Katakuri's strength and resilience. The tattoo, a mark of his heritage and lineage, spoke of a past shrouded in mystery and tradition.

As your gaze lingered on him, you realized that he had caught you staring. A flicker of self-consciousness crossed his features before he rose gracefully to his feet, moving with a fluidity that belied his size. Without a word, he retrieved a box of tissues from a nearby dresser, placing them gently in front of you with a silent understanding.

"I... I'm nervous too,"

He admitted, his voice a low rumble that filled the room.

"This marriage... it wasn't fair of my mother to impose it upon us like this."

There was a hint of frustration in his tone, a rare display of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

"But for now, we must act as a normal couple. It's the only way to avoid suspicion."

You nodded, taking the tissues with trembling hands as you tried to wipe away the tears that stained your cheeks. The gesture was small but significant, a silent acknowledgment of the fragile truce that existed between you. As you dabbed at your cheeks, you couldn't help but notice the smudged makeup that marred your reflection in the tissue.

Seeing your distress, Katakuri's expression softened, a rare display of empathy in the midst of chaos. "You should shower and change out of your wedding dress," he suggested gently, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of your emotions. "I'll... I'll wait outside."

"I thought we couldn't leave until... you know," you murmur, glancing towards the bed where memories of the night's events lingered like ghosts.

Katakuri groans, his frustration evident as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I forgot," he admits, before letting out a resigned sigh. His gaze returns to you, softer now, tinged with a hint of apology.

"I will wait inside the closet then. Knock three times when you are finished."

But as he starts to rise, you find yourself unable to let him leave just yet. "Wait!" you call out, your voice trembling slightly.

He pauses, turning back to you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. As you rise to your feet, legs shaking with the weight of the evening's events, you move closer to him, heart pounding in your chest.

"P-please help me with the buttons in the back," you request, your voice barely above a whisper. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the air between you crackles with unspoken tension.

He holds your gaze, the intensity of his stare making your heart race even faster. With a nod, he steps forward, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your wedding dress. The fabric falls away with a soft rustle, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in its wake.

You shiver at the sudden rush of cool air against your skin, his strength evident in the ease with which he undoes each button. When he's finished, you look up at him, meeting his gaze once more.

"I promise I will not touch you," he reassures you, his voice gentle yet firm. With that, he steps back, putting distance between you once more, before retreating into the walk-in closet.

Alone once more, you take a deep breath, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. But in the quiet of the room, you find a moment of solace, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

With the now slumping dress held against your form, you rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a shaky hand. Locking the door provides a momentary sense of security, and you slide down onto the cool tiles, back pressed against the door.

As you sit there, the events of the evening replay in your mind like a broken record. The way Katakuri had grabbed your wrist, the fear that had gripped you, and the unexpected restraint he had shown when you stabbed him... it all whirls around in your head, leaving you feeling dizzy and confused.

You consider asking him about it, about why he didn't retaliate or even mention the wound. But the thought dies on your lips as you glance down at your now discarded dress, realizing that it's probably not the best time to bring it up.

Instead, you focus on the task at hand, turning on the shower and letting the warm water cascade over your body. It's a welcome respite from the chaos of the evening, and you take your time, letting the steam wash away the physical and emotional residue of the night.

As the water cascades down, you can't help but think about how to contact Luffy or the rest of the crew. Pudding seems like the safest option, given her past interactions with your friends. But the logistics of reaching out to her are daunting, especially with Katakuri lurking just outside the door.

Eventually, you finish your shower, wrapping yourself in a large fluffy towel. Glancing at your reflection in the fogged-up mirror, you're struck by how tired and sad you look. With a sigh, you reach for a face towel, intending to run it under cold water to reduce the puffiness around your eyes.

But as you do, you realize just how large the towel is, a stark reminder of the size and strength of your new husband. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you push it aside, focusing instead on getting dry and applying lotion to your body.

Once you're sufficiently covered, you peek out from under the bathroom door, listening for any signs of life in the room beyond. When you hear nothing, you slip back into the room's shadows, quietly making your way to the dresser drawers in search of clothing.

You avoid the underwear set Big Mom had insisted you wear beneath the wedding dress, opting instead to dig through the drawers until you found something. Among the array of garments, you manage to find a black bra and underwear set that fits you perfectly.

A note from Pudding accompanies the lingerie, explaining that it's the best she could do under the circumstances. You hug the note to your chest, grateful for Pudding's help, before slipping into the undergarments.

Next, you find a slip that Pudding had also left for you. Pulling it over your head, you revel in the softness of the fabric against your skin. It's a simple yet elegant piece, with delicate lace adorning the edges. As you adjust the straps, you notice how the slip drapes over your figure, accentuating your curves in a flattering way.

'Would he even like something like this? Oh my God no, I can't believe I just thought of that!'  

You feel your ears begin to heat up again until you turn away from the mirror. Looking down, you're struck by the contrast between the darkness of the lingerie and the sexiness of the red slip. It's a visual representation of the conflicting emotions swirling inside you.

'This won't do.'

Still feeling vulnerable, you return to the dresser drawers, your fingers trailing over the various fabrics as you search for something to provide additional comfort. Finally, you come across a large white shirt tucked away in the back of the drawer. Pulling it on over the slip, you're enveloped in its soft embrace, the oversized fit offering a sense of security you desperately need. With each button fastened, you feel a little more grounded, a little more ready to get through the night.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you catch a small whiff of something. The scent of donuts and fire lingers on the fabric, a faint reminder of Katakuri's presence in the room. You pause, the shirt draped over your shoulders, and bring the collar up to your nose, inhaling deeply. The familiar aroma envelops you, warm and comforting, like a gentle embrace in the midst of chaos. It's a reminder that despite the circumstances, you're not entirely alone.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself a moment of quiet reflection, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in the calming scent. For a fleeting instant, the weight of the world lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility. It's a small respite from the turmoil of the night, but one you cling to nonetheless.

With a steadying breath, you lower the collar of the shirt and let your hand fall to your side. The fabric drapes loosely around your frame, offering both physical comfort and a semblance of emotional refuge. You're still trembling, still uncertain of what lies ahead, but at this moment, wrapped in the scent of cologne and the soft embrace of the oversized shirt, you find yourself before the closet door.

"Hey, you can come out now."

There's no movement from the door. You feel confused before remembering what he had said and raising your hand to gently knock three times. Your knuckles rap lightly against the closet door, the sound echoing in the silent room. For a moment, there's no response, only the hushed murmur of your own breathing. Then, from within the closet, you hear a soft shuffle of movement, followed by the creak of hinges as the door swings open.

Katakuri steps out, his presence filling the room once more. His shirtless form is a stark contrast to the imposing figure you've come to know, his black sweatpants hanging loosely on his frame. Without his mask, his face is revealed, and you can't help but notice deep scares that adorn his face, the sharp fangs that poke out of his lips.

He meets your gaze, his expression unreadable, before his eyes flicker down to the floor, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "Sorry," he murmurs, his voice low and hesitant. "I didn't mean to make you wait."

You shake your head, a small frown tugging at the corners of your lips. "It's okay," you reassure him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm ready now."

With a nod, Katakuri steps aside, allowing you to pass him and make your way back into the bedroom. The scent of mochi lingers in the air, a comforting reminder of his presence beside you. As you settle back onto the bed, the oversized shirt enveloping you in its warmth, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected kindness of your new husband.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, offering a grateful nod as you settle back onto the dresser, the oversized shirt providing a comforting shield against the lingering tension in the room. But as you find yourself propped on the wood surface, a lingering ache in your wrist prompts a question you can't ignore.

"Katakuri," you begin tentatively, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of curiosity and concern, "about your wrist... I'm sorry if I hurt you earlier."

His brows furrow slightly at your words, a hint of surprise crossing his features before he sighs, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's alright," he assures you gently, his tone carrying a sense of understanding. "I knew you'd be asking about that next. And I'm sorry for tugging you so harshly and for any other discomfort, I may have caused you. When I entered and didn't see you, I assumed they were going to send you in after me shortly."

You take in his apology, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his understanding. It's a response you hadn't expected, one that speaks volumes about his character. In the dim light of the room, you can see the sincerity in his eyes, a quiet reassurance in his presence.

"Thank you," you reply softly, offering him a small nod. "I appreciate your understanding."

He meets your gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you before he nods, a small gesture of reassurance. But before the silence settles between you, another question tugs at your thoughts, one that you can't ignore any longer.

"Katakuri," you begin, your voice hesitant as you broach the topic, "about your stab wound... How did you...?"

His expression softens as he meets your gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I figured you'd asking about that next," he admits with a faint chuckle, his tone laced with amusement. "My Devil Fruit powers allow me to manipulate mochi, shaping it into various forms and even extending my limbs. When you stabbed my wrist, it was made of mochi, so it didn't hurt as much as you might think."

You listen intently as he explains, feeling a sense of awe at the revelation of his abilities. It's a reminder of the world you've been thrust into, one filled with wonders and dangers alike. But in that moment, as you sit together in the quiet of the room, you find a sense of comfort in the genuine conversation between you.

As the conversation unfolds, your curiosity drifts to the scars that adorn Katakuri's mouth, the faint lines drawing your attention.

"Katakuri," you inquire softly, your voice filled with genuine interest, "what happened to your mouth? Those scars... they look like they've seen their fair share of battles."

His expression shifts slightly at your question, a hint of hesitation crossing his features before he offers a faint smile. "Ah, these scars," he begins, his voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and vulnerability. "They're... a remainder of a childhood mishap, you could say."

You sense his reluctance to delve deeper into the topic, a subtle tension underlying his words. "I got them when I was young," he continues, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

"An accident involving... donuts."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, a hint of amusement creeping into your expression despite the seriousness of the moment. "Donuts?" you repeat, unable to suppress a small chuckle.

Katakuri nods, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he looks . "Yes, donuts," he confirms, his tone slightly sheepish. "I... stretched my mouth open too wide while eating them, and... well, the rest is history."

You can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him, realizing the vulnerability he must feel about the scars. "I'm sorry," you offer softly, your voice filled with genuine empathy. "It must have been difficult for you."

He meets your gaze with a grateful nod, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. "Thank you," he murmurs, his tone sincere.

"It's... not something I talk about often."

You nod in understanding, sensing the weight of his words as you sit together in the quiet of the room. At that moment, you find yourself grateful for the opportunity to learn more about the man behind the mask, scars, and all.

As the conversation winds down, Katakuri glances at the clock on the wall, noting the lateness of the hour. "It's getting late," he remarks, his voice gentle but firm. "You should get some sleep."

At his words, a wave of panic washes over you, the prospect of sleeping in the same bed with him filling you with dread. Katakuri notices the sudden change in your demeanor, his brows furrowing in concern. "Is something wrong?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, unsure of how to voice your fear. But before you can respond, he speaks again, his tone reassuring. "I could sleep in the closet," he offers, his voice calm but resolute. "You can have the bed to yourself."

Relief floods through you at his words, gratitude mingling with the lingering fear in your heart. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a nod, Katakuri moves to the bed, but you find yourself unable to follow. The fear still grips you, holding you back from taking that step. Sensing your hesitation, Katakuri pauses, his gaze softening as he turns back to you.

"What's wrong?" he inquires gently, his eyes filled with understanding.

You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to voice your feelings. "I'm... afraid," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I don't think I can..."

Katakuri considers your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a decisive nod, he moves to the bed, swiftly stripping it of all its coverings. "We'll make a makeshift bed on the floor," he decides, his voice calm but determined.

You watch in silence as he gathers extra pillows and blankets from the closet, his movements efficient yet gentle. When he returns, he offers you a choice of designs for the blanket, a small gesture of kindness that touches your heart.

With a grateful nod, you select a donut design, your fingers trembling slightly as you take the blanket from him. Together, you create a makeshift bed on the floor, arranging the pillows and blankets until they form a comfortable nest.

Katakuri finishes arranging the makeshift bed with a satisfied smile, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Alright, this should do it. I used to do the same for my siblings when they were younger," he remarks, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Turning to you, he waits for your response.

As he mentions returning to the closet, you remember his earlier promise not to touch you, a gesture of respect and consideration that doesn't go unnoticed. You meet his gaze, silently contemplating his offer.

After a moment of thought, you shake your head slightly. "I wouldn't mind if you slept on the opposite end of the pillow fort," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

A small smile graces Katakuri's lips at your suggestion. "Alright," he replies, his tone warm and accepting. With a nod, he settles down on the opposite end of the makeshift bed, giving you a comfortable distance.

The room falls into a hushed darkness as Katakuri dims the lights, casting soft shadows across the walls. You watch him settle onto his side of the makeshift bed, his movements deliberate and controlled. With a quiet sigh, you follow suit, curling up on your side, facing away from him.

As you lie there in the stillness of the room, you try to quiet your mind, to let the events of the day fade into the background. But try as you might, sleep eludes you. Your thoughts drift back to the chaotic events that led you here, to this unfamiliar room in a mansion far from home.

You remember the fear and desperation, the overwhelming sense of helplessness as you found yourself trapped in a nightmare not of your making. The tears come unbidden, silently slipping down your cheeks as you relive the terror of facing a future filled with uncertainty.

Each sob threatens to unravel the fragile calm you've managed to hold onto, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but they keep coming, a relentless torrent of emotion that refuses to be contained.

The weight of the day's events bears down on you, pressing against your chest like a heavy burden. Your breath becomes shallow and uneven, your heart pounding in your ears as you struggle to find a moment's respite from the turmoil raging within.

You turn onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling utterly alone in the darkness. The quiet of the room is suffocating, the absence of noise amplifying the cacophony of thoughts swirling in your mind.

You try to focus on your breathing, to find some semblance of calm amidst the storm raging within you. But each inhale feels strained, each exhale a release of pent-up tension that only seems to fuel your restlessness.

You toss and turn, shifting from one position to another, but no matter how hard you try, sleep remains elusive. The hours drag on, stretching into eternity, and still, you lie there, trapped in the prison of your own thoughts.

And as the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room, you realize with a sinking heart that sleep will not come this night.

You feel a presence, and you turn over to find Katakuri looking at you with concern etched across his features. His eyes are soft, a stark contrast to the imposing figure you've come to know. In that moment, you realize he's not just a fearsome pirate, but also a man burdened with his own worries and doubts.

He sees the tears glistening on your cheeks and without a word, he rises from the makeshift bed and retrieves more tissues, sliding them over to you with a quiet understanding. You meet his gaze, studying the lines of tension in his brow, the slight furrow of his brow that speaks volumes of his concern.

It occurs to you then, that he's not unaffected by the events of the night. Beneath his stoic exterior lies a vulnerability you hadn't noticed before, a vulnerability mirrored in your own trembling hands and tear-streaked face.

"Katakuri," you whisper, his name a lifeline in the darkness. He stands at attention, his posture rigid with anticipation. You pause, unsure of what to say, but knowing that you need to say something, anything to bridge the gap between you.

You feel your heart reach out to him, a silent acknowledgment of the shared struggle you both face. He meets your gaze, his eyes searching yours for reassurance, for solace. And in that moment, you see him not as an enemy, but as someone who, like you, is grappling with the weight of their own emotions.

"I... I just want to thank you," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "For... for being here. For... for helping me."

His expression softens, a flicker of understanding passing between you.

"You are most welcome."

You glance once more at the bed, then decisively grab the donut blanket and climb on top of it. Katakuri watches you, a mixture of confusion and concern evident in his expression as you make your move.

Scooting back into the bed, you pat the space where you were just sitting, silently inviting him to join you. He stares at the spot for a long moment, his brow furrowed with contemplation, before finally taking a seat beside you.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you turn to him, your voice soft but determined. "If you would accept," you begin, meeting his gaze head-on, "I will give you permission to sleep next to me and touch me, but only for comfort and if you consent to do so. I do not wish to consummate our marriage."

There's a vulnerability in your words, a raw honesty that lays bare your fears and desires. Katakuri's expression softens as he processes your words, his eyes searching yours for a moment before a myriad of emotions flickers across his face.

Finally, he nods, a solemn acceptance of your terms. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I accept your conditions."

Relief floods through you, mingling with the lingering apprehension. Tentatively, you reach out to him, your voice trembling slightly as you continue, "But I do need a hug and would like one from you."

His gaze softens further, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. In that moment, as you rest against his chest, you feel a sense of connection and understanding.

As Katakuri's arms wrap around you, you can feel the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart beneath his chest. His warmth seeps into you, a soothing balm against the cold dread that's settled in your bones. His muscles are tense at first, a reflection of his own uncertainty, but as you gently pat his shoulder, he begins to relax, the rigidity in his frame easing with each tender touch.

"May I pet your hair?" he asks softly, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room.

You nod against his chest, your consent a whisper in the stillness. His fingers thread through your hair with a careful touch, the sensation both comforting and intimate.

The knots in your chest and the tangled web of thoughts in your mind start to melt away as his gentle ministrations continue. His scent—a unique blend of mochi, donuts, and a hint of campfire smoke—envelops you, grounding you in the present moment and gradually clearing the fog of your anxieties.

You nuzzle into him softly, feeling a newfound sense of safety in his embrace. An idea forms in your mind, a way to comfort him in return.

"May I touch your cheek?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

There's a moment of silence, a pause that stretches on until he finally answers quietly, "Yes."

Slowly, you raise your hand to his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly. As you let your fingers trace over his scar, you can feel the texture of the healed skin, and the vulnerability he rarely shows. His eyes close briefly, and you sense the tension in him easing further, your touch a silent offering of understanding and acceptance.

Katakuri leans into your touch, the warmth of your palm against his scarred cheek seeming to provide him with a sense of comfort and solace. His eyes flutter closed, and you can feel the last remnants of tension drain from his body. The rhythmic motion of his fingers in your hair slows, his breath becoming deeper and more even.

Before you know it, he's fallen asleep, his head resting gently against your hand. The sight of him, so vulnerable and at peace, tugs at your heartstrings. The steady rise and fall of his chest, and the softness of his expression, make you realize how exhausting this day has been for both of you.

You let your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer, taking in the tranquility of the scene. His steady heartbeat beneath your touch, the warmth of his body, and the faint scent of mochi and campfire smoke create a cocoon of calm around you. For the first time since this ordeal began, you feel a glimmer of hope.

As you nuzzle into him, you close your eyes, letting the security of his presence lull you into a gentle sleep. Wrapped in the warmth of each other's embrace, the world outside fades away, leaving only the quiet promise of a new beginning in its wake.

You're both in this together, navigating the uncertainties of your situation as a team.

_____________________________________________________________

That was part 1 folks, lemme know how you liked it!

Make sure you check out the a03 account by the same name. Everything I have posted here is there in chronological order. I also have other hot One piece characters posted in the masterlist! Give them a read if you please!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want. I am also currently taking requests.

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

[quills-and-fandoms]

Marauders Circus AU

Based off the results on my last post, you guys really want to see the Marauders Circus Fic I've been writing! This fic is 65 thousand+ words for a total of 32 chapters! It will be releasing very shortly so keep a close eye here or comment below to be notified when the first chapter goes live on AO3.

But for now, let's introduce you to the cast shall we?

Ringmaster Of The Amazing Magnificent Hogwarts Circus!

Minerva McGonagall is the respected (and a bit feared) owner and ring master of The Magnificent Hogwarts Circus! Firm, precise, and fair she keeps the circus running despite dwindling funds and societal pressure. She treats her performers like her own children, even the wild ones, and has a soft spot for strays.

The Main Attractions

James Potter, the Circus's darling!

Aerialist, trapeze artist, and the circus’s brightest star. Dazzling, cocky, and tireless. Known for breathtaking mid-air stunts and his ability to charm any crowd, or person. He's truly the light of the show.

Remus Lupin, the moonlight howl.

Knife thrower and part-time animal handler. Soft-spoken, secretive, and intensely skilled. His act is silent, precise, and tense, some say it's an echo of his painful past. He keeps everyone grounded, but never lets anyone all the way in.

Lily Evans, The Scarlet Tongue

Tightrope walker and contortionist. Elegant, focused, and ferociously intelligent. She's famous for walking the line barefoot and blindfolded. She protects the younger performers fiercely and is best known for her acts with Remus Lupin!

Marlene McKinnon, The Fire Siren

Fire dancer and reckless stunt performer. Bold, sharp-tongued, and she's always the first to jump into danger. She's best friends with Lily and Dorcas and she's quite intent to ignore the rumors that swirl around all the three.

Dorcas Meadowes, The Silver Talon

Lion tamer and acrobat. She's magnetic and fearless. She often performs in tandem with Marlene. She's commanding inside the ring, but warm outside of it.

Peter Pettigrew, the hand behind the curtain

He's the circus's props manager, assistant, and sometimes clown when needed. He's often underestimated but keeps the whole operation moving. He's fiercely loyal, with an eye for secrets and backstage drama.

Mary Macdonald, The illusion of smoke

Magician's assistant turned spotlight illusionist. Elegant, theatrical, and always with a bit of mystery. She uses smoke, mirrors, and quick hands to entrance her audiences. She's loyal to Lily, but may or may not have a complicated history with Barty.

The Sideshow & Specialty Acts

Pandora Lovegood, The Mistress of Visions

Fortune teller and aerial silks performer. Ethereal and dreamlike. She speaks in riddles and wears bells in her hair. She's beloved by the children and animals. No one knows where she came from, but everyone knows she belongs and if you don't agree? Well.. you'll regret that choice.

Barty Crouch Jr, The Blazing Escape

Fire breather and escape artist. Charming, intense, and volatile. His act is jaw-dropping, but there’s something dangerous beneath the surface. He's constantly pushing limits, and buttons. You either love him or you hate him.

Severus Snape, The Alchemist’s Son

He manages the Oddities Tent, all of the herbs, reliks, and wonders that they've collected across Europe. He keeps to himself and secretly harbors resentment and longing in equal measure. He has a complicated history with Lily and James.

The Outsiders

Sirius Black

The heir to house Black. Rich, rebellious, and bitter. He attends the circus out of boredom and stays for something else entirely. Once close to Remus, until a fall-out he is now torn between loyalty to Regulus and a growing desire to burn everything down. He's a mechanic and often helps the circus out with any issues it may have around vehicles.

Regulus Black

The youngest and the heir to House Black. Composed, curious, and quietly suffocating under family pressure. He's fascinated by the circus, especially by James, and desperate for something real. He intends to just be a passive observer, but soon finds himself tangled in the lights and ropes.

Evan Rosier

Regulus’s childhood friend from a prestigious French academy. Charming, flirtatious, and protective to a fault. He sees the circus as beneath them, as he was taught to believe so but finds it hard to look away. He's spent his whole life performing, and for once he's surrounded by people who do it for fun.

There's many more characters to be seen but where's the fun in revealing them all at once? I'm Quills, the little spokesperson for this circus you could say, your host and author. You can find me on AO3 under A_Scroll_For_Quills and the first chapter shall be released any moment now.

Until next time ladies and gentleman, let's hope The Amazing Magnificent Hogwarts Circus comes to your town soon.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Angst, cussing, knives, blood, tension.

Part 3

Gilded Façade - Part 4

The room is vast, but warm—gold and cream drapery spilling from the tall windows, soft with age and light.

Along one wall, bolts of fabric rest in shelves like precious tomes in a library, rich velvets, silks, and ethereal weaves that shimmer even in shadow.

Frigga stands beside you, regal and serene in deep blue robes threaded with silver stars.

She smells faintly of lavender and something older—like parchment and spell smoke. Her presence is soothing, her movements graceful.

She doesn’t command the room. She settles into it, like she’s always belonged.

You, by contrast, feel painfully small. The seamstresses whisper in Asgardian, taking measurements in floating light-ribbons that tickle your arms and waist. Your reflection shimmers in a hovering mirror that adjusts to show you from any angle.

Frigga watches you quietly, hands folded at her waist. When you glance at her with uncertainty, she smiles.

“You do not need to choose what is most Asgardian,” she says gently. “Only what feels most you.”

You swallow. “I… don’t know what that is... here.”

Frigga moves to your side. “Then let us discover it together.”

The dress you choose is unlike anything you would have worn on Earth.

Soft pale champagne, weightless as air. Sleeves that drape like falling water. Intricate emerald embroidery curling across the bodice like vines of starlight. There are no zippers or buttons—a selection of ties instead, whispered into the fabric by the seamstresses, so it fits like it was born for you.

Frigga gently places a circlet atop your head—delicate silver filigree with a single pale gem at its center.

You look in the mirror and hardly recognize yourself.

“I look like… someone else.”

“No,” Frigga says, adjusting the circlet with motherly care, “you look like yourself, beloved and seen.”

Your eyes sting, you do not feel like either of those things.

Once the seamstresses withdraw, Frigga leads you to a smaller antechamber—filled with light and flowering vines that trail from the ceiling like blessings.

She pours tea from an intricately carved urn, the steam carrying hints of wild herbs and starlight.

“The ceremony,” she says gently, “will feel overwhelming. We do not rush our unions in Asgard, but we do celebrate them with great intensity.”

You nod slowly, sipping the tea. “That’s… what I’m afraid of.”

Frigga tilts her head. “The convergence?”

You look down at your cup, cheeks warm. “Yes, Your Majesty. I don’t— I didn’t grow up where that sort of thing was… expected.”

Frigga reaches out, resting a cool hand over yours.

“You are not a prize to be claimed, Child,” she says softly. “You are a person to be cherished. My son knows this, even if he struggles to say it.”

You look up at her. “He scares people.”

Frigga’s smile doesn’t falter. “Yes. Because he does not let them close.”

A pause. Then, warmly:

“But he lets you close, doesn’t he?”

Your throat tightens. “…He showed me butterflies.”

That earns you a real smile. “Then he’s already given you more than most have seen.”

You catch a glimpse of Loki at the edge of the corridor as you and Frigga exit the seamstress hall. He’s leaning in a shadowed alcove, arms folded, expression unreadable.

His eyes sweep from the circlet on your head to the faint shimmer of the dress under your robe.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then—

“You’ll stun them all,” he says, quietly. “Even the stars will look down and wonder.”

You’re not sure what to say. His voice is smooth, as ever, but his posture is different. Guarded. Careful. He doesn’t come closer.

You offer a nervous smile and a tiny nod.

It's the kindest thing he's said since you've arrived.

It had been too much.

Too many stares, too many murmurs as you passed down the corridors in your formal silks. Asgardians with fine cheekbones and starlit eyes looked at you as though you were a curiosity in a gallery, a painting hung beside one of Loki’s darker stories.

Some with thin smiles.

Some with pity.

Some with expressions you couldn’t even read.

"Such a timid little thing"

“A Midgardian bride?”

“Does she even know who he really is?”

You had kept your chin up. Spoken softly. Smiled even when your voice trembled.

But now, with night blanketing the golden towers, you slipped from your rooms—barefoot, wrapped in a simple robe, needing air, needing something that didn’t watch you like prey or like porcelain waiting to crack.

You found yourself in the library.

It was quiet.

Vast marble shelves stretched endlessly upward, filled with books older than your world. The air smelled like parchment and starlight dust.

The only light came from flickering sconces and the grand fireplace in the heart of the reading chamber, its flames cool gold instead of orange.

You curled into one of the large armchairs, knees tucked to your chest.

The firelight kissed your skin gently, your eyes rimmed pink from trying not to cry.

You just wanted to breathe.

To not feel like a creature on display.

You didn’t hear him come in.

A shift in the room's magic preceded him—subtle, like the way a shadow changes when clouds pass the moon.

Loki walked in soundlessly, dressed in gold and forest green, his steps quiet against the polished stone. He didn’t speak at first.

You looked up, startled.

“I—” your voice wobbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I thought no one would—”

He raised a hand gently, not to silence but to soothe.

“You’re not intruding,” he said, voice calm, velvet-smooth. “This is the only room in the palace that doesn’t judge.”

He crossed the room, long coat trailing behind him like a second shadow, and sat in the chair opposite yours.

But not too close.

He leaned forward, forearms resting lightly on his knees, hands folded together.

“You looked like you were about to vanish,” he said softly. “So I followed.”

You stared into the fire for a long moment. The crackle of flame sounded more like chimes than wood. Everything here had a kind of... strangeness to it.

“I don’t belong here,” you said finally.

Loki didn’t laugh. Didn’t deny it.

“Neither did I,” he replied.

You glanced up at him. His gaze was steady, not unkind. His features softened by the low light, the sharpness of his jaw less intimidating here. He seemed... quieter in this space.

“I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow,” you whispered. “And the way they look at me. I don’t know if they want me to fail, or pity me because I’ll be your wife.”

That made something flicker across his face—not anger, but... pain?

“Is that what you think this is?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

He leaned back then, folding one leg over the other, watching the fire.

"They see what I make them see,” he said. “What I let them see.”

Then, softly, Loki reached out—only a little—his fingers brushing the arm of your chair in the barest of touches.

“I won’t let them tear you apart,” he murmured. “And I won’t... become what they expect, just to prove them right.”

You blinked fast. “But the wedding—”

“I will handle it,” he said simply, with just a note of sharpness.

“And the ceremony? The—convergence?” The word was awkward in your mouth, like something ancient and ceremonial and terrifying.

Loki's expression darkened for a moment.

“I said I would take care of it,” he repeated sharply.

Sharp enough that you flinched.

Loki's eyes narrowed, his tall frame suddenly very still in the dimly lit library.

"You, flinch. As though I were about to strike you." his voice deceptively calm as he took a measured step toward you.

"Tell me, is that what you expect of your future husband? That I would resort to violence at the slightest provocation?"

His expression hardened, something raw and wounded flashing behind his eyes before the mask of cool disdain returned.

"You think me a monster," he stated flatly, the words hanging in the air between you. "A beast to be feared and appeased."

He closed the distance between you with deliberate slowness, until you could see the faint flecks of darker green in his irises.

"Is that what Midgard teaches about the God of Mischief? That I am nothing but teeth and claws and cruelty?" A bitter smile curved his lips.

You tried to shake your head, but Loki’s sharp words made you still.

"Tomorrow, you wed a monster then. How... unfortunate for you." He turned away sharply, his shoulders rigid beneath his attire.

"I wonder, Pet" he spat the endarement as if it had rotted in his mouth "which is worse—to be feared as a monster, or to know that your own bride trembles at your mere presence on the eve of your union."

The palace windows flooded your chamber with golden light, the kind that glinted off every polished surface and filtered through translucent silks hung from the ceiling.

Outside, the spires of Asgard rose against a perfect sky—but inside, you sat silent, the weight of centuries-old tradition pressing into you.

You were barely breathing.

Frigga stood behind you, carefully arranging the final touches in your hair. Her hands were warm, steady. She had braided fine gold-threaded cords through your hair, twining them with delicate beads that caught the light like starlight.

The gown—chosen only yesterday—fit like it had been dreamed of by someone who knew you long before you ever stood in this realm.

Champange-colored silk with green accents, the colors of Loki’s house, but subtle… not overwhelming.

“You look like a dream, my dear,” she said softly, gazing at your reflection in the full-length mirror. “Like something the stars would envy.”

Your hands fidgeted in your lap. “What if I trip? Or say the wrong words? Or—” You swallowed, voice trembling.

Frigga met your eyes in the mirror. Her smile was gentle—but there was a steel beneath her softness.

“Then Asgard will adjust,” she said firmly.

She touched your shoulder, grounding you.

“And as for the ceremony… just walk forward. Everything else will come.”

Two golden guards opened the doors with solemn precision, and the hum of a distant choir echoed down the long marble corridor ahead.

Your heart thundered.

Each footstep was a betrayal of your nerves, your pulse fluttering in your throat as the weight of hundreds of eyes waited somewhere just beyond.

You clutched a bouquet crafted from Asgardian star-blossoms—so luminous they almost looked unreal. Your fingers trembled around the stems.

And then you stepped through.

The grand ceremonial hall had been transformed into something ethereal. Vines of silken greenery drifted above, suspended mid-air by unseen magic. Light filtered through floating crystals, casting soft prisms on the white marble floor. Pillars lined the path, each wrapped in silver and pale green.

And at the end of it—

Loki.

He stood tall, regal, and untouchable.

Clad in his gold and green ceremonial armor, gleaming and fearsome. The horns of his helm curled upward like a crown meant for tricksters and gods of old.

The golden glow of the hall made the green of his cape shimmer like a serpent's scales.

His face was unreadable.

Lips pressed into a line. Eyes flicking across your form, lingering—but giving away nothing. He did not move toward you.

Did not smile. He stood as if carved from cold marble, a man sculpted by war, betrayal, and duty.

Something in your stomach twisted.

He felt so far away.

But Loki didn’t notice your panic.

Or perhaps he did—and chose not to react.

You reached the platform, every step careful, rehearsed a dozen times in your mind.

Loki looked down at you—not unkind, not cold exactly, but… distant.

Formal.

His hands were clasped behind his back, posture perfect. You felt very small standing beside him, full of nerves and covered in silk next to a god in full ceremonial armor.

Your voice nearly failed when the priest asked if you were ready.

But then—you felt it.

A flicker.

A pulse of warmth—brief, deliberate. Loki’s fingers brushed yours. Barely. A whisper of skin on skin.

Perhaps it was accidental.

The vows were spoken in Old Asgardian, translated gently for your ears. You recited your part softly, afraid of mispronouncing every word. Loki spoke his flawlessly, of course—voice deep and smooth, his gaze never leaving you.

But you couldn’t read him.

And that terrified you more than any crowd.

When the ritual ended and the ceremonial binding of hands began—glowing green threads curling around your fingers—your chest was tight. You expected Loki to say something. To lean down and whisper a quiet reassurance.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he simply looked at you.

After the feasting the whirlwind  of congratulations, Solem robed women. Led you away.

The corridors leading to Loki’s chambers felt longer than any corridor should.

Torches flickered low against the golden stone, casting dancing shadows across your path as the elders—robed and solemn—led the way.

They said little, their faces stone masks of tradition, but you felt every glance.

Behind them, the ceremonial guards kept their distance. Behind you, the murmur of old customs and whispered expectations chased your steps like ghosts.

You clutched the soft fabric of your nightgown tight to your chest. It was Asgardian in cut, but lighter—meant for the night, the had insisted you change in a side room at the start of a corridor.

You weren’t cold, and yet you trembled.

The elders halted in the entry chamber—an antechamber, you now realized—meant to receive the soiled sheets. You saw a silver tray placed on a side table beside them, elegant and waiting.

You had to fight the bile that seemed to climb your throat

One of the older women gave you a nod—gentle, but firm.

You stepped inside.

The ornate door to Loki's chamber closed with a resonant thud that seemed to echo through your very bones.

You stood frozen, watching as Loki locked it with a casual flick of his wrist, magic shimmering briefly around the edges.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, Loki's chambers gradually revealed themselves in all their princely splendor.

The space was vast, far larger than any bedroom you'd seen on Earth. Polished marble floors stretched across the chamber, reflecting the golden glow of scattered lanterns.

To your left, an imposing fireplace carved from black stone dominated one wall, flames dancing lazily within its depths, casting moving shadows across the room.

Bookshelves lined another wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts collected from across the Nine Realms.

Many appeared worn from frequent handling, their spines cracked and pages marked.

A testament to Loki's scholarly nature.

A least there was something you had in common.

Near the far corner, partially concealed behind an ornate silk curtain, you glimpsed the edge of a sunken bath large enough for several people, its marble basin inlaid with gold veins that shimmered with latent magic.

Steam rose gently from its surface, scented with unfamiliar Asgardian herbs.

Tall arched doors led to a sprawling balcony where elegant cushioned benches waited beneath the stars, positioned for contemplative views of the eternal cosmos beyond Asgard's edge.

The night air whispered through sheer curtains that billowed gently at the threshold.

At the center of it all stood the massive bed, draped in linens of the finest silk, its pristine white sheets a stark canvas awaiting the completion of your marriage bond.

Four intricately carved posts reached toward the vaulted ceiling, supporting a canopy of deep emerald fabric embroidered with golden threads that formed delicate vines.

"So," Loki said, his voice startlingly soft in the silence, "the final act of this charade."

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he approached, each step measured and deliberate. Despite the elaborate Asgardian nightgown adorning your body, you felt utterly exposed under his piercing gaze.

Hours earlier, he had stood beside you before all of Asgard, his face an impassive mask as vows were exchanged. Now, alone, that mask remained firmly in place, though something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

"My Prince," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Look at you little one, playing the dutiful Midgardian bride."

He circled you slowly, like a predator assessing its prey.

Your breath caught as he stopped directly behind you, close enough that you could feel the chill emanating from his body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for his touch.

It never came.

Instead, the distinctive sound of a blade being unsheathed sliced through the air.

Your eyes flew open as panic surged through your veins. You whirled around to find Loki standing there, an ornate dagger gleaming in his hand, its blade catching the lantern light.

"Please," you gasped, stumbling backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed. "Loki, I—"

"Quiet," he commanded, but without the usual venom. He approached steadily, dagger extended. "Remove your left slipper, and sit down"

Your hands trembled violently as you obeyed, fingers fumbling with the delicate clasp.

The floor was cold beneath your bare foot as you looked up at him, confusion warring with terror, as you lowered yourself onto the edge of the bed.

"This marriage is a necessity," Loki said, his voice low and controlled. "But even I have certain... boundaries."

He knelt before you in a fluid motion that sent your mind reeling—the God of Mischief, on his knees.

Without warning, he grasped your ankle with surprising gentleness, lifting your bare foot.

"Hold still," he instructed, all business now. "This will sting, but only briefly."

Understanding dawned just as the blade's edge pressed against the underside of your foot. A sharp pain, quick and bright, made you gasp. Blood welled from a shallow cut, dark against your skin.

Loki's fingers were cool as they guided your foot, pressing the wound to the sheet, leaving a unmistakable stain on the pristine white fabric.

"There," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone as he released your foot.

He stood in one fluid movement, wiping the blade clean before vanishing it with a gesture. "The evidence of our union is provided. The servants will find what they expect to find, and this farce will be complete."

You stared at him, bewildered, your foot still throbbing with pain.

"You didn't..." you began, unable to finish the thought.

"Force myself on you?" Loki completed, arching an eyebrow. His voice was still cold, but lacked the cruelty you'd come to expect. "I may be many things, but that is not among them."

He gestured toward the stained portion of the sheet. "Sit there. Briefly."

"What?"

"Your nightgown must match the sheets," he explained with clinical detachment. "The servants will expect... consistency."

Hesitantly, you lowered yourself onto the blood-spotted area, feeling the dampness seep through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

A blush heated your cheeks at the implications, but you understood the necessity of the ruse.

After a moment, he nodded, seemingly satisfied with the small stain now marking your garment. "Sufficient."

Loki approached once more and surprised you by kneeling at your feet again. He extended his hand over your wounded foot, and a soft green glow emanated from his palm.

A tingling sensation replaced the sharp pain as his magic knitted your flesh back together, leaving no trace of the cut that had been there moments before.

"There," he said quietly, his eyes focused on his work rather than your face. "No lasting damage."

He rose and moved to the bed, deftly stripping the sheet with precise movements. He folded it carefully, making certain the bloodstain was prominently visible.

"It's complete," Loki announced, his voice suddenly projected with regal authority. He handed the folded sheet to the older of the women, whose eyes widened slightly at the visible evidence. "See that the Elder's receive confirmation of our union's consummation."

The servants bowed deeply, exchanging knowing glances as they accepted the proof they had been sent to collect.

"Fresh linens," Loki commanded, and the younger servant hurried off to comply. Once new sheets were brought and the bed remade under Loki's cold supervision, he dismissed them with a wave.

The door closed once more, and he turned back to you, his shoulders tense beneath his formal attire as he gazed out the window at the stars above Asgard.

The silence stretched between you until finally, he spoke without turning.

"You thought that I would take what I wanted regardless of your consent?" His voice was deceptively calm, but undercurrents of frustration rippled beneath the surface.

"How predictable. The fearsome, cruel God of Lies, surely he would force himself upon his unwilling bride." A bitter smile twisted his lips as he paced a few steps closer.

"But contrary to what Thor or Odin or all the realms might believe—" He stopped abruptly, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you.

"I do have limits. Lines even I will not cross." His voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper.

[twstgarden]

✿ ❝ 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ❞

━ lilia vanrouge x gn! reader (reader can be yuu or an oc/twstsona)

━ you were once his light in his darkest days, but since then, he has not seen you and still yearns for your return, yet he wonders if he is just deluding himself into thinking you're still here.

this work may contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia's arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

silver and sebek were in lilia's room, aiding him in tidying up his items as they tried to distract themselves from the fact that their beloved father and mentor had dropped the bomb that he was migrating elsewhere.

in the middle of their packing, silver came across a photo album that he had not seen before. sebek also saw the photo album and spoke, "is that yours, lilia-sama?"

hearing sebek's query made lilia turn his head before realising that his son held the photo album, and with a smile, he replied, "yes. go through it if you wish."

and so they did. silver sat on lilia's bed with sebek standing beside him as they went through each page of the photo album together. they were filled with pictures taken during their younger days, and one even had the photo that lilia took on silver's birthday with malleus and sebek.

as they moved on to the next page, they came across a photo of lilia in his prime general days with a person smiling next to him. they looked ethereal, the very definition of beauty and grace. they looked gorgeous and breathtaking, and yet they had never seen this person before.

silver took the photo and examined it with sebek as the former asked, "who are you with in this photo, father?"

lilia looked at the photo in silver's hand and his eyes widened a little in surprise. 'oh, they found it,' he thought to himself. as he tried to keep a smile on his face, lilia responded, "someone very dear to me... however, i don't know where they are now."

"a lover?" questioned sebek as he and silver looked at one another in surprise.

"i had not realised that father had a special someone before..." mumbled silver in surprise.

lilia laughed a little at their statements, "what's that supposed to mean? i am the charming little fellow! is it such a wonder that i have a fair lover in mine arms?"

silver and sebek were about to respond until lilia continued, "ah, but... that was in the past." he then took a seat beside silver, taking the photo from his hand as he looked at it once more, gently caressing the image of his love - the only remaining piece of memento he had on them.

"...it has been over 300 or so years since i last saw them. i don't even know where they are until now," muttered lilia, "they were the charmingly funniest person i have met. quite shy, but definitely can sense danger."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"what are you doing in here?" the sudden voice made you jump out of your seat as you looked around your garden in a cautious stance, wondering who had just spoken when you were peacefully sitting alone in the lovely garden of your cottage deep in the woods. "who's... who's there..." you muttered to yourself, uncertain if you should even ask. a rustle was then heard nearby and in a blink of an eye, you were caught in a chokehold. you tried to pry free from whoever was holding you, but they had a strong physique. "i won't ask again. what are you doing in here?" "i live here...!" you quickly answered. hearing this made the perpetrator raise a brow before looking around and noticing the cottage, "...here? deep in the woods?" "yes!" they then stared for a while before sighing and unhanding you. you then got a good look at them. it was a fae, standing at 158 cm tall, with a mask to cover his face yet his uniform gave away his occupation. "...an imperial guard...?" you muttered. "a human?" muttered the fae as well, "living in the woods... hah! good joke." you raised a brow at his words before speaking, "um... i do live here, though..." feeling threatened, you quickly backed away from him, making sure you were getting closer to your crops. he thought nothing of it, but he sure did sense your weariness. nevertheless, he spoke, "you shouldn't be here. no human is supposed to live deep in these woods. do you live under a rock? if other soldiers stumbled upon you and this cottage, you'd be dead in no time." "and here i stumbled upon a soldier..." you remarked. he took a step closer as he spoke, "i won't say this again. lea——! wha— hey!" before he could complete his sentence, you grabbed a bunch of your tomato crops and threw each of them at him while yelling, "go away! i won't hesitate to throw more tomatoes at you if you try to kill me!" the fae clicked his tongue and groaned in annoyance as he shielded himself with his arms from your tomatoes. "stop it!" yelled the fae, "cease this tomfoolery at once, human!" he eventually got close enough to you and grabbed your wrists before you could throw another tomato at him. with a glare, he spoke, "what do you think you're doing, throwing tomatoes at a faerie - a general at that? do you have a death wish?" once you registered his words, you blinked owlishly and eventually brought your hands down, letting your other tomatoes fall back to the ground, "...general...?" 'i'm done for.' with a sigh, the fae dusted off some tomato residue on his clothing before glaring back at you, "i was only giving you a warning and you already threw tomatoes at me. do you really think that will help you when others - especially with bad intentions - come over and attack? really, this is the first. attacking people with crops. horrendous."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"they threw tomatoes...?" spoke silver in surprise.

"what kind of defence weapon is that?" muttered sebek in shock before silver spoke, "perhaps it was the only thing accessible." lilia laughed a little as he replied, "well, it did take place in the garden. at least they had the initiative to be resourceful and use their surroundings to their advantage."

"i suppose..." replied silver, "what else?"

"well, aren't you two curious? they're also very sweet and ensure i am taken care of."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"you need to stop throwing yourself at the battlefield so carelessly." you scolded as you looked at his injuries and tried to tend to them, even if he said he could heal them with magic. "i do not need your he— hiss!" "calm down! i can't clean the wound if you keep moving," you scolded once again as you continued to dab the cotton on his injury, "really now. is this a thing with you gents - humans or faeries alike? just throwing yourself at war and getting yourselves injured without a proper plan?" lilia huffed in annoyance at your nagging, but he did not exactly do anything to stop you as he let you clean up his wound. "i do not 'throw myself at the battlefield'. i was merely defending myself." you sighed and muttered, "whatever you say, general vanrouge." after cleaning his wound and bandaging him up, you collected your first aid kit supplies and returned them to your cabinet. "have you eaten?" you asked. "...roasted lizards, yeah." hearing his reply made you freeze as you blinked in shock. though you are aware that faes tend to have a different palate than humans — though they do enjoy a human meal from to time — you still could not believe his version of a "meal" is some random animal he comes across in the woods and roasts it. "...i'll make you some dinner."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"your lover cared for you a lot, lilia-sama," cheered sebek, "how wonderful! this is an amazing love story!"

lilia smiled at sebek's remark as he replied, "...i'd like to think so too."

silver then spoke, "then... what happened, father? why have you not seen them for years now?"

"...i do not know if they're still alive and hiding from me... or..."

lilia did not have to finish that sentence for the two to know what he meant.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"f/n!!!" lilia cried out as he rummaged through the cottage, entering every room and going through every space possible to check if you were hiding. he had just gotten back from the silver owls headquarters and was supposed to be on the way back to the wild rose castle to chase them back and make sure they didn't get to meleanor. on his way back, however, he came across your cottage and saw its dishevelled state. not caring for baul's calls, he got off his grip and ran to your cottage, ignoring the aching pain coursing through his entire body due to his injuries. "shit! shit, shit, shit!" lilia cursed as he looked everywhere and found no one. baul was quick to enter the cottage as he called out to the general, "right general, we must go! princess meleanor might be in danger!" "THEY TOOK THEM!" his loud, wrathful voice stunned baul as he spoke, "right general...?" "f/n! that human i'm with! those bastards took them!" baul then realised who he was talking about. lilia had mentioned a human in the cottage once that he was acquainted with, and baul started to connect the dots. "let's go!" before baul could ponder more, lilia's command quickly snapped him back to reality as they both continued their journey back to the wild rose castle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"they were kidnapped...?!"

"father, that's...!"

their concerned and shocked faces were not lost on lilia as he smiled sadly, "i tried searching for them everywhere, and i did everything... and yet, nothing came to fruition in my endless search. eventually, i thought... maybe i was too late."

lilia then stood up, looking at the photo before he cast it aside only for silver to grab it and return it back to the photo album once more.

"it may have been centuries ago, but i will never forget the radiant light they shone in my life."

'and now, i don't even know if i'll ever see my light again.'

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[moodymisty]

can I request something happy for Lorgar? maybe reader reaffirming her love for him and he just gets hearteyes and its just cute. if you don't want to do that, just anything positive. pls. ya'll torturing this poor bald man. MERCY LMAO

Author's note: Ignore the fruit/apple symbolism in this tehe ;3

Relationships: Lorgar/GN!Reader (there is one mention of the word dress however)

Warnings: none

Your dress flows as you jump, hand reaching upward towards the sky. Lorgar watches from a balcony not far away, looking down at you.

The fruit is just out of your grasp. You keep jumping to try and smack it, even attempted to climb the tree. In a bit of a cruel way, he finds your struggle amusing. It's so simple, and for a moment he wonders if other men find even the most monotonous things their beloveds do as enthralling as he does.

Serfs pass by and watch curiously as you attempt to pull at the branch, but it's too strong for you to weigh it down. Though not moments later, your savior arrives.

Lorgar doesn't recognize the Word Bearer, merely that they are somewhat fresh to the legion; Their armor is fresh and face somewhat young. The curious marine comes closer and presumably asks what you're doing, his brothers hanging back and watching. You point to the branch and explain your predicament while Lorgar leans against the railing.

The marine to Lorgar’s surprise grasps the branch with his hand and weighs it down, letting you pluck two fruits before letting it snap back upward. You smile and him and he leaves to continue on his duties, and you walk away from the tree.

Lorgar lingers for awhile afterward. He wonders where you're going to enjoy the literal fruits of your labor; Though not all your labor. One of his sons assisted and he is glad they've softened their opinion on you. Especially the younger ones.

"Lorgar!"

Your soft voice pulls him out of his contemplation, and you hold the fruit in your hand. One you've bitten into, the juice on your lips that drips down the corner of your mouth, while the other is untouched.

It’s sinful, dare he say. You indulge so freely and unknowingly.

"I got one for myself but, would you like the other?"

He smlies at you, golden tattoos shining in the evening sun. Yours shine as well- the few on your hand you’ve gotten so far, delicate and beautiful. He never has the words to describe- ethereal, perhaps.

"Of course, but only if you stay with me."

You place the fruit in his hand which becomes dwarfed by his size, and laugh.

"That was my plan, even without the fruit. I just happened to pass by and see the tree was in bloom."

Lorgar takes a bite, enjoying the sweet taste while standing here with you. He takes a knee, reaching his other hand out to grasp your own and brush over the top of it with his thumb. You stop eating and lose your smile.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, right?”

Lorgar nods. You purse your lips and look away for a moment, taking a bite.

“It feels like you only just got back, I’m going to miss you.”

Lorgar eats the last of his fruit, before using that now free hand to cup your jaw and gently turn your face back to him.

“My love, there is no words to describe how much I miss you when I leave you here.”

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours.

Your kiss tastes like fresh fruit, saccharine sweet. Your lips are soft and inviting, and he finds himself pulled in more than a man of his ken should ever be wavered. The gentle moan you make as you press closer, greedily asking for more, Lorgar would oblige if he was a weaker man pulled astray by fruit as sweet as you.

His lips pull away from yours with a soft pop, and he sees that sweet nectar still in the corners of your mouth. You smile and lean into his palm.

“Before you go, can you read to me one last time?” Lorgar smiles, his face warm and inviting.

“Of course.”

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. Feat their children. A missing wife and a frantic family looking for her. Thanks!! :))

Missing

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

As the tranquil day at Aubrey Hall drew to an end, the golden rays of the setting sun cast an ethereal glow upon the Bridgerton estate. Benedict had planned a serene day alongside his beloved wife, Y/N, and their three dear children, basking in the contentment of family and the delicate exchange of glances that bespoke a love unbreakable.

However, as the evening shadows lengthened, a strange unease settled over Benedict’s heart. Y/N had ventured into the meadows with their eldest daughter, intent on gathering wildflowers to grace the drawing room. Benedict had remained behind with their two sons, the image of his wife and daughter laughing amongst the flowers lingering in his mind. Yet, as time wore on, his heart grew troubled, each passing moment deepening his sense of dread.

He called her name as he paced through the fields, his sons clinging to his sides with fretful expressions. Each shout of “Y/N!” grew louder, more desperate, reverberating through the quiet countryside, unanswered and met only with the whisper of the evening breeze. By the time he returned to the house, his face was a portrait of worry, his hands trembling as he tried to mask his alarm.

Word of Y/N’s mysterious absence spread swiftly among the Bridgertons. Anthony, ever the steady and pragmatic elder brother, seized command, rallying the family into search parties. Lanterns were lit, their warm glow piercing the encroaching darkness as the family fanned out, each one calling Y/N’s name into the cool night air, a chorus of worry and love.

Yet Benedict himself could scarcely manage coherence. His steps were hurried and unsteady, his breaths shallow, as if the very fear of her loss had stolen his ability to think clearly. Dark, haunting thoughts flitted through his mind visions of what might befall her, each more terrifying than the last. What if she lay injured, beyond his reach? What if… he dared not finish the thought, for even the idea of a world devoid of her presence threatened to unravel him.

As he roamed the forest edge, his heart aching with worry, a soft whimper caught his ear. Turning swiftly, he found their eldest daughter, her small frame trembling as she clung to a tree, her cheeks stained with frightened tears.

“Papa,” she whimpered, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness, “I lost Mama. I tried to find her, but… but I couldn’t.”

In an instant, Benedict dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her brow. “Hush now, my darling,” he murmured, voice low and tender. “You did all you could. You are most brave, and I am here. We shall find her together.”

Hand in hand with his daughter, Benedict continued his search, his steps purposeful despite the persistent tremor in his heart. He would not could not give up, for the very thought was unthinkable. She was his heart, his soul, the very essence of his life.

Finally, as they entered a quiet glade shrouded in moonlight, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure, seated upon a fallen log, her ankle twisted, yet her countenance as serene as ever.

“Y/N!” he cried, voice choked with relief as he closed the distance between them. He fell to his knees beside her, enveloping her in his arms with a tenderness born of desperation. “My dearest, are you quite well? What befell you?”

“Oh, Benedict,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she clung to him. “I am unharmed save for a foolish misstep. I twisted my ankle, and could not find my way back. I am so terribly sorry to have caused you worry.”

“Never say such a thing,” he murmured, his voice thick as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You are safe, and that is all that matters. I cannot bear the thought of life without you. The very notion would undo me.”

A quiet sob escaped her, and she buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him as if he were her anchor. He held her close, his hand weaving into her hair, murmuring assurances as his heart began to calm, each beat syncing to the warmth of her embrace.

Gently, Benedict lifted her into his arms, ignoring her weak protests that she could manage to walk. “Tonight, I shall carry you,” he insisted, a rare softness in his voice. “I cannot bring myself to let you out of my sight.”

When they returned to the estate, the family erupted with joy and relief, their children bounding forward, their laughter mingling with tears as they embraced their mother. Benedict settled her upon the sofa in the drawing room, wrapping her in a blanket as she rested her head against his shoulder, their children snuggling in close as though they, too, needed the comfort of her presence.

“Mama, tell us a story,” their eldest daughter whispered, her wide eyes reflecting the flickering glow of the fireplace.

Y/N smiled gently, settling a storybook upon her lap as their children nestled close, and she began to read, her voice soft and soothing, carrying the words with a warmth that wrapped around them all.

Benedict watched her, captivated by her grace, the way she animated each tale, the gentle glint in her eyes as she held their children’s undivided attention. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

She paused, glancing at him with a playful sparkle. “Mr. Bridgerton, might you be so kind as to cease your staring?”

He chuckled, his cheeks tinged with a blush. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bridgerton. But it is quite impossible to look away from a sight so enchanting.”

Their children groaned, accustomed to their parents’ displays of affection, yet Benedict could see the small, contented smile tugging at Y/N’s lips.

Once the story concluded, the children trotted off to bed, each one pausing to press a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before retiring. Benedict took her hand, guiding her to their bedchamber with a gentle care, lifting her in his arms as they ascended the stairs despite her gentle protests.

“Must you always be so stubborn?” she teased, though she leaned into him, her fingers tracing the familiar curve of his shoulder as he carried her.

“My dear,” he replied, his tone soft yet unwavering, “you must know by now that my resolve is unyielding when it concerns your well-being.”

In their room, he settled her upon the bed, carefully propping her ankle as he tucked a blanket around her. Lying beside her, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they lay in contented silence.

At length, Y/N broke the stillness, her fingers tracing circles over his chest. “Benedict, I feared you might think me careless.”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Perish the thought, my love. I am simply grateful to have you here, safe and within my arms. I could not fathom a world devoid of your presence.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes soft with love. “And I, Benedict, could never be complete without you. You are my heart, my constant.”

He took her hand, lifting it to his lips as he murmured, “Then let us remain as one, my beloved. Come what may, I vow to cherish you for all my days.”

With her hand still in his, Y/N drifted to sleep, her breath soft and even against his shoulder. Benedict watched her, his heart swelling with gratitude for the love that bound them, a love so steadfast that no force could sever it.

As he held her close, he whispered his vow once more, knowing that his heart had found its home, and that no darkness could ever diminish the light they shared.

[vitanithepure]

There is a lot of positivity flying around recently and...well, I wanna throw in something from myself. To start let me say sorry for not being around much recently, I will be back to all my RT nonsense once The Flu™ leaves me alone.

With that out of the way, let me first say I feel deep and immense gratitude to all the people in the RT fandom. Everyone, both active, more casual or on hold for now, here or on discord - I appreciate you all.

The creativity, the ideas, the amount of private time and effort shared between us all is amazing.

Now, in no particular order:

@cawyden-gaming - your introspective and informative lore posts and code-surfing are always so interesting, showing what we missed, what was perhaps cut or bugged out - you are here to bring this all together 💜

@lordcaptains - I always love seeing your gifs, catching the details and beauty hidden by the isometric camera. Your insights into different aspects of our resident biomancer are always a delight to read. Thank you for so many good things 💜

@nananarc - your beautiful art is truly extraordinary, and truth be told - it was your work that really got me intrigued by the concept of Abelard/RT ship. Get that old man ^^💜

@gingerfan24 - Ana! Everything about Ana you share is pure gold. It's funny, it's interesting and your posts never fail to make me smile 💜

@misscoet - What can I say - your atmospheric and sometimes wildly nsfw art is always the highlight of my dash. Diana is etherally beautiful! 💜

@ronavorona16 - we started our talks recently, but I grew to immensely enjoy your company. Your selflessness in making art of my little menace Imogene is a source of my joy. Beulah is THE queen of queens and I really like to imagine all the shenanigans her and Imogene would get into 💜

@roorenart - can't possibly not mention you :) Seeing your (one of the first tumblr art I actually found!) Heinrix made me fall in love in both him and your style. Later, your take on Imogene made me cherish her even more, you made her real for me 💜

@iamaweretoad - Mago! My ratty, criminal son. The adventures of Mago and Imogene are always alive in my head, I hope we will get to write much, much more of them at some point 💜

@holylustration - My Aurelia So Daring 🥰 Do I need to say more? You created an amazing AU story that inspired so many people (me included!) to experiment with the idea of Knight pilot Heinrix. And your darling Aurelia, a fierce woman of so many talents 💜

@redbatchedcumbermayned - I said it many times and I will never stop repeating it - you are the source of my personal inspiration. Your work on your longfic (absolutely doesn't give justice to something that already is the lenght of a book!), your beloved OC Isha, your encouragement and presence in the fandom are very precious to me 💜

@thatzombiecat - Nyomos! This was absolutely the greatest gift you gave to the fandom along with your stunning art and the duo of unforgettable OCs - Elayne and Vincent 💜

@cadencespark - I am not sure you are still around to read this, but know I will always remember our talks about Annie and Imogene. Annie is the true princess of grimdark and I still often return to the pieces of art of Imogene you gifted me 💜

There are so many more people I could write about and probably some that slipped through the cracks in my memory, for which I am sorry, but like I said - I have a reason to cherish each and every one of you and very much appreciate you being part of this fandom - both in the past and present.

[vandermorgans]

And his mother didn’t try to hold him back. Nor did she call after him.

Her gaze was solemn and face was stoic.

She knew she’d lost her son to the grand delusions of her husband. Knew she’d lost him when he died.

The funeral for two souls instead of the only one being begravad.

He has always been a little excitable. Too curious. Even as a child he’d stutter over her words. Mimic her lip placements and straighten when his father told him.

Walked too fast. Tried to talk too fast.

Delusions of grandeur and glory.

A boy hell bent on changing the world.

Forcing his will on it.

A fool with a fool’s errand.

His father died and he’d never looked back.

There was blood dripping out his asshole and he refuses to cry. The man now long dead. Resembling his father in gait and smile. Tall and imposing but kind.

Eyes crinkle at the corners and he felt Dutch’s eyes. Claimed himself a priest. Smiled right. Laughed breathy and dreamy. Scooted closer. Put his arm around him. Laughed heartily around him.

Soothing.

Reverberating.

Tells him of his mission. Of youths misguided and in need of a hand. Dutch tells him of his grand plans.

Of a paradise. A gang. A people of his own.

He laughs but he lets him stay with him. A hungry young boy— of just fifteen and Dutch snuggles into him in his sleep.

They spend days. Months. Together.

They walk everywhere together and he trains Dutch’s trigger finger. Lets him aim with his beloved Sabrina. A gold encased revolver.

Lets him feel the kick back and laughs with him. Takes him to the shops. Buys him his own. Buys him drinks.

Every night they sleep together. In one bed.

He likes to take bounties sometimes, the priest. Says it’s easy money. Doesn’t have to commit.

Dutch rides alongside him. The law is full of fools who think themselves above everyone, Henrik tells him. They love to bend you over and fuck you over.

Dutch laughs for a long time. Ain’t you a priest? Fairly sure God’s got something to say ‘bout your swearing. His eyes crinkle and he scoots closer in the rank bar, rankles the hairs on Dutch’s nape and tells him, God doesn’t care.

They walk around the neighborhood later, Dutch’s falling over himself. Look, Henrik says, look at how hungry they are. Deserted. No God is coming to save them. We are all heading for oblivion.

Dutch shakes his head. Everything hurts. Too light. Too many smells. Too many hungry eyes bleeding from the pupil. Chained by a system meant to swallow them whole and spit them out as bones.

I believe, he starts but he’s too unsteady, believe, in God? No. My mother did, but God took my father so I have no use of that. I believe we, the people, we are the answer. I think, and his eyes must sparkle the way Henrik looks at him, I believe we are meant to save each other. Hold fast and hold tight.

His lips are soft and its not a good kiss but Dutch moans and clings. So delirious and everything bleeds orange and gold, the people’s dirty rot invested skins bleed away to wash with the pavement.

They’re in their little room and Henrik is shushing him. He turns him on his stomach and he drags Dutch’s pelvis to him. His ass high in the air. And he spits on his hole and it’s so good. He pushes in him slow and nice and strong and drapes himself over his back.

Tells him to, call me daddy and Dutch spasms so hard he hits his head. Breaks his nose and Henrik groans and laughs, heartily and happily. Ah— Youth. He exclaims and he fucks him hard and long and keeps fucking him long after.

Dutch’s in his chest, snuggled warm and fuzzy. Kissing his chest when Henrik hums. A man, you see, a man that allows another to bend him over is no man. He says ans everything freezes over. There is lead in his stomach. But you, you are a boy. He tells him and then he smiles at him.

The moon shines him blue and ethereal. When you take a woman, you have to show, he instructs him, you have to show that you are a man of statue. A man of import. You have to take the prettiest thing. Sometimes? Sometimes, you have to kill for the prettiest thing. The younger, the better. Women you see, they are made, preconceived to bend and obey. And they desire for someone to take them. Young or old. They crave a man like they crave air. It is how they are made. It is their duty.

Dutch scoffs. Doubt that’s all their duty is. My mother hated my father. Cringed from his touch. Awful, uncaring woman.

Henrik laughs softly. Puts a lock behind his ear even softer. When you become a man, you will have to walk high. Tall. You will have to kill for respect. It’s the only these savages understand. You will have to see to it that your men, this little dream of yours? You will have to make sure they respect you. A dream is noble but one hinging on people is never a sure thing. They will burn you if you falter. They will eat if hungry. You must never show weakness, little boy.

Little boy? Dutch is quiet for a bit. Must I kill you for my respect?

Henrik laughs softly. No. I quite respect you, mister Van Der Linde. You are noble. I have enjoyed our time together.

Hopefully, we can more of this. Longer.

And Henrik does not say anything. Withdraws his arm and turns away.

Dutch sleeps with leads in his belly. Eyes on his back.

Its three months later and Henrik is drunk.

Foul mouthed and angry. He is breaking things. His face paints his fathers touch but none of his gentleness. He rips Dutch’s blouse off and he pulls out a knife. Cuts open everything and holds him down, down, down.

You are but a boy, he’s angry, what do you know of adults? Of dreams? Of living? Of sacrifice? You are but a fool hearted boy. And he fucks him, and it hurts but its so good. It tears at him, in places he wasn’t aware could tear. And it hurts and it breaks and his heart shatters.

The knife adorns his chest, his arms, his face and Henrik leans in. God, but you are so pretty, aren’t you. Just the prettiest thing. Do you like this? Do you, Dutch? Do you like this? Me taking what’s mine? What’s ordained for me? Do you enjoy it? And he pushes in, brings the knife down and stabs his thigh. He screams before his throat is cupped and his head slammed into the floor. I think you do, and Henrik snuggles in, kisses his throat and ignores his heaving coughs. Here, he says, and turns him on his stomach.

Holds his head down with all his strength. Dutch’s pulses and hurts. Feels like breaking. Everything hurts. You are my woman, in a way. Did you know that? Look at you, so readily available for me and all I had to do was say a few pretty words. A few measly words. Children can be so naive. How will, ah, Dutch, he moans, shivers his orgasm, how will your gang respect you when you are a little man’s whore?

And his breath is rank. Suddenly.

Suddenly, he looks nothing like his father.

He pulls out and his spend squelches and glides out his ass but Dutch sits up, calm as the ocean and he puts his gun in his palm.

Turns and fires. Clean through. Headshot.

His hand clutches a white napkin with his spend.

Dutch removes his ruined clothes and gets up. His legs shake and the silence screams shrill, the bleeding eyes awake and aware. He rips the remaining cloth and cleans himself best he can. Strips Henrik and wears his black pants. His black vest with his red handkerchief. His golden cufflinks and it fits him snuggly.

The outfit adorning his frame beautifully. He closes Henrik’s eyes and takes him up the mountain on horseback. Feeds him to the wolves and watches from afar.

He sleeps in the bed next to the bloodstains and leaves the next morning.