#she thinks here's this sweet and noble man

[softquietsteadylove]

I fell asleep making an ask midway... It was a vow au prompt request and I think I was just editing when I suddenly time traveled to now. I digress my request was:

Thena, half-awake smells breakfast. Her dream turns into an echo of a memory with Gil. Once she awoke, she tried to look for Gil— he was not in the kitchen nor dining room. She had left her food in search for him, wanting answers and hoping he hasn't left for work. Only for her to find out that he just got out of the shower. A particular droplet traces down to his hand. The very hand holding the small towel together as it held for its dear life around his waist.

The dream and memory could be anything, likewise with Gil's reaction. Hope this wasn't a duplicate...

- 🃏

The smell of eggs and aromatics pulled her from sleep. Half in a dream and half in her mind, she thought of coming out of a room. Everything was bathed in sunlight and then there was Gil. Gil standing at the stove, cracking eggs into chili oil with miso soup and fresh fruit waiting. Gil making coffee while she slept, and then as she slinked out wearing his shirt. Gil turning around in nothing but a white t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair mussed after their first night together-

Thena jolted in bed as she woke completely. She'd been experiencing it quite often as of late; she would be hovering on the edge of sleep, stuck in a very vivid dream until she was plunged into wakefulness. It was always jarring, always so vivid she could swear it engaged her senses. And then she would wake up not knowing what was a dream and what was real.

She had vaguely expressed these notions to Gil, although admittedly lacking some of the more vivid details. He had asked if she wanted to see her doctors again, but she declined. She could figure it out on her own, for the time being. And if the dreams got any more tactile, she wasn't sure if she would ever want to go back to the hospital to complain that kissing her husband in her dreams was too realistic.

Thena turned over in her bed to look at the clock. She was growing somewhat tired of the guest bed she now called her own. It was a fine bed, but it was feeling less and less comfortable the longer she spent in it. She also hadn't mentioned that to Gil either.

The therapist at the hospital did say that some separation at first might create a healthy boundary for them.

She dragged herself out of bed, swinging her legs over the side and touching her toes down first. She kept expecting a soft, white shag carpet, but the guest room had hardwood floors and a thinner rug under the bed. Nonetheless, she stood to brave the rest of the apartment.

The smell was real--Gil was making breakfast. Or it was already made, perhaps. Thena poked her head out, surveying the area. It was still early, she didn't think he would be at work already, but he wasn't anywhere to be found either.

She slipped from the guest room, across the opening to the living room and foyer to the kitchen. Her plate was set out for her, on the counter with a steaming hot cup of coffee. Of course he even set out a proper place mat and everything.

Thena rose onto her toes to sit in the high kitchen stool. The stove was off and the coffee was being kept warm; if he wasn't already at work then he was getting ready and about to leave. Part of her was glad she could catch him before he left for the day.

It was one of those silly little things, but she really did enjoy getting to send him off before they spent the bulk of their day apart.

The man made great eggs. She happily cut into them with her fork, admiring the sheen of the red oil slipping off and around the pristine white and jiggly egg yolk. Before Gil, she hadn't bee addicted to chili oil. Now it seemed they put it on everything they ate.

The coffee was also perfect, of course. She looked around again. The solitude of eating alone was also beginning to wear on her. As much as she enjoyed eating in silence, she would take comfortably listening to Gil chewing over the sound of the fridge humming.

"Hey, you're up."

Thena looked over at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raising as high as they could go.

"Sorry hon, I was going to have breakfast with you," he mumbled as he puttered around, depositing a kiss on her cheek before moving to the fridge to retrieve his lunch. "But I remembered kind of late that we've got a big custom order coming in. I should get in a little early to get a head start on things."

Thena just watched numbly as he double checked that the stove was off while also pouring himself a cup of coffee. He really was in a rush, letting little droplets slosh onto the counter.

"Ah!" he hissed as some of it splashed on him. He wiped at it with just the corner of his towel. "I'm sorry I can't sit with you, hon, but after I'm done we can--Thena?"

She just stared.

"Sweetie, are you okay?"

Her eyes darted down and then up helpless. Her jaw was hanging open as if she were a teenager first discovering her own hormones. The splash of coffee aside, Gil wasn't even properly dried off from the shower, a few droplets escaping his hair and trailing down his skin.

The thick muscles he had glistened and jiggled, soft in some places and then sharply angled in others. His free hand was holding the towel around his hips since he hadn't grabbed the full size one but a midsize towel.

Now that she thought about it, she was quite sure she was always telling him that the big towels were on the bottom in the bathroom shelves (from smallest to biggest in descending order, of course). And now he was just a man, damp and half naked in his own kitchen. She could even see the dark hair collecting under his naval. She did try not to eye the towel too perversely.

"Shit!" Gil swore, just now remembering the circumstances of their situation. He pulled the towel more around his front and used his free hand for modesty's sake, pressing against the heavy cotton. "Sorry, hon, I wasn't thinking!"

Thena looked away graciously as her husband flustered as if he had committed some heinous crime. She wasn't sure what he had to be so embarrassed about. It was his home, and they were technically married. "It's okay, Gil."

"No, I'm sorry Thena, this isn't-" he sighed, reflexively moving to run his fingers through his hair before moving the hand to shield any potential exposure again. "I shouldn't-"

"It's fine," she repeated, feeling warmth rise in her face. Somewhere in her mind, the objective, factual knowledge that she and Gil were married connected with the feelings that she still harboured for him, whether her memories came back or not.

She knew he was attractive. She was so attracted to him that she had, in fact, married him. But until now she hadn't exactly had evidence of anything quite so...visceral. Her mind replayed the water slipping down his back, over his muscles. The way he had swiped at the coffee on his side and she'd gotten a peek of...something.

The elephant in the room, so to speak.

Gil cleared his throat, flushed quite red and shuffling backwards towards their bedroom. "Sorry, you finish your breakfast. I'll get dressed. We can talk about it later, if you want."

She just blinked at him, still captivated by the flex of his bare arms and the contrast of muscle and tummy under his thick pectorals. She wasn't fully gawping at him like a fish anymore but her mouth was still open. Her hand attempted to bring her fork back to her mouth, but all it did was float blindly in front of her until Gil disappeared from sight.

Only once he was gone did she realise what she had been doing. Poor Gil, of course he felt sheepish about it. She still didn't blame him for not thinking of it--he wasn't exposing himself to a stranger. But she did have to realise that she was indeed married to that.

It wasn't as if she hadn't considered it at all, of course--what their sex life had been like. The therapists and doctors had advised against intimacy until she felt ready and left it at that. Gil, the sweetheart that he was, hadn't brought up anything of the sort. The guest room was set up for her by the time she got home, her clothes in the closet and everything.

They had just barely become accustomed to a light kiss here and there. Public displays of affection still were not her strong suit. Affection in general, perhaps. She liked it, though--greeting him with a little kiss when he picked her up or sending him off to work with one.

Now all she could think about was that towel. She knew he was muscular. It was visible no matter his state of dress. But the muscles in his back, and his shoulders, and his arms. They were substantial; she felt as if she knew what it was like to hold them in her palms just by looking at them. What would it feel like to sink her nails into his back muscles...?

The clatter of her fork falling startled her. She rushed to pick it up, feeling embarrassed as if some unseen force were there to witness her lusting after the man she had already married. It was pointless to fantasize about things within her grasp.

Grasp.

"Thena?"

She nearly dropped the fork again but rushed to stand. A smile fixed itself on her face as she looked at Gil, now properly dressed for work with his hair at least somewhat brushed. "Hey."

"Hey," he uttered quietly, his whole body shrunken in on itself like a contrite child. He shuffled over to her, "sorry, again, for...you okay?"

She smiled more genuinely, dropping her fork on the counter again. Always so sweet, her husband. "Yes, Gil, there's nothing to fret over. I didn't see anything, if that's what concerns you."

That wasn't completely a lie, although maybe not the whole truth, either.

He blushed anyway, ruffling his freshly sorted hair. "Uh, well, I mean if you didn't--I should've realised."

Thena sighed through her nose, moving closer so she could stand on her toes and give him a little peck of a kiss. "I appreciate your concern, Gil. But I do not consider it a breach of my consent for you to walk around our home in whatever state you desire. Or need, I suppose, considering you're running late?"

The suggestion that he move on from the matter and resume his hurrying didn't work, though. He put his hand on her waist and gave her another soft - but still chaste - kiss. "This is more important."

She smiled, running her hands down his chest naturally as she lowered back to the heels of her feet. Her mind wandered to the image of said chest completely bare again. But she forced herself to remember the task at hand. "Consider it forgotten, if you like."

He finally seemed to relax a little as she cradled his hand between both of hers. "Okay, if you say so."

"I do," she confirmed for him before giving his hand a final pat. "Now, I believe you have to get to work?"

"Right, right," he sighed, kissing her one more time before dragging himself away. He grasped for his keys blindly. "I'll pick you up after I'm done?--groceries and then boba?"

She just nodded, waving back to him as he floated out the door. Gil always left like they were still in the midst of their honeymoon phase.

Thena looked back at her plate of remaining breakfast, then back at the door. She didn't feel she could focus on eating, after that. She wasn't sure if she would succeed in focusing on anything, if she were to be entirely honest with herself.

Really, though, she was married to a man like that, and she had no memory of it? It was a miracle she was still alive.

[possamble]

realizing im kind of a weirdo about laios and marcille

[plutotheplum]

Keep My Hand in Yours

emperor!zayne x concubine!reader - read part 1!

summary: the emperor is intent on convincing you that you are worthy enough to be his empress.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, oral sex, vaginal fingering, p in v, praise kink, throne sex, spanking

wc: 6.9k

a/n: part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the sweet comments, i cherish them all!! <3 umm... i do plan on adding some more parts to this series... so yeah, i hope you enjoy! :)

also on ao3!

“She is not with child.”

Zayne’s stern voice cuts through the chatter of his advisors, his fingers tapping against the arm of his throne irritatedly. The drone of voices silences, his advisors lowering their heads in respect.

You stand off to the side, playing with the sleeves of your robes nervously. Perhaps you’d been a little naive to think the advisors would have been accepting of your blossoming relationship with the Emperor. 

Word had spread throughout the palace, and most likely throughout the entire Empire about the new developments that had taken place overnight. The guards had heard you of course, their eyes averted and cheeks flushed pink when Zayne had held your hand and led you out of his chambers.

An unforeseen turn in events, and you had somehow excelled past the advisors’ expectations, garnering the Emperor’s affection for you. Whilst a small number of the Emperor’s advisors were pleased, the majority were not. Standing before them, you can see the disdain on their faces, the hatred that belies their thin smiles. Jealousy is above all however, for their own daughters were once placed forth as noble matches for the Emperor. 

You jolt out of your thoughts when an Imperial guard takes your arm, moving you to stand before the Emperor. Zayne looks down at you, and you can spy the slight softening of his eyes as he watches you bow to him.

“As I have said,” Zayne repeats, “she is not with child.”

“Forgive me, your majesty,” a voice speaks out from behind you, “how can she not be with child? We- we have heard of what occurred.”

Zayne motions for you to spin around, and you do as he wants. You now face his entire court, advisors gathered in hours of the early morning. It was the grand chancellor who spoke, a tall man, his face gaunt. You remember he had served Zayne’s father before he had passed.

“We are both not ready for children,” Zayne explains, “I had the palace physician brew a tea under my command.”

It was true. You had both spoken about the matter, and you simply could not handle carrying a child so soon. Zayne had agreed, snuck you out through the passages in the middle of the night, and had taken you to the palace physician. The brewing of such teas was not unheard of, but certainly not an accepted occurrence, although perhaps more commonly used among the nobility.

“I see…” the grand chancellor says slowly, his gaze fixating on you.

You want to shrink away, somehow hide behind the safety of the Emperor, but you cannot. Instead, you shift on the spot, averting your gaze to the floor as though you were not the very object of interest of this gathering.

“And you intend to continue this foolish endeavor?” 

Your head snaps up at the harsh words, gaze settling on the new voice that had spoken out. A lower ranking official judging by the coloring of his robes, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you.

“It appears you forget yourself,” the Emperor replies coolly. 

“Or perhaps you forget yourself, your majesty,” the official spits, stepping forward, “you would ruin the image of your rule to marry some… some lowly concubine?”

The murmurs of the other members of court are hard to ignore, hushed whispers breaking out at the official’s blatant show of disrespect towards the Emperor.

“And was it not this very court that decided to gather concubines without my knowledge?”

“For child bearing!” the official hisses, pointing his finger towards you accusingly, “not for marriage!”

You swallow harshly at the viciousness of his words, biting back the insults that threaten to spill out. Retaliation in such a meeting would only support the official’s cause. 

“She will be your Empress,” Zayne says calmly, “if you seek to insult my future wife yet again, I will have you removed immediately.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks when he affirms that you’ll be his wife. It may not be the best time, but the light flush covers your cheeks and you try to stop the pull of your lips, a smile threatening to spread across your face.

“If you think I- we will stand for such insolence, you are sorely mistaken, your majesty” the official snarls.

A bitter laugh echoes through the throne room. 

“Be grateful that I am not my father,” Zayne murmurs, “for he would have had your head. Remove your seal.”

The official sputters, looking around at the rest of the court members wildly. Most avoid his eyes, others unconsciously touching their own seals through the fabric of their robes.

You flinch when the official removes his Imperial seal angrily, tossing the little silver square at your feet.

“You have poisoned his mind,” he accuses heatedly, face reddened from his outburst, “and you should do well to remember your station.”

Irritation pricks at your skin, your teeth gritting together. You were well aware of your station, of your status and how you’re perceived. The incessant reminders aren’t doing well to calm your frayed nerves, brows pulling together as you glare at the official. 

“Bow to her.”

The rules of nobility have been set in place for longer than you could possibly know, and yet Zayne seems insistent on breaking them. It’s bold, even for him, to demand such a thing. You turn, shooting him a look, subtly shaking your head. There’s a hint of a smile on the Emperor’s face, as though enjoying this confrontation.

“I- I will do no such thing!” the official protests.

“You have already lost your seal and your position and you still will not do as I say?” Zayne murmurs, leaning forward in his throne.

You watch with wide eyes when the official does bow to you, the upper half of his body lowering. Another round of hushed whispers passes through the room, and you can feel the grand chancellor’s eyes boring into you. His authority was only second to the Emperor, the only man who held a real chance of changing Zayne’s mind.

“Good,” Zayne says, leaning back on his throne, “now leave us.”

The throne room clears out immediately, until you’re the only one remaining. You smile at him, stepping between his legs until you’re standing in front of him.

“I did not take you for a tyrant,” you tease, brushing his hair out of his face.

“And I did not know that protecting my future wife made me a tyrant,” Zayne muses, his arms wrapping around your waist.

He tugs you closer, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach, face burying itself in your robes. A soft sigh leaves you, fingers running through his loose hair, scratching at his scalp lightly.

“Tired?” you ask, arm wrapping around his neck.

The Emperor nods against your stomach, trying to press his face deeper. A laugh escapes you at his needy behavior, your hand managing to cup his jaw to bring him out of his hiding place. 

“The affairs of state have become bothersome,” Zayne says, peering up at you.

“Oh? You did not seem to mind before.”

“Playing coy?” Zayne smiles faintly, tugging you forward until you stumble and land on his lap.

“Hardly,” you whisper, pressing yourself closer as your hands curl into his robes.

The Emperor leans back on his throne, his hands kneading at your hips. You chase after him, eyes fluttering shut as you press your lips against his. Zayne lets out a low noise, drawing you closer, his hand sliding up your back as you kiss. The memory from last night is still fresh, the feeling of his hands on your body ingrained in your mind. 

“I cannot have enough of you,” he whispers, lips brushing over yours.

“You- you ought to rest,” you gasp, tilting your head to let him kiss down the length of your neck.

Zayne kisses your sternum, and back up your neck before he sighs and tucks his face into the crook of your neck. You hold him close, hand smoothing over his hair gently.

“I have made things difficult for you,” you say quietly.

He shakes his head, squeezing your waist reassuringly. 

“I have become complacent,” he murmurs, “simply letting others do as they please.”

You kiss his forehead when he lifts his head, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Exhaustion mars the Emperor’s face, his eyes looking sunken and dull. The sudden gathering of his court appears to have drained his energy.

“I shall have to gather them again,” Zayne says, “the trade agreements need attention.”

A smile settles on your face when he kisses your cheeks gently, his hands petting your sides. You move off of his lap, standing up with him reluctantly. Reaching out, you fix his hair and his robes that you had held onto earlier. 

“Finish, then retire to your chambers to rest,” you instruct, patting his chest.

Zayne laughs, his head dipping down to kiss you. You return the kiss eagerly, pulling apart with a few sweet, little pecks to his lips.

“You are already acting like a doting wife,” he whispers.

You flush when he says that, looking away. It’s still hard to get over the fact that Zayne, the Emperor, wants to marry you of all people. The thought of it all makes your palms sweaty, cheeks hot and heart race. There’s a whirlwind upon you, Zayne, tearing apart your preconceived notions of the Empire. 

“I want to dote on you.”

The words tumble from your lips, soft and vulnerable. You’ve never felt this way about a man, never had a man pay attention to you, never been touched by a man before him. It’s as though the Emperor’s expressions are always tender in the way he gazes at you. You’ve never known what it’s like to be in love, but if it’s like this, so startlingly soft and sickeningly sweet, you fear you may be lost in him forever. 

“I- I just meant-” you begin to correct yourself, fidgeting with your robes.

“I know what you meant,” Zayne says softly, his hands finding yours.

Your breath catches in your throat when he lifts your hands to his mouth, his thumbs running over your skin soothingly. Zayne keeps his eyes on you as he kisses across your knuckles, squeezing your hands gently after. 

“I said I take care of what’s mine,” he continues, drawing you close, “and you are mine now.”

You nod jerkily, shoving your face into his chest. The Emperor hums, stroking your hair slowly. Unfortunately, you don’t get to bask in his embrace for any longer, a guard announcing the arrival of a messenger.

“Rest,” you remind him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

Zayne nods, squeezing your waist before allowing you to draw away. 

-

The other girls crowd around you immediately when you enter your chambers, their expressions sly and knowing as they tug you towards the middle of the room, soft giggles filling the air.

“Well?” one of them asks, eyes wide with curiosity. 

“Well what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

A chorus of complaints breaks out.

“Stop being shy!”

“We tell you our stories!”

“You must tell us!”

One of the girls reaches for you, her arm hooking with yours. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers conspiratorially.

“Was the Emperor well-endowed?”

“Oh, stop it!”

- 

The grand chancellor has been lurking in the hallways.

You’d noticed the tall man when you had left to make some tea, but after a considerable amount of time, he was still there. The cold breeze outside should’ve been enough to deter him, but you’ve figured he must be intent on speaking to you.

To be frank, you aren’t in the mood for another confrontation just days later from the disastrous court meeting that had occurred. It’s why you hold your breath as you sneak out from your chambers, feet padding against the floor lightly as you try to slip past the grand chancellor’s turned back.

“Will you avoid me for much longer?” he calls out. 

You wince, halting in place. The grand chancellor cannot be avoided forever, you suppose.

“Come along,” he says, his fingers motioning for you to follow him.

You do as he says begrudgingly, following after the grand chancellor. To your surprise, he leads you into the gardens rather than a private room. Snow is yet to fall today, autumn soon drawing to a close in a few weeks. You wipe the fallen leaves that have landed on a nearby bench, sitting down after the grand chancellor does.

It’s suffocatingly awkward, your fingers playing with each other agitatedly as he simply sits next to you, looking out at the plants and trees that make up the gardens. You realize it would be a foolish idea to let your guard down around him. The grand chancellor hadn’t reprimanded Zayne during that meeting and yet you remember the way he had been staring at you. His intentions are hard to discern, his loyalties to the Emperor and the Emperor alone. 

“Much like his father, his majesty is stubborn,” the grand chancellor says, “I have had the pleasure of knowing both men since they were children.”

“I see,” you murmur, peeking a glance at him.

You don’t know why he’s telling you this, half-expecting the man to begin berating you for becoming so close to Zayne. 

“I shall be frank,” he sighs, turning to face you, “I did not expect the Emperor to become so… enamored by you.”

“I did not expect it either,” you grumble defensively.

“His majesty is an intelligent man. He knows of the consequences and yet seems intent on taking you to wed.”

“Consequences?” you echo.

“Political alliances are frail,” he explains, picking up a fallen leaf and examining it, “marriage is the easiest way to prevent a war between regions.”

“We have not been at war for years!” you protest, shaking your head.

“And we will not be for many more,” the grand chancellor assures you, “I am simply warning you of what may come when you are Empress.”

You don’t understand the politics of the Empire, have never been privy to such things. The grand chancellor only adds to the confusion and uncertainty that has been brewing inside your mind. 

“I thought you would dissuade him,” you say quietly.

“The boy deserves happiness,” the grand chancellor murmurs, standing up, “if he wishes to be with you, then I will allow it.” He peers down at you, his lips thinning. “Take caution, child. Envy drives men to madness. The nobility may hide behind their bloodlines, but a cesspool festers within.”

The grand chancellor hands you the withered leaf.

“Loyalties change as the seasons do.”

- 

A week later, the Emperor finds you in the gardens, sitting under a tree.

“You have not come to see me,” Zayne says, sitting down beside you.

“I did not want to trouble you,” you reply.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. The Emperor’s fingers are stained with ink, streaks of black covering his pale skin. Zayne’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“The grand chancellor is worried.”

“I surmised as much,” the Emperor sighs, his fingers playing with your robes.

You peer up at him, and Zayne leans down, dropping a kiss to your forehead. There’s a part of you that can’t help but feel you’re putting him in a position that he normally wouldn’t be in if he had simply chosen to marry someone of higher status.

“Do you truly wish to marry me?” you ask quietly, averting your gaze.

“Have I told you otherwise?” Zayne asks in return, his fingers gripping your chin to turn your head so that your eyes meet his again.

The tenderness in his eyes is overwhelming. You feel as though you’re drowning, swallowed up by his irises and his honest gaze. Things would’ve been far simpler if he were someone less important, but you can’t imagine Zayne being anything other than the Emperor, for it would be a disservice to the Empire.

You shift, standing up before settling your hands on his broad shoulders, straddling him as you climb up onto his lap. It’s improper to act so brazenly, but you’ve done far more improper things with him, acted far more brazenly in his presence. The Emperor grunts as you settle yourself on his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“I am not fit to be your Empress,” you whisper.

Zayne doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hand simply rubbing up and down your back soothingly. Your throat is tight and you can feel your lips trembling. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t help it when a sniffle escapes you.

“And you think I am fit to be Emperor?” he whispers, “I am only here because of my father and his father before him and so on.”

“But you are the Emperor,” you insist, voice quavering, “I could not possibly-”

“Forget about nonsensical titles,” Zayne murmurs, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs wipe away the hot tears that have begun to roll down your cheeks, “I meant every word I said that night.”

“B- but-” 

“But nothing,” the Emperor soothes, staring into your eyes intently, “I would sooner have no one than not have you.”

“You are the worst,” you say tearily, pushing at his chest weakly. 

“Ah, I am sure,” he says, a small smile spreading across his face.

The Emperor cradles your head, tilting it to his will as he kisses away the fresh tears that wet your cheeks. He doesn’t stop there, his lips dragging over your skin gently. The Emperor kisses your brows, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, every inch of your face that is bared to him.

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

You kiss him gently and Zayne smooths his thumbs over your cheeks, deepening the kiss as he presses his lips against yours firmly. A soft whine leaves you, letting his tongue lick over the seam of your lips before he licks into your mouth, tongue delving deep. The Emperor kisses you as though trying to convince you of his words, as though to make you stay. 

“I want to show you something,” Zayne says, his forehead pressing against yours. You nod, moving to stand up. Zayne doesn’t let you, instead hauling you up into his arms and standing up. A surprised squeak bubbles out of you when you realize the Emperor is carrying you.

“Zayne!” you protest, “Zayne, people will see!”

Zayne only tightens his grip when you begin to squirm, brushing a kiss to your forehead to calm your ministrations.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, people do see. You try to shrink in his grasp, pressing yourself into his chest as the palace staff pause their duties to watch with wide eyes as the Emperor carries you out of the gardens. Some are unable to stop their jaws from slackening, others beginning to point and whisper amongst themselves.

The Emperor hardly bats an eye, his stride strong and purposeful as he carries you through the hallways and courtyards. It’s a statement in and of itself. 

You spy the smirk on an Imperial guard’s face when he opens up the doors to the throne room, your eyes narrowing when the man sends you a wink. The doors slam shut with a resounding thud, leaving only you and Zayne inside.

“Zayne- Zayne, no!” you hiss, hands scrabbling at his shoulders when you realize what he’s doing. 

Your legs kick out, trying to somehow climb up the Emperor’s tall frame. It’s futile against his strength, his hands manhandling you until he sets you down on his throne. If he doesn’t punish you for it, you fear the Heavens will. 

“Stay,” the Emperor says, pushing at your shoulders when you try to shoot up from where you’re sitting, “I command it.”

You sit in place rigidly, back straight. There are centuries of history that make up this throne, and you can’t help but feel that you are somehow dishonoring it all by sitting here. 

“What are you-” your brows furrowing when he suddenly begins to bend.

Fingers digging into the arms of the throne, you feel as though you might faint as you watch the Emperor bow to you before sinking to his knees. Zayne stares up at you expectantly, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“G- get up!” you whisper heatedly.

There’s no one here, but you can only imagine the severity of the consequences if someone were to stumble in here and find the Emperor on his knees for you.

“Command it,” he says, looking perfectly content in his current position.

“No one can command the Emperor!”

“I will not move unless you exert your authority,” Zayne says simply.

Your eye twitches at his insistence, at his own brazenness. 

“Say it,” he coaxes gently, “say it and I will stand.”

“I-” your breath catches in your throat awkwardly. You flush when Zayne nods his head encouragingly, your voice breathy when you begin to speak again. “I c-command you to stand.”

“Very good,” he murmurs, standing up and moving towards you.

Zayne smiles at you, his head dipping to crash his lips onto yours, his hands braced on the arms of his throne. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you fiercely. The Emperor continues his onslaught of kisses, dragging his lips down your neck as his fingers pull free the knot holding your robes together.

“You think your station determines your worth,” Zayne whispers, his teeth scraping your shoulder, “but this- you are worth more to me than the finest jade.”

“Stop,” you whisper, eyes slipping shut, “you must stop speaking like that. It does awful things to my heart.”

He laughs softly, kissing between your breasts. You bite your lip as his mouth envelops your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple. His teeth catch on it, tugging playfully before letting it pop free as he switches breasts. You run your fingers through his long hair, head tipping back against the throne as your body convulses.

The Emperor holds you in place, letting his tongue lave over your areola, his half-lidded eyes peering up at you to catch your reactions. You give him a weak smile and Zayne moans around your breast, his hand squeezing at the fat of your other breast.

Your dazed eyes watch as he kisses down your body, kissing your hip then your navel. He sinks to his knees once again, and you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him, lost in the haze of lust and love. Zayne kisses the curls of hair on your mound, his hands gripping your calves to help guide your legs over his shoulders.

“I have missed this,” he whispers, his thumbs pulling apart your folds.

“As have I,” you sigh.

You moan when Zayne licks up a stripe over your cunt, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He rests his cheek against your thigh, watching intently as your aching hole clenches around nothing, watching as more slick drips from you.

“Stop staring,” you mumble, pushing at his head gently.

“I enjoy the sight,” he says in return.

Your thighs twitch when he pushes the hood of your clit up a little more, exposing the swollen bud. Zayne groans, kissing the inside of your thigh firmly before licking over your cunt again. A strangled gasp rips out of your throat, hands tightening in his hair as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Z- Zayne- ah- hah!” 

A soft whimper escapes when he kisses your clit, his fingers dimpling into the flesh of your thighs harshly. Zayne pulls you to the edge of the throne, his face burying deeper as he groans again, drinking down your slick. 

You squeal when he fucks his tongue into you, body shaking uncontrollably as you fist his hair tighter. He hisses against your cunt, renewing his efforts. You can feel his mouth opening wider, trying to consume you whole, licking and sucking desperately at every inch of velvety, sensitive flesh he can reach.

His nose rubs against your clit, and you’re seeing stars. The Emperor makes an obscene noise and you can feel his tongue moving inside of you, the feeling making your thighs clamp around his head. 

“Have- have you ever put your fingers inside of yourself?” he asks, raising his head.

You shake your head, watching as his fingers stroke over your clit lovingly, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your knee.

“May I?” the Emperor whispers, his finger prodding at your hole.

You give him a jerky nod, legs falling apart a little more for him. He smiles up at you, his finger sinking into you slowly. You whimper at the sensation, clenching around his finger. Zayne adds another soon after, and you’re panting desperately, hips bucking as he curls them inside of you. 

“The scroll said to do something like this,” he mutters under his breath.

“You- oh- you read a scroll?” you grit out.

“It was quite informative,” Zayne murmurs, beginning to move his fingers.

“Why must you be so- ah!” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence, your knuckles turning white as you grip the throne for stability as he latches his mouth back onto your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. The heat inside your stomach grows more intense with each flick of his tongue, his teeth scraping against your sensitive flesh for good measure.

Moans have begun to fill the air, and you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore, letting go completely. You guide his head to where you want him, toes curling against his back, crumpling his silk robes. Zayne’s mouth works with his fingers diligently, his fingers crooking up a little more to graze the spot where you need it most.

You peek down to see the pink flush on his cheeks and your back arches, his name leaving your mouth in a cry as you come on his fingers and his tongue. The Emperor moans as you writhe, his fingers moving in and out of you a couple more times before freeing them from your clenching walls.

Chest heaving, you pant, slumping back in the throne as he kisses across your puffy folds and sensitive cunt. Your thighs twitch a little when he peppers soft, little kisses against your clit and you can’t help but think the man has an obsession with its ability to bring you such pleasure.

The Emperor kisses up your body and you cup his jaw, kissing him sweetly.

“I fear this throne may be ruined,” you whisper against his lips.

He laughs, his nose nudging yours gently, “I recall promising to take you on it.”

“Before that,” you stand up on shaky legs, pushing at his chest until he sits back on his throne.

Adoration glimmers in his eyes, watching as your loose robes slip from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You stand bare before the Emperor, and you catch the slight spreading of his thighs to relieve the ache of his cock.

This time it’s you that’s sinking to your knees, pulling his robes free. The muscles of his abdomen clench when you run your fingers down his chest, his hand coming up to cover his flushed face.

“Why are you shy now?” you accuse, pouting up at him.

His thighs twitch when you curl your hand around his cock and you can feel the throb of his fat, hot length. 

“You do not have to-” he whispers when he sees your head dip.

“I want to,” you say stubbornly.

Zayne nods in acquiescence, moaning when you begin to drag your hand up and down his cock. It’s a little intimidating when you stare at it up close, but you swallow down your worries, leaning forward to kiss the tip experimentally.

His cock twitches in response, pre-cum beading at the tip. Your tongue darts out, licking up the little glob, feeling the taste of him spread across your tongue.

“Zayne,” you whisper, breath fanning over his cock, “Zayne, you must watch me.”

The Emperor groans at your lilting voice, his eyes opening the moment your mouth envelops him. His hips buck and you nearly seize up at the feeling of the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You mewl around him, breathing through your nose, tongue swirling before your head begins to bob up and down.

“Fuck,” Zayne hisses, his fingers spreading across your scalp, “my love, you are devious.”

You hum in response, pulling off of his cock in favor of giving more attention to the tip of it. You swirl your tongue, tongue flicking at the flared head and it’s enough to make Zayne whine, his thighs spreading wider for you. 

“Can you take it deeper?” he asks, his fingers trailing down the curve of your cheek.

“I shall try,” you murmur, mouth opening for him.

He hooks his thumb into the corner of his mouth, cupping your chin before his thumb spreads over the flat of your tongue. You smile, eyes flashing with mischievousness as you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue flicking against the pad of it. 

Zayne shoots you a searing look and you watch as he grips the base of his cock. He drags the tip of his cock against your closed lips, entranced as he watches his pre-cum smears across your lips. His other hand presses at the back of your head and your mouth opens again, letting him guide his cock into your mouth.

“Just like that,” he whispers, “good girl.”

You can feel arousal shooting through you at the praise, slick pooling between your thighs yet again. The ache is so unbearable that you shove your hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit.

The Emperor pushes your head gently and you go willingly, slurping and sucking around his thick cock. Saliva drips from your mouth, coating his cock and his balls, strings of it landing on the edge of his throne. You rub at your clit faster, eyes fluttering as he brushes your loose hair away from your face.

“A- ah,” Zayne rasps, “hah- my love.”

The term of endearment is enough to have you taking it upon yourself to sink down his cock even more. The tufts of his black hair hit your nose for a moment, but you’re inexperienced and you’ve overestimated your own abilities. The feeling of his cock filling your throat is too much, and you choke, throat seizing, causing you to pull off with a hoarse cough as your eyes water.

Concern flits across Zayne’s face, his thumb swiping over your swollen lips. You give him a watery smile, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He sighs in relief when he sees you’re okay, leaning forward to place a tender kiss to your lips.

“So willful,” the Emperor murmurs.

He slides his hands under your armpits, picking you up and setting you down on his lap.

“I can do it again,” you mumble, gaze lowering to see his cock pressed between your bodies.

Zayne smiles, petting at your sides, “as much as I enjoyed the feeling, I cannot have my darling choking on my cock.”

“I was not choking,” you whine, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“If you insist,” Zayne soothes, “but when we are married, I will have many more opportunities to watch you swallow my cock.”

The Emperor’s constant promise of marriage has your heart lurching and you lean forward, crushing your lips against his. He grunts in surprise at your sudden action but returns the kiss just as eagerly, squeezing at your hips.

You whine into his mouth, his hair tickling your skin as he presses forward, his hips rolling up into yours. You can feel his hard cock between your thighs, the length dragging between your folds. 

Zayne groans at the sensation, his head falling back and you take the opportunity to kiss down his neck, rolling your hips wantonly, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

“Who are you?” he whispers, groping the fat of your ass.

“W- what?” you pull back, confusion spreading across your face.

The Emperor guides your hips to continue moving, your folds hugging his cock as you grind against it.

“Who are you?” Zayne asks again, “your title, what is it?”

Pleasure has made your mind hazy, and you can’t discern whether he’s playing a game of some sort with his questions, or whether he’s suffering from some sort of untimely amnesia.

“Your concubine,” you reply, “I thought-”

You jolt in his arms when he suddenly lands a heavy spank to your ass, his eyes narrowing when he hears your answer.

“Incorrect,” Zayne murmurs, his hand squeezing your ass in warning.

“I am your concubine- ah!”

Zayne shakes his hand, spanking you twice. You can feel the prickly heat spread across your skin, the pain searing. You glare up at him, and he smiles back, his hand smoothing over your reddened backside. 

“Who are you, my love?” he whispers, his nose nudging yours.

Oh. Oh. 

The Emperor’s insistence is a remarkable thing, you think. He may be even more stubborn than you are. Zayne’s fingers tapping against your cheek brings you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting his. 

“I- I am your Empress,” you say quietly.

“Precisely.”

Zayne slots his lips over yours and you mewl, your hips beginning to rock again, inner thighs wet with your slick and his pre-cum smeared over his abdomen. He kisses you over and over until you’re short of breath and your lips are swollen and slick with his spit.

“Will you take my cock, my love?” 

“Y- yes,” you say airily, lifting your hips as he grips the base of his cock, “please.”

Zayne squeezes your hip, watching as you bite your lip and sink down on his cock. His cock is just as girthy as you remember, filling up your needy hole perfectly. Your body falls forward at the feeling and Zayne kisses your cheek, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Always take my cock so well,” he praises.

Your hands plant themselves against his chest as your head tips back, taking what you want from him. Hips rising and falling, airy moans filling the air, you ride the Emperor. Zayne moans with you, his hands kneading at the flesh of your sides before drifting to take handfuls of your ass too.

“So good,” you slur, the force of your movements increasing, “feels so good, Zayne.”

“I know,” Zayne whispers, watching the bounce and sway of your breasts as you move atop him, “use me, my love.”

You do as he says, using him to drive yourself further to the edge of pleasure. The sounds filling the throne room are lewd, the clap of skin echoing throughout coupled with your shared noises.

Your thighs burn as you roll your hips, taking his cock deeper into the heat of your cunt, feeling it punch into the most sensitive spot inside of you. It’s too much, the mind-numbing sensations and your own body tiring with every movement.

You slump against him, hips slowing to a pitiful stop, his fat cock still stuffed inside of you. It twitches and you whimper, peering up at Zayne desperately.

“Husbands should take care of their wives,” you mumble, lips pressing against his.

“But we are not yet married,” he whispers teasingly. 

Zayne kisses you slowly, his hand sliding up your neck and stopping to cup your cheek. He molds you to his will, maneuvering your body as he sees fit, grabbing at every inch of flesh he can reach.

“But I am yours,” you say earnestly, “and I will be yours till the day I die.”

“You will, won’t you?” Zayne smiles, drawing you closer, “nothing makes me happier, my dear.”

You wail when he suddenly ruts up into you, balls slapping against your ass as he tightens his grip to bounce you up and down on his lap. Your hands lose their holds on his shoulders, scrabbling for stability until you find purchase on the top of his throne. 

The Emperor is fucking you on his throne. 

You try to feel some sense of mortification, but you can’t, the feeling of his cock erasing all sensible thoughts from your mind. Zayne slaps your ass and you squeak, body falling forward even more. Your breasts press into his face and you whine when he mouths at them, sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

The Emperor’s name leaves your mouth in a pleading chant and he answers your needs, pulling you down until your cunt is flush with the base of his cock, pussy swallowing up his length completely. Zayne slows to a grind, keeping his cock stuffed inside of you. 

You curl an arm around his neck, hugging him closer to your breasts and Zayne groans, his mouth opening wider to try and take in your entire breast. He stares up at you, the flush on his cheeks deepened and eyes so, so soft. 

Your lips slot over his as soon as his mouth detaches from your breast, your lips working against his slowly and sweetly, hips swaying back to meet the slow thrusts of his hips.

“You have ruined me,” you confess, cheek resting on his shoulder.

“Better it be me than some other man,” he whispers.

You agree with him on that. Zayne has given you far more than you could’ve possibly dreamed, the twist of fate bringing you something, or rather, someone to cherish.

“You are everything, Zayne.”

He groans at your bold words, his head falling back against his throne. You come undone in slow waves, body trembling as he comes with you, his cock kicking inside of you as hot cum spurts from the tip, filling you up. You can feel the thickness of it, cum spilling into you for a few moments longer as your hips slow to a stop.

You both breathe heavily, his chest moving under yours. A thin sheen of sweat covers your bodies, robes forgotten as they lie at the foot of the throne. 

A soft smile graces your lips as you move his hair out of his eyes, tilting his head to kiss his forehead.

“You spoil me,” Zayne mutters, nuzzling into your palm.

“I think it is the other way around,” you laugh breathlessly.

He sighs, slumping in his throne, his cock still inside of you. You can feel it softening, no longer plugging you full as cum begins to leak out from your pussy.

“I may need more tea,” you whisper.

Zayne huffs in amusement, his fingers collecting his viscous cum. He smears it across your pussy, his fingers catching onto your clit as he rubs his cum onto the little bud. He lifts his hand to your mouth and you accept eagerly, staring into his eyes as you suck his fingers clean of cum.

“Minx,” he mutters.

You giggle, kissing the pads of his fingers affectionately, shifting to sit on his thigh. Zayne smiles in return, his hands massaging your sore thighs. He kisses your cheek a few times, peppers a few kisses here and there over your shoulder.

“Feeling better?” Zayne asks, nuzzling your cheek.

“Much,” you whisper, smiling up at him, “but I fear I may not be able to walk.”

“Shall I carry you again?” the Emperor whispers.

You roll your eyes, prodding your fingers into his chest, “I did not enjoy that.”

“Lying is punishable by death.”

“You are insufferable,” you whisper.

Zayne leans forward for another kiss, but you deny him, slipping off of his lap. He laughs when your thighs tremble, reaching out to catch you by the waist before your knees buckle.

He tugs you onto his lap, thwarting your escape as he kisses you again. You think you won’t be leaving this place anytime soon.

-

Zayne doesn’t think there’s anything more beautiful in this world than when you’re sleeping. 

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the sweet innocence of your face, your hair splayed against the pillows, the gods must favor him for they’ve sent him a vision.

He smiles as he watches you stir in your sleep, brushing away the hair that’s fallen onto your face. Zayne can’t resist leaning closer, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek, feeling your soft skin under his.

Zayne likes it when you smile, when you glare, the way you protest against his subtle teases. He’s never met someone as endearing as you, never bothered to take interest in another until you came along with that tray of tea clutched in your hands. He hasn’t told you about how his own heart flutters at the mere thought of you, and doesn’t think he will. He’d be better off showing you instead.

Above all, he remembers when you’d stumbled into his chambers, your flustered disposition as you’d apologized. He’d been lonely before you, trapped in a dull existence with others meandering through his life without purpose.

But you’ve changed things now. He feels free when he hears your laugh, the light in your eyes warming him from within. The world around him seems brighter, sparks of color appearing in places he had never seen before. 

You had painted the world for him.

[frogchiro]

Okay so I read that gladiators could sometimes be hired to be body guards for nobel ladies and all I can think of is Gladiator! Price and a sweet little Nobel! Reader

Like imagine big, burly, hairy price following reader everwhere?? :(( even watching over her in her bedroom and the bath to "make sure she is completely safe". But really he just wants to see readers pretty soft skin in her nightgowns and smell her sweet scent after her baths.

Gladiator!Price who got hired by your father, a noble, who is incredibly protective over his youngest, only daughter. You're a young lady, just turned 20 amd he knows that the world is a dangerous place especially for someone like you so every extra step is justified in his mind.

He has seem the gladiator before in the coliseum, a magnificent warrior despite his age but this is something that only fueled his decision to hire him, a young buck would surely be a perverted degenerate who will try and rob his darling daughter's innocence and might even hurt you, so someone like John is perfect. If he only knew :((

You were kinda scared of John at first when your father introduced him as your new guard. He was a huge man, larger even than your father and much broader, his bulky body standing with his arms crossed over his strong chest, but what really got to you were his eyes. Those intense gray eyes which seemed to be fixated on you made a shiver run down your spine and made appear a shameful tightness in your belly.

You were really timid at first around the gladiator; he was mostly silent, occasional gruffy words left him but they were few and far in between. Pity. His voice was deep and low, a perfect amount of husk and growl in it to make your breath quicken but you pushed those thoughts away as quickly as they came. You should be ashamed! What would father think, what would John himself think about the fact that you have such lusty thoughts about him! All he probably sees is a naive, young noble girl with nothing better to do than go to the market to shop for luxurious fabrics and jewelery with your father's money and sew pretty patterns at home.

Well...that picture of a noble and stoic guardian fell pretty quickly the moment you stepped inside your home's private bath, a beautiful place you always liked to sit and think...but what was Price still doing here? His answer was curt: to protect you at all times. Didn't you know that while bathing you're more vulnerable than ever besides sleeping? He's your guard appointed by your father and it's his sworn duty to protect you.

Sounds reasonable and noble right? Well the feeling of his cock stirring against his armored tunic wasn't all that noble for all the shit John't is spewing. But at the end of the day John is just a man, a man with needs and urges and he can't help the fact that he got assigned to protect the prettiest little nymph he ever saw :((

Good gods what wouldn't he give to touch that beautiful, glowing skin of yours, squeeze your soft tits and suckle on your nipples, grab at your broad hips and- John's trail of thoughts was interrupted by your whining at him that it's embarrassing to undress before him, you're an unmarried lady, it's indecent! But John just scoffs and tells you in that hard, gruff tone to either get naked and hop into the milky, opaque water or go without a bath so he left you with little choice, he's so cruel :((

But on the other hand you couldn't help but decide to tease the older male a little bit, making s bit of a show of you undressing, letting the luxurious fabric of your dress slip deliciously down your body and entering the water step by step, all nice amd shy and demure and you could feel your nipples harden and your cunny get wet when you heard a low growl emanate from the gruff gladiator♡

[nabtime]

Sir Waylon of Gotham

Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.

And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.

Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.

Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.

And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.

All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.

Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.

And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.

He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.

"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"

And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.

"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."

Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.

"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."

And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?

"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."

"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."

Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.

The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"

"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."

"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."

"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."

Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.

"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."

"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"

"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."

She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.

"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."

"What say you?"

[saphronethaleph]

The Rest, is Awkward Silence

"Now cracks a noble heart," Horatio said, his arms holding Hamlet as Denmark's prince slowly slipped away. "Good night, sweet prince. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

 He slowly let his dear friend go, then turned to see as two men entered the chamber.

 "...what am I seeing?" asked Fortinbras, the crown prince of Norway. "What was it you were saying?"

 "I was offering a lament for my friend, Hamlet," Horatio explained.

 "Right," the other man said – the English ambassador, if Horatio recalled right. "And not for the… hold on… three other corpses in the room?"

 "It has been…" Horatio began, then paused. "...a day."

 "Then explain, please," Fortinbras asked. "Because I hesitate to hear what could have caused this to happen."

 "Well," Horatio said. "To give you the very brief summary… Hamlet is dead because he was stabbed by Laertes with a poisoned sword."

 "Who's Laertes?" the ambassador asked.

 Horatio pointed. "That's him over there. He was also stabbed, by Hamlet, with the same poisoned sword."

 "Right," Fortinbras said. "And… how exactly did that happen?"

 "Well, the poisoned sword was given to him by Claudius, I think," Horatio explained. "Who's also dead. Over there."

 "Oh, that's a shame," the ambassador muttered. "I was coming here to tell him that his instructions were fulfilled – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead."

 Fortinbras blinked, glancing at the ambassador. "Seriously?"

 "King Claudius asked us to, and I was hoping that England would be rewarded for it," the ambassador mumbled. "They delivered a letter that said, please kill whoever is carrying this letter."

 "That's a letter Hamlet was supposed to deliver to you," Horatio informed him. "But Hamlet worked out what was going on, and he swapped the letters around."

 Fortinbras was starting to look a bit overwhelmed.

 "So… I've still got some questions," he admitted. "Firstly, what about that lady over there?"

 "That's Queen Gertrude!" the ambassador gasped. "Did she get stabbed by a poisoned sword, too?"

 "No, this time it was wine," Horatio answered. "Claudius offered it to Hamlet, who refused, and then the Queen drank it… and, that was poisoned too. That's half of how Hamlet killed Claudius, and I offered to drink the wine as well to follow my friend. But he told me that someone had to be around to explain what had happened."

 Fortinbras and the ambassador exchanged glances.

 "...I'm not sure you're doing a very good job, but you are doing it," the prince conceded. "So why did all these people want one another dead?"

 "I don't think anyone wanted the Queen dead," Horatio said, counting on his fingers. "She drank the wine by mistake, I think. Claudius wanted Hamlet dead because Hamlet had worked out that Claudius assassinated King Hamlet with poison in the ear."

 "Oh, this isn't getting better, is it?" Fortinbras muttered. "That explains why Prince Hamlet wanted Claudius dead, I suppose… but it was Laertes who killed Hamlet, wasn't it? And how on earth did they both get stabbed with the same sword?"

 "They were in a duel," Horatio explained. "Laertes knew the sword was poisoned… yes, he must have done, from what he said before he died."

 The ambassador groaned.

 "I'm going to regret asking this," he said. "But why were they in a duel?"

 "Laertes blamed Hamlet for the deaths of his sister and father," Horatio admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

 "Horatio," Fortinbras said, almost gently. "I know you're in mourning for your friend, but… I'm standing in a room with two people Hamlet killed, and he sent two more of them to be executed by the English king. At this point I'm expecting Laertes to be right."

 Horatio looked uncomfortable.

 "He didn't kill Ophelia?" he tried. "Though he did insult her, tell her she was a whore, and run off after killing Polonius. So she committed suicide."

 Seeing the expressions on the other two men, he waved his hands. "He didn't mean it! He was pretending to be insane."

 "Pretending?" the ambassador repeated.

 "All right, what about Polonius?" Fortinbras asked. "I dread to think… from context, that must be the father of Laertes."

 Horatio looked embarrassed.

 "Hamlet stabbed him through the arras," he said.

 The ambassador winced.

 "Sounds painful," he said.

 "An arras is a tapestry hanging," Fortinbras pointed out. "But… all right, why?"

 "Polonius was spying on him," Horatio explained. "Hamlet may have thought that Polonius was Claudius."

 Fortinbras sighed, rubbing his temples.

 "As God is my witness, I'm not sure I want to win the election for this place," he said. "But I think I've got the best legal claim."

 He paused.

 "So… how exactly did you find out that Claudius killed King Hamlet?" he asked. "I've not heard any such thing, but you sound very sure."

 "...Hamlet saw a ghost," Horatio said. "And I'll admit, that sounds bad. But he did a test to prove it! He wrote a play."

 Fortinbras groaned.

 "Didn't you say you were offering a lament for your friend?" he said.

 "It was very meaningful," Horatio defended himself. "I said, may hosts of angels sing you to your sleep."

 Fortinbras and the ambassador blinked.

 "Isn't he directly responsible for the deaths of about six people?" the ambassador asked, somewhat hesitantly. "I'm not sure if you have a different theology here in Denmark, but I wouldn't exactly expect angels to be involved…"

[cheesiedomino]

Reasons ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: though he’s afraid to admit it, chan has an undeniably huge crush on you. in attempt to get his point somewhat across, he drops a few hints leading all the way up until the Valentine’s Day office party, but will that mean he finally confesses his true feelings?

genre: bang chan x fem!reader | coworkers to lovers wc: 3.1k tags/warnings: fluff, office romance, mild cursing, mentions of alcohol usage, kissing, reader is kinda obsessed w/ chan’s body but who tf isn’t ??

now playing 🎧: dream girl by crisaunt

[this is the first installment of my new valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding the themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

If there’s one thing Chan could never refuse to resist no matter how hard he tries, it’s you — nothing else came near as close. You were his Kryptonite, Achille’s heel, whatever you want to call it. Chan was willing to do just about anything for you, ask him to jump and he’ll promptly answer “how high?” You had him wrapped around your little finger with a pristine, glittery bow. Some could say it was quite uncanny how he’d avidly jump at your every need and request. Whether it be from a small but adoring comment about the way you looked in your outfits or whenever he sees you struggling with something, he drops any amount of work he was doing to go help you instead. There’s no way he was doing all this just out of the kindness of his heart, everyone saw right through those tactics. Clearly there was an underlying ulterior motive in the back of his mind, and most people with a brain knew of this as fact not fiction.

Everyone that is, except you.

The minute someone brings Chan’s name up you get super defensive. You often feel the need to because of how almost every person in the office ships you two together. One of the main instigators— Mirae, your cubicle neighbor and karaoke buddy, had a habit of doing this constantly. She’s the first ever friend you made here and is a total ray of sunshine to work with, but also has the biggest mouth. She’d go around telling people that Chan has a crush on you all because he does so many selfless gestures to “impress” you. Once that got around , rumors began spreading like wildfire and suddenly it turned into you and Chan were dating.

As soon as you heard all of that you immediately shut the suspicions down, explaining that you two were simply just friends and how he’s a sweet, gentle soul. Which he most certainly is but his friendliness didn’t only stop at you, it extended to all the other employees as well. He’s the type of person who would make sure everyone else has food and a warm shelter before worrying about himself in the freezing cold. There aren’t many out there with a noble personality like Chan’s, he’s like an elderly man trapped in a young person’s body, always giving the most wise and stark advice. His way of thinking may be a little old fashioned but that didn’t make him boring by any means, he was quite fun when he wasn’t so immersed in his work.

You’ve tried to get him to let loose a bit more, even invited him out for drinks after work with your other coworkers but he declined each time. It never felt like rejection to you though, he’d be smiling the whole time he’s saying “no” but it didn’t seem disingenuous. The only reason he never took up any of your offers were either one of 3 things:

A). He’s far too nervous to get drinks with you

B). He’s too buried in his work

C). The gym is his second home

You and Chan are two vastly different people. He’s definitely the more laidback type who likes to stay at home while you love to going out and enjoy a fun night on the town with friends. Despite him knowing this, he’s never been one to judge your choices or care about what you decide to do outside of work. He even brings you hangover medicine when you come back on Monday looking like you’ve had way too many last weekend — a literal angel in human form. You wonder who the lucky lady will be that gets to marry him someday, it’s evident he’ll be a family man and would most certainly be the best dad any child could ask for. He truly possessed every lovely quality there is all in one person, a rarity that’s more hard to come by each passing day. You don’t know what you could’ve done in your past life to deserve to know someone like Chan, but you don’t regret it one bit.

This morning went like any other typical morning, you’d come to work slightly exhausted from being out later than expected. Usually, Chan would go up to your cubicle and flash a doting smile at you as he places a fresh cup of coffee on your desk. It’s always the little things that made you most content, a handsome guy delivering you your favorite cappuccino — sounds like the ideal life. However, things were slightly different on this particular morning.

Awaiting you at your desk was a large bouquet of flowers displayed in a decorative ceramic vase, accompanied by your warm beverage. You also notice something peeking out from the petals, a small white envelope without a name on it. Curiosity gets the best of you, rushing to open it and read what follows:

‘happy Valentine’s Day ___, these flowers will never be as gorgeous as you but I hope they bring you joy or at least make you half as happy as you make me everyday that I’m with you.

- CB.’

Well, you definitely weren’t expecting that note to be so… sweet ? Though it was a bit short, the message was clear, whoever wrote that really wants you to know exactly how they feel. You had to admit, reading that did make your heart skip a little— maybe even had you blushing and twirling a couple strands of hair. What caught you most off guard were the initials, ‘CB’, those letters seemed awfully familiar. Then you realize there’s only one person whose initials you personally knew that could match those; your coworker Chan. Your throat goes dry as you nervously attempt to swallow, unable to form any stable or coherent thoughts. Nothing, and you mean absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared you for this kind of revelation.

Scoping out the area to see if Chan was around, you couldn’t seem to find him anywhere. You consider the idea of texting him but ultimately you decide not to as you think it’d be weird to assume he even did this. They’re just similar initials that’s it, you’re probably reading too much into it. Maybe you really are going crazy or something.

“Oh my god, someone sent you those?!” A chirpy voice startles you, instantly recognizing it as Mirae who’s now behind you.

“Uh, yeah I guess so..” you acknowledge nonchalantly. Parting your lips just a tad as you take a sip of delicious espresso.

“Ah. I wonder who could’ve done it?” She fake pauses to take a gander at the possibilities, “It’s definitely not the guy with the Aussie accent and name rhymes with Pan!”

You almost spit out your drink. “Shut up!”

“Oh you know I’ll never do that sweetie.” She giggles at you being all flustered, “plus I’m right you just don’t wanna admit it.”

This is like an everyday conversation you have with her, it’s nothing new. “No, I’m a logical person and I know that me and Chan are just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be and nothing more!”

It’s exhausting having to keep defending yourself from the same rhetoric all your coworkers spew daily, and even more ridiculous how fast word gets out around here. Those rumors of you and Chan dating are still being told today, even after it’s been a good year and a half since it all started.

“Friends can also develop feelings for each other overtime y’know?” Mirae lazily rests her arm on your desk as she continues her speech, “I mean I’ve never fallen for a friend so I wouldn’t know.. but this is different! Do you not pay any attention at all to the way he treats you? He’s such a simp for you it drives me insane.”

Confused more than ever, you blankly stare back at her, “huh?” You just took every favor Chan has done as being a nice, thoughtful coworker.

“Okay I’ll give you an example, remember when everyone at lunch had that whole ‘Vernon is gay or bi debate’ and Chan agreed with every single thing you said even if it didn’t make sense? If that doesn’t scream simp behavior then I don’t know what does!”

Your doubt still doesn’t waver, “I just have a very compelling way of getting people to side with me!”

Mirae rolls her eyes so hard they could go to the back of her skull. “For the love of God ___, stop acting so dense at the obvious. It’s pretty much known in this entire office that Chan’s always been totally, 100% into you.”

“It is?” You blink rapidly.

“Yes! I can’t believe you’re even still shocked about this, the guy’s constantly making cartoon heart eyes whenever he sees you!” She states, voice laced with a dash of envy as she pouts, “I wish I had someone who looked at me like that.”

Her sadness is short lived when her face animates again, as if a light bulb just went off in her brain. “Wait I have the perfect idea, you should get him to ask you out at the Valentine’s party!”

“Um.. I don’t think he’ll go, he’s not a party kinda guy remember?” You sigh in reluctance, unsure of what to think at this point.

That doesn’t seem to bring Mirae’s mood down, she only reassures you with more positivity. “Trust me, he’ll be changing a completely different tune once he finds out you’re going.”

Work events are always somewhat a bit of a drag. You didn’t particularly care for them, but you do like socializing with most of your coworkers and other fellow staff on the team. The free alcohol is also another great selling point for you to go. Gina makes the best Jell-O shots and whenever there’s a work function going on she goes all out to prepare them. This time she made some strawberry daiquiri flavored ones, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and pink heart sprinkles to fit the theme.

You grabbed one immediately from the table, looking everywhere to see if you can spot Chan but still no luck. The fact this is making you slightly upset is beyond you, but you’ve never been one to fully understand your emotions. Maybe you were right after all for thinking he wouldn’t show up. Sometimes Mirae can try a bit too hard at getting your hopes up, but you had to figure out if he was the one who actually sent the flowers or not. ‘Who the fuck else could be CB?’ You thought, it had to be him, if not you’ll be blaming Mirae for years of mental damage and distress.

This job wasn’t the first thing you had in mind by any means, but it seemed like a friendly and open work environment when you came in for an interview. You ran into Chan that same day and he started talking to you in the lobby as you waited for your turn. He had the most illuminating, pearly white smile and his accent made the most mundane words sound a thousand times hotter. You secretly hoped you’d get this job just so you can talk to Chan all day. Fast forward to almost a year and a half later you’re now closer than ever and it feels like a privilege to work with someone as amazing as him.

As you finish your Jell-O shot, you try finding the nearest trash can but end up bumping into Gina. “Hey ___! Did you like the strawberry daiquiris I made?” She kindly surveys for feedback, flashing a cute puppy dog look at you.

“Duh, of course! I love everything you make Gigi, I might have to grab another one before they’re all gone!” You praise her kindly, “by the way have you seen Chan at all?” It was a bit a random of you to ask but you couldn’t just stand around and wait for him to magically show up.

Gina thinks for a moment and finally replies, “Nah I haven’t! Why’d you ask though?”

“Oh no reason really! Was just wondering I guess-” you awkwardly shrug off, taking a step back as you walk out the break room to go into the main hallway. Heading over to the water dispenser you grab a small paper cup and bring it under the cold water option, before pressing the button a deep voice causes you to freeze in place. Recognizing that raspy voice from anywhere, it was Chan calling out after you.

“Hey, ___!” You hear him shout from a distance, jogging towards you with an ambiguous look on his face. “Could I talk to you for a moment?” He asks once he gets closer, chest slowly rising up through his white collared shirt as he’s catching his breath.

You never really took note how chiseled his body looked, maybe it was the form-fitting material of the shirt but the outline of his pecs went perfectly in sync with the way his toned arms clung to the fabric. It was clear as day Chan takes working out very seriously, mesmerized by the sheer dedication it must’ve took to even achieve a dreamlike physique such as this. Realizing you still haven’t answered yet and have just been staring at this man’s chest for what seemed like centuries, you finally croak out a response.

“Uh, yeah- sure!”

He clears his throat in preparation, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.. for a while now actually.”

Chan doesn’t seem like his usual keen self, he’s acting much more quiet and reserved, as if he’s got loads of worries on his mind. It makes you wonder…

Your heart began to race at a faster pace, not knowing what the outcome will be, you indulge in him anyway. “Hm? What is it? Don’t just leave me hanging, spill!”

Again he goes quiet, like there’s a force holding him back from saying what he truly wants. He’s usually a lot more confident and well spoken when he talks to you but this was a new side of Chan you haven’t seen before. You find it a bit endearing to be honest, it makes him more down to earth. What’s there not to like about him truthfully?

“Well uh.. you see I-”

“___! Where the heck were you we’re about to take another sho-” Mirae catches you two of you off guard, unknowingly walking in what seemed like a deep conversation. “Ohh, oopsies did I interrupt something? I didn’t mean to, s-sorry!” You noticed some of her words slurring a bit and couldn’t contain a tiny giggle, it didn’t take much alcohol for her to get tipsy.

The minute she’s gone and the two of you are alone once again, the energy shifts dramatically. You gaze up at Chan to see his brows slanted into a train of thought. He wasn’t saying anything, just staring right back at you with a cryptic look. Unable to gauge the direction of this situation, you think of what to possibly say to make it less cumbersome. Before you could utter a single word, he finally speaks up.

“Let’s get outta here,” He quickly suggests, yanking your hand as he roughly takes it in his palm to lead the way. His movements are swift and eager, knowing exactly where he’s going as you’re left with even more questions and zero answers.

“Where’re we going?” You sheepishly inquire, bewildered by his sudden unpredictable action.

He doesn’t answer you. Instead he’s continuing the journey, remaining in focus all the way until he reaches the back entrance. Opening the door in a hurry to make it outside, a rush of cool air hits the back of your skin from a tiny bit of flesh being exposed. Chan brings his hands up to your arms, pinning them to your sides as he pushes you back against the brick wall of the building. His hooded eyes were fixated on you like an animal looking at its prey. It almost felt intimidating, as if he was the whole universe and you were but a mere spectacle compared to him.

“Wait what’re you do-” you’re impatiently cut off as he leans in, pupils widening when you’re abruptly met with a pair of lips pressed against your own. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, rendered still from the shock of this suddenly happening. An array of goosebumps scatter your suspended body, words can’t describe the way you feel in this moment— it’s pure bliss.

Eventually you do kiss him back once the shock wears off, parting your lips more to let him gain further access into your world. It was the most mind numbingly passionate, messy kiss you’ve ever experienced in a lifetime, wanting but Chan’s lips on yours forever and ever.

As you both pull away it’s quiet again, but not in an unpleasant manner as before. Now you’re silent because you’re admiring each other. Resisting the urge to grab his face and kiss him again, you watch intently at him biting on his bottom lip, giving you a sheer look of adoration and hunger. Your mind was in the highest state of euphoria, feeling like you’re on cloud nine. That kiss left you speechless, breathless, weightless, and all other adjectives in between.

“I can sit here and list off every reason why I’m in love with you, but I thought about it and figured this should be good enough to get my point across.” Chan suddenly expresses his true feelings while holding your hand tightly in his grasp. It feels like he can breathe again, as if a heavy weights been lifted off his broad shoulders. “Did you like the flowers I sent?”

You owe Mirae a huge apology the next time you see her.

“So it was you?!” A gasp escapes your lips, finally comprehending the fact that he’s genuinely liked you for this long. It still felt surreal to you that you even kissed.

“You didn’t realize it right away? I mean my initials were right there..” he nervously spoke once more. The effect you have on him is so dangerously good.

It’s hard to believe you were so oblivious to how Chan felt when it was all hidden in plain sight. You should’ve known something was up when he started learning how to cook the first week you met. During lunch you expressed that men who could cook were the ideal type of husband and since then he’s been on a mission to perfect his cooking and make you a proud wife someday.

Moral of the story? Life works in mysterious ways when finding your soulmate. The external forces come together to align themselves perfectly in harmony, bringing two beautiful souls to connect as one.

[End <3].

[atlabeth]

can i request a bridgerton au fic with nikolai? (i was reading not so simple earlier and was thinking about nikolai and now i can’t get the idea out of my head lol) maybe the reader isn’t the diamond of the season, so she has no idea why nikolai (A PRINCE!!) wants to court her

sweet relief

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader (bridgerton au!!!)

summary: you meet a striking stranger at your first ball, only to discover he is not a stranger at all.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this man it was so much fun to write i got carried away!!! i hate nikolai and his charming self so much

wc: 3k

warning(s): none that i can think of ??

Nikolai is bored. 

In truth, he does not fully know why he is here. Vasily has already been declared as the catch of the season, and the heir to the throne is much more valuable than the second son. But he is back in London after years spent traveling—not in search of a wife, he might add, to the chagrin of his mother—and he supposes that is cause for some interest. 

In the most basic sense of the word, Nikolai is also a prince, though he hardly has claim to the title. Not with the rumors of his true parentage floating about. 

If he was lucky, he figured he’d find some fun around Mayfair. If he was unlucky, he will be forced to deal with swarms of eager debutantes and even more eager mamas. 

And at this ball, Nikolai has realized that he is unlucky. 

He’s already had to fight off a horde of eligible ladies and their mothers, and explain ten times over that he is not here to participate in the season, he is just here to visit family. He doesn’t think they’ve heard a single word he’s said. They only see the lack of a ring on his finger. 

It is why he has found himself in some corner of the ball, a glass of champagne—that he wished was brandy—held loosely in his hand as he tuned out the idle musings of the men he’d somehow ended up around. His eyes dart around the ballroom, looking for anything even remotely interesting to get him through this night. 

He catches a glimpse of a pair walking through the doors, a mother and a daughter that he recognizes as a debutante from earlier in the day, but before he is granted the chance for further inquisition, his thoughts are interrupted. 

“Your Highness,” someone says, and his attention is drawn from his glass to not just one, but three pairs of mothers and mares, surely trying to vye for his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.” 

“I was unaware of my popularity,” Nikolai says wryly, looking at each of the women in turn. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“The pleasure is all ours,” another mother says brightly, and he sees her nudge her daughter. “If I may introduce my daughter, Miss Eleanor Woodbridge?” 

Nikolai bows his head in greeting, and she curtsies. When Miss Woodbridge speaks, her head is still bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” 

“So I’ve already heard,” he remarks.

Her cheeks flush bright red as she stands back up, and the next mother begins to introduce her daughter, and then the next—a Miss Evelyn Frances and a Miss Anna Huntsbury. 

Nikolai ends up in a dance with Miss Huntsbury at the nudging of her mother, and though it is perfectly pleasant, he can’t fully enjoy it with all of the eyes on him.

It is not as if he doesn’t enjoy attention. He is perfectly fine with being the center of attention, with being adored by women, with dancing and balls and all sorts of revelry. 

But this— especially after his travels to other countries, away from good society and the expectations of nobles— is so unbelievably predictable. All of these mothers attempting to find their daughter a husband, only interested in Nikolai because of a title he likely won’t earn. He doubts a single one cares of the man behind the Lantsov brand. 

But a second prince is better than no prince at all, and thus the moment he is off the dance floor, he is once again swarmed by women. 

He allows an inward sigh as he plasters on a smile. 

It is going to be a very long night. 

-

You are inexplicably nervous. 

You’ve just debuted and you are already in attendance of a ball. God, why must they hold the season’s first ball the night of all the debuts? You haven’t even had the afternoon to soak everything in—to truly absorb the fact that you must search for a husband—as your mother and lady’s maid spent every moment ensuring you were the image of perfection for tonight. 

In your mother’s opinion, they succeeded. But you already feel as if you are suffocating in your gown.

You are not the diamond, but in truth, you are thankful for it. There is already a huge weight on your shoulders to make a match—you could not imagine having the queen’s eye on you the entire time. You wished luck to Miss Jasmine, both that she could avoid horrendous suitors and the queen’s ire. 

Your mother says your name softly as you cross the threshold into the ballroom, immediately overtaken by the dancing and the musicians and glittering jewels. “Are you alright?” 

You shake your head rapidly. “No, Mother, I do not think I am alright. I am at my first ball of the season and I believe I may pass out.” 

She breathes a loose laugh as she shakes her head as well. “You’ve nothing to be nervous about. You will shine just as you always have, my love. I’ve no doubt that a suitor will see that.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” you huff. “I’ve equal fear both of finding a husband and not finding one. How is one meant to dread both of their options?” 

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, and nothing to be afraid of,” she repeats, “and certainly nothing to dread. I’m sure by the end of the night, you will have suitors lining up for a chance at your affections.” 

You truly doubt that, but you do not voice anymore of your concerns. Your mother has already done you a favor working through so many of them with you—the least you can do is smile prettily and dance a time or two. 

And you do. More than you imagined—your mother sends you away to fetch glasses of lemonade after a few minutes of idle chatter, and after you’ve poured the first glass you are approached by your first suitor. 

Lord Kenneth Barham, son of the Earl Pritchard. You’ve no idea what a man of title is doing around you, but he is agreeable and kind throughout your first dance. Had you the ability, you would have stayed by his side for the rest of the night only so you could avoid the rest of your expected debutante duties. 

But you do not, and so after a respectful if not slightly boring conversation between the two of you and your mother, he parts ways with the promise to call on you. You are not granted reprieve, to your mother’s delight, and it is not until a near full hour of dancing that you are able to get away. 

You slip away while your mother is busy discussing things with the Baron Ashford and his son, and you have never been so thankful for the outdoors when the cool air hits your skin. 

You let out a long, deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself. Things are going well, much better than you expected—you are already expecting five gentlemen to call on you by the morrow, three of which are titled. 

But you are not even halfway through the ball, and you are already exhausted. Your feet ache and you’ve grown weary of the weight of jewelry on your head and wrists and neck. You’ve truly no idea how you are meant to make it through the entirety of the season, if it is like this. 

“I apologize, my lady. I was unaware there was another out here.” 

You turn around and hold back a sigh. Even in your attempts to be alone, men still find you. 

“I do not have a claim to these gardens,” you say wryly. “You are free to roam.” 

He chuckles as he nods, and he takes another few steps towards you. “I wish not to roam—just to take after you and wrestle out a moment for myself in this schedule.” 

“Then you have picked a wonderful spot,” you say with a nod. “I will give you time to enjoy it on your own.” 

You start on your way, but he steps in your way. “There is no need, my lady. I already rather enjoy your company.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “You have been in it for but a moment.” 

“And what a lovely moment it has been,” he says. 

Normally, irritation would have won over by now. You should not be out here with a man unchaperoned, and you truly just want to be alone for a moment—you’ve a myriad of reasons to stick to your bearings and leave. 

But you have to admit, he is agreeable. His blonde hair is artfully styled, he’s dressed rather finely, and his hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at you with a smile.

“...Alright,” you say, and you decide to stay in place for now. “Have you a name, good sir?”

“You can call me Lord Sturmhond,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow. “I apologize, my lord. I’ve not yet heard of you.” 

“That just means I am all the more able to make a good impression,” he says, his smile only growing. “Which is rather imperative with a lady such as yourself.” 

You feel your cheeks grow warm, and you bite back a smile of your own. “You are quite the charmer. It could be quite scandalous for us to be found alone.” 

“You needn’t worry,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I doubt anyone will leave the ballroom. They are all too focused on the visiting princes.” 

Your eyes widen. “There are princes here?” 

“The Lantsovs,” he nods, and this time his eyebrows rise. “Had you not heard?” 

“...My mother may have told me, but it would not come as a shock if I neglected to listen,” you say sheepishly. You let out a deep sigh as you wring your gloved hands together. “I should be all the more thankful to be out here with you, then. The only thing to come of my meeting a prince would be disaster.” 

“Oh, I surely doubt it,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I enjoy your presence, and I enjoy your conversation. I believe the princes would feel the same.” 

“You flatter me, my lord, but I am in doubt.” Your gaze drifts off to the sky as you take a moment to appreciate the stars. “Truthfully, I am out here because I am overwhelmed. I’ve spent the hour dancing and in conversation with various men, and already I have had to venture out here for reprieve.” 

“All of this takes practice,” he says. “It is an unreasonable expectation for debutantes to be thrust into the season and perform perfectly. None of this is a light matter, and yet it is treated as one.” 

You sigh. “I just cannot imagine doing this for so many more months. It is going to be a very long season.” 

Lord Sturmhond chuckles. “I have thought the exact same thing tonight, my lady.” 

You find yourself smiling, freer and more genuine than anything you’d mustered earlier in the night. The other men you’d met were fortunately kind, but you just felt… different out here, with him. 

There were no eyes on you, meaning you did not need to act the pinnacle of propriety. That must have been the difference—not the man himself. 

In the distance, you can hear the changing melody of the strings, signaling the start of a new dance. Your eyes fall to your dance card, and as you read the last few names, you remember you still owe three more dances. You bite back a very unladylike curse. 

“I apologize, my lord,” you say, hurrying through a curtsy as you begin to back your way towards the ball. “I really must be going. My mother will have my head should I stay out here any longer.” 

“I understand.” Lord Sturmhond catches up to you in a few quick strides and he takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your breath catches as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart hammers in your chest even with the barrier of your glove. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His hazel eyes are nothing less than enchanting as they focus entirely on you, and had you any less sense, you could easily find yourself talking away the hours of the night with him. “Have confidence. I am sure this night will go your way should you wish it.” 

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” you say. “I hope it is not too forward of me to wish on our meeting again.” 

“Do not worry,” he says. “We will.” 

You open your mouth to ask him how he can be so sure, but the strings grow louder and you huff a sigh. In lieu of another goodbye, you nod and grin at the lord before you rush back indoors. 

Your mother doesn’t berate you when you appear by her side again, so you were not gone for too long. You get through your next three dances, and your last suitor is just leaving when your mother jabs you in the side. 

“Darling, the queen is coming our way,” she whispers. “And she has the Lantsov princes with her.” 

You nearly collapse just at that combination of words, but you hold fast—quite literally, as your hold tightens on your mother’s arm. You are thankful to the Lord Sturmhond for alerting you to the presence of princes tonight, for your shock would be exponential without it. 

“Why are they coming our way?” you ask. 

“They have been making the rounds together,” she says. “Straighten your back.” 

You do, and then you nearly collapse yet again when your eyes meet those of one prince. 

Those gorgeous hazel eyes stare back at yours—you know yours are as wide as dinner plates, despite your attempts to hold back—and he gives you that same damned smile, bowing his head ever so slightly as if to acknowledge your meeting. 

You met the prince. 

You told the prince of all your worries. 

You were kissed on the hand by the prince. 

You only hear your mother saying your name when she nudges your shoulder, snapping you out of your reverie. You blink and look at her, then to the queen.

“Your Majesty,” you rush out, ducking into your best bow, “Your Highnesses. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”  

The queen greets you and your mother with your surname, and though all your attention is on her, you can still feel the prince looking at you. 

“Have you met my sons, Vasily and Nikolai?” she asks. 

Vasily bows politely, respectful but reserved. “A pleasure, my lady.” 

You curtsy in return, and your Lord Sturmhond steps forward. You are thankful, at least, to put a name to the lying face. 

“It is a pleasure to meet such a beauty,” Nikolai says. He takes your hand and bows down to press a kiss to it, and your skin burns from his touch just as it did out in the gardens. He does not let go when he straightens, instead looking to your mother. “I do not wish to end our meeting prematurely, but I would love to have this dance.” 

“Of course!” your mother exclaims. “It would be her honor, Your Highness.” 

Nikolai nods and smiles, looking back to you for your permission. You nod as well through your haze, and he leads you out to the dance floor. It takes a moment for you to fully come back into yourself, and it only occurs once he has laid his hands in the correct position. His feather light touch is like lightning. 

“I did tell you we would meet again,” Prince Nikolai says, that sure smile on his lips yet again. Had it not been for your years of dance lessons, your weakened knees would not be enough to carry you through this waltz. “Did I not?” 

“...You did,” you say. “But you did not tell me you were a prince.” 

“I find it invites unnecessary pressure,” he says. “Did you not enjoy our time together?” 

“...I did,” you say again, unsure of your words. 

“And I am proven right in your manner,” the prince says. “You spoke so easily in the gardens, and now you seem to be putting thought into each syllable.” 

“You— you are a prince,” you repeat, your still-lingering shock making you speak plainer than you intend. “Of course I am putting thought into my words.” 

“You needn’t worry around me,” Nikolai says. “I am just another man in London.” 

“You are a prince.” 

“As we have established,” he nods, and when you let out a light huff he grins. “You have a lovely smile.” 

“As do you,” you say, and you shake your head. “I cannot believe you allowed me to make a fool of myself out there.” 

Nikolai frowns. “However did you make yourself a fool?” 

“You allowed me to ramble!” you exclaim. “I told you of my worries, of being overwhelmed, of all my thoughts—” 

“And what is the problem with that?” he asks. 

“It is unseemly to complain to a prince,” you insist. 

“We see our meeting quite differently, then,” he says. “For I left it with a most favorable image of you, and a wish to see you again.” He cocks his head. “Did you not leave with the same?” 

“...I did,” you say after a moment. 

Your conversation stalls for a moment as you part from each other, following the steps of the dance, before joining back again. His hand is sure in yours, startling but welcome warmth. 

“Then I do not see the issue,” the prince says. 

“You have made this night all the longer,” you intone. “Your attention makes me something of a target among the ladies of the ton.” 

“Do not worry,” he says, that irritatingly pretty smile aimed at you yet again. “I believe we can get through it together.” 

“Together?” you ask. 

“You wished to meet again,” Nikolai says. “I plan to grant that wish several times over.” 

“...I would like that,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“And just to think,” he says, amused, “you said your meeting with a prince would be a disaster.” 

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.

Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.

Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.

"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.

"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."

"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."

"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."

"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."

"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."

"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"

"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."

"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."

"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."

The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.

The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.

Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.

It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!

With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."

She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.

"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.

The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.

"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."

"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.

"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."

Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.

They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.

Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.

"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"

The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.

"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."

With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.

"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.

Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.

"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!

"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.

Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.

For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.

As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.

For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.

In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!

The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.

Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.

Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.

The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -

But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.

Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"

Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.

"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...

"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.

"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."

Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.

"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."

"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.

But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.

"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.

"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.

"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."

"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.

As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.

The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.

This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.

Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.

The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.

Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.

With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."

Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.

"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"

Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."

Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."

Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."

The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."

Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.

"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...

"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.

"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"

As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.

"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.

"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.

"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."

"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.

"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."

Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.

She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.

She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."

"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.

Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”

Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”

Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”

She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”

He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”

Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”

The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?

It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.

Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."

Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.

Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.

The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.

Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...

To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...

“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.

In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.

Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.

“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.

Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.

His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."

"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.

The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.

The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.

Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.

He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...

His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.

The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.

"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.

"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."

Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.

Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."

The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.

"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.

"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."

Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.

"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.

The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.

When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."

Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.

Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.

He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...

He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.

"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.

He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...

Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.

Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.

Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.

The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.

After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.

Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.

Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”

Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”

She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”

Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”

Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."

"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.

"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.

"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”

"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.

Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.

It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.

“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.

Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.

“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”

She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.

With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.

Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.

As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.

One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"

Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”

Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."

"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"

"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.

"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.

"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.

The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.

She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.

"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."

As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.

During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.

Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."

She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.

“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...

She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.

Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.

“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.

Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;

She did none of that.

"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."

She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.

"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.

"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.

"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."

"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."

"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."

"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.

"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"

His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.

"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."

The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...

She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”

His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.

Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.

With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."

As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...

The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.

Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.

Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.

The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...

“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."

Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."

Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"

Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."

"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."

Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."

Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.

Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."

Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”

Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.

The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.

As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.

No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.

Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.

The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.

He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.

He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.

His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.

"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.

The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.

"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...

When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...

Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.

"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."

Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.

"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.

He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.

"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"

"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"

Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."

"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."

"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."

The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.

At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.

Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.

"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.

"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.

"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.

"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."

"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.

"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."

The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.

The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.

Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.

The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.

When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...

She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.

Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.

Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.

"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.

"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"

Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.

Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.

"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"

The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.

"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.

Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.

"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"

Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.

“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.

"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."

Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."

Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.

“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."

The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.

Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.

She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -

Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.

Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.

She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.

Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.

As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.

Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"

"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!

"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”

"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"

“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.

"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”

In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.

He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.

“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.

For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”

Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"

She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.

“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”

Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."

For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.

The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.

Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.

He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.

Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.

She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.

One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.

Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...

He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.

But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."

"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."

"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."

"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...

"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.

"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.

"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.

"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."

"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.

She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.

Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.

He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.

Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.

With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”

With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.

Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.

"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"

"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.

“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”

Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”

Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.

He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”

The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.

“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”

As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”

Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.

“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."

Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.

Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.

“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.

But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.

With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.

The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.

Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.

Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.

That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.

This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.

It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.

Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”

But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.

“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.

After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."

In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.

“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.

As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.

Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."

Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."

Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."

Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”

Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”

Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.

"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.

"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.

She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"

His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.

"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.

Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.

"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.

"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him

"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."

She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.

"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.

Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.

When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.

"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."

Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.

Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."

In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.

Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.

Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...

The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?

Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.

With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.

The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.

[dark-night-hero]

「We found love」 Kamisato Ayato

↳ In which as fate lead the two of you together, an unfamiliar yet strangely warm feelings starts to grew on both of you leading you two to find something that you had never felt before. But then again, what could fate possibly lead you two when you are leagues apart.

Ayato was bored, annoyed and is quietly disgusted. The smell of body odors and the strong smell of flowery fragrance that tried to hide it was unpleasant to his nose. The constant shattering around him that makes the corner of his lips thug down if it was not for his good sense of control in his facial expression. He constantly, though not in anyones watch, shift on his seat. He does not like anything here at all, if it was not such profitable deal he would not have come here at all. And now that the deal have finally been sealed, there was nothing left but to enjoy the presence of the courtesan that entered the room as soon as the deal was done.

Ayato never liked it on brothels. In the first place, he rarely went into one, and even if he did, that was because of his retainers choosing it as a meetin place, in which never happened again by the way. And some for importsnt meetings like this that he cannot refuse. Ayato never saw nor think of any reasons to go to one. Recalling the constant reminder of his late father not to be involved in such things. There is nothing good that would come into him if he were to get involved and get into brothels. A place where nothing but temporary temptation and pleasure there is to come that might drove someone into their own demise once out of control.

Ayato was just about to leave, seemed to be done for today as he stood up when he was grabbed by the wirst of his hand by his business partner. It took him all of his facial muscles to keep the smile on his face as we asked, "What's the matter?" The man just smiled at him, his free hand warping around the oiran, considered to be a high rank courtesan, and bringing her close to him. "Don't leave yet, Mr. Kamisato. The main show is just about to start." Just as Ayato was about to refuse politely, the door opened gently, and the first thing that Ayato noticed was the smell of spring filling the room. It was not that strong smell of flowers that he had smelled earlier but the smell of spring, the smell of blossoms, the sweet and air smell of perfume fills the air.

The second thing he noticed was the sparkly ornaments all over the hair and elegant kimono that they were wearing. And then the kitsune mask that they were wearing, hiding away their face from anyones sight. "Ren Sakura?!" The man beside him utter in disbelief as the figure elegantly walks in, in their hand was a string instrument. She walks in a stead phases of that of a noble, no, perhaps she walks even more of a noble than by far all the nobles Ayato have seen. Ayato watches with curiosity, eyes never once looking away now that you have caught his interest, watching you sit down gracefully and set up your instrument to your liking. "Apologies our dear guest, Hanahime, my beloved oiran could not make it tonight. In return, I hope you would not mind me filling in on her behalf."

In that split secons, Ayato felt like the two of you looked at each other. "Of-of course! Who would dare rejects to be in the presence of you, a tayu, Ren Sakura?!" A tayu? As far as Ayato could remember, oiran was considered a high courtesan, and right above that was a tayu, the highest class courtesan known to entertain only the nobility and emperial court, in short, the almighty shogun. "I'm glad that is the case." The masked tayu giggles, "Then, I shall play a familiar piece befitting for tonights gathering." Once again, Ayato felt like his eyes met those that were behind the mask.

Ayato thought it was a bad idea, after all. He does not like brothels. The place, the smell, the people in general. It would be the last place you would ever expect him to be found. And yet there he is, asking for a familiar name that seemed to be coming out of everyone's mouth but only a few get to really see. Ren Sakura, Ayato knew it was not their real name. Most of the courtesan in here has a name that they use and not their real name. And for someone who rarely went and vowed not to long ago that he would never set foot in here again, he was quite knowledgeable. Even he does not fully know why he was here, whether it was the smell, the mask, the way they played the instrument or even the way they giggle, Ayato does not know which one to choose.

But if there is one thing for sure is that you have caught his interest and nothing could stop himself from finding more about you. Though one of the main reason why he chooses to go back in here was to prove to himself that nothing good would come out of here. It was just a passing interest, it would not last long, right? Once again, the door slide open and the scent of spring enters the room. With no hint of hurry, Ayato raise his head to look at you who was quietly and gently entering the room. Once again, you were wearing a kitsune mask. "It's a pleasure to meet you again, Mister." You bow to him, raising your hands together along the process as you bow your hands. "Is there anything you would like me to do?"

Kamisato Ayato was honestly the last man you would expect to be your client for the night. But then again given his status in life, it would not hurt his pocket to afford you for the night. Still, glancing at him underneath your mask, his beauty was just like what you have heard from your fellow courtesan. He looks a lot like a gentleman, his aura radiating of that of a highest noble but his fake smile tells something else. Just what does this guy want from you? You doubt he was the kind of person who actually comes into a brothel for pleasure, in the first place, you bet many female nobles would actually wanted to be- to die just to be in the arms of his man right in front of you. "Do you know how to play shogi?" He asked and you halted for a moment. "Yes I do, I shall go and set up for us."

"I... lost." Ayato utter in disbelief, back straightening as he looks at the board pieces with wide eyes before looking at you. You who was smiling underneath your mask after managing to finally defeat him after five close matches of shogi between the two of you. "If you have not make a mistake during the first five move then perhaps I wouldn't have beaten you Mister." You chuckle, once again setting uo the pieces back in their starting place, once again serving the commissioner another cup of tea in which he gladly took a sip. "You gave yourself a little credit. Not to brag but no one has ever come close into defeating me and you actually did that five times and really did beat me one match." This time it was his turn to chuckle.

When the Kamisato Ayato left that day, you never thought to see him again. But you did, once in a while, you did. And you are not sure fi you are glad he did. Maybe it was the sense of boredom that you are feeling due to the lack of customers that were actually availing you for their entertainment, then again, you could only have your price to blame for being so expensive that it might even cause them half of their yearly income for you to be on their presence.

Kamisato Ayato, or Ayato like he told you to call him when the two of you were in each other presence was quite an unpredictable young man. There were times were we would came in the brothel only for you to watch him sleep, playing the flute for him as a lullaby. In most of the cases, he would be in here to ppay shogi with you, bringing over some unique beverage and foods that is tasting weird most of time. But there would also be one of those rare days where he would just bring his leftover paperworks to the brothel and do it there, leaving you to fill up the tea cup that he has just consume and sometimes, he would let you handle some of his paperworks, entertaining the basic questions of the papers that he had assigned to you. Nevertheless, for someone whom rarely set foot out the brothel, you only have to thank him for the things that he would often get to you. If there is one thing that remains the same though would be the fact that Ayato has never seen you without your kitsune mask.

"Will there ever be a day where I get to see your face?" Ayato asked out of the blue as he lay his head on your lap as you hummed a lovely tune underneath your mask. And then by his question, you stop. "Did the madam not tell you?" You asked him. "If you're willing to pay the price, that is." You chuckle when you felt his finger traces all the way from the back of your ears down into your chin. You halted for a moment, before you relax. The feeling of your beating heart in yor chest was getting harder and harder to ignore the more time you spent with him. It was actually dangerous.

You always warn yourself not to get too attach with your clients. In the first place there is any room for attachment because you knew they only want something from you. The way they would look at you with such lustful eyes always leave a bittersweet feeling on your tongue, so you only have yourself to thank that you manage to price yourself up as a tayu. Whom unlike oiran is not for the work of pleasure. You are mostly for entertainment. Then again, due to your high price, only those with the highest class individuals get to afford you to be in their presence. And even if they did, you were only to attend gathering to perform. Unlike Ayato who seemingly spent his free time with you and you do not know how to make something out of it. You felt like there is something going on between the two of you but you yourself was quite afraid to accept it. Because somewhere deep in your heart you alreay know that you had fallen for him. But you also know that nothing good will come out of it.

Ayato on the other hand has his mind in the midst of chaos. Ayato was in love with you. That was truth. It's been over a year ever since he irst met you. And he could still remember the day he realised he was in love with you. You see, Ayato was a meticulous, cunning and a mysterious person. A man who would do anything to achieve his goals and eliminate anything that were to stand in the way of his family. The same man who once in a while would felt a huge amount of fatigue. Maybe it was all due to his paperworks or maybe because of during those times the conflict of opinions between his retainers just would not subdued. Or maybe the fact that his parents death anniversary was approaching. He just felt tired and exhausted.

That night, all those months ago. Ayato find himself on his way on the familiar path to the brothel, just like usual, wearing his robe that hide away most of his figures underneath, in the night of his parents date of passing. That night, Kamisayo Ayato find himself seeking to be in your arms. You have quite the wit, and your intelligence was second to none. Ayato have never seen your face, but to be honest that is something he cared about. That night, Ayato just remained in silence as he listen to you playing the string instrument. He just sat there staring at you in silence that is when you sense that something was wrong. "Is there something bothering you?" You asked, setting the instrument down as you stood up and approached him. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you do not want to talk about it." You utter as you sat down beside him.

That night, the two of you just sit there on silence, your hand above his as he lean in head on your shoulder. It was nothing but an act of comfort, yet that simple act seemingly touched the depths of his heart as he cane to realize one thing before he fell asleep in your arms that night. "Take a rest hmmm Ayato." As fatigue slowly takes over him, he felt himself being gently laid in the mattress and in those split moment, his lavender iris met with a pair of (eye color) ones before everything went black. In the following morning, Ayato find himself all alone in the room, feeling new as ever. Still he felt like something was missing, so he woke up and was about to leave when something caught his eyes. It was a letter saying. "I have told the others to prepare you a breakfast before you leave, but feel free to leave if you're in a hurry." Then he laugh, he laughs then fold the paper and kept in the pocket right within this chest, close to his heart. Right, the moment when he felt like you were his one and only solace, he knew he was in love with you. He knew you were the one for him.

And yet he was contemplating which is only natural. He was a man with noble bloodline, he is the current head of the Kamisato clan, and the current commissioner of the Yashiro commission. He was one of the faces of Inuzama. A well known bachelor and is expected to be wed with a fellow noble blood, one of the prettiest and elegant among the rest. What would his retainers- the citizens say if he were to be fall for someone like you. Although you were the highest along the courtesan, in most cases Nobles only see courtesan as their pass time and play thing. Ayato knew you were different, you are not just a courtesan in his eyes, you are more than a play thing to him. Ayato wanted you, he was in love with you after all. But if the price of his love would cause such scandal, such ruin in his- their image. Would his love remains the same?

Ayato find himself visiting the brothel less and less, telling you advance he would be busy and would not be able to visit for a while. You would reply at him with a laugh, joking letting him now you would not be having someone too entertain you for a while. Ayato knew you were rarely seek out due to your high price. Maybe that was the reason why he was so relaxed. He knew that no matter what, you would be in there, waiting. Be waiting for him to come. Even if you do not love him, he might be a friend at least to you, right?

Weekly visits turn into trice a month, then turn into monthly visit. This visit started going less and less until he visits you twice in every three months. Ayato thought that that would lessen the feelngs he felt for you. But no, in fact, it grew stronger. His longing for you intensified and yet you remained the same, giving him the same enthusiasm and welcome wheneverhe come back. He does not know it he should be hurt of revealed.

And then one night, you started being affectionate than you usually do. Dropping hints here and there. Being all over touchy. And man, he was barely hanging on a thread. And so he pulls away, grabbing your hand that was inside his shirt. "Wai-" "Do you not want this?" You asked, masked still in face. "I-" Holding your hand, he realised that you were trembling, your hands were trembling. Suddenly he became aware of one fact, you were holding back too. And is ready to withdraw with one single word from him. With a moment of silence he opened his mouth, "Do you, want this?" He asked, letting go of your hand as both hands fell to his side. And when he say you nod. His hands unconsciously went towards your mask. You did not move, you just let him pull the string that is holding your mask before it falls off the ground.

There his eyes widen as he got to take a look at your face for the first time. Your (eye color) eyes looks more mesmerising than he imagined it to be, those lips, those lips that were curled up into a beautiful smile. Without thinking much about. Ayato grabbed you on the nape of your neck and pull you into a deep and hungry kiss. It was as if he was starving, starving for a very long time in which he did. He might not have admit it but he was waiting, fantasising for this night to come. It was night full of unsaid words and feelings and yet the way the two of you hold each other says it all. "Stay for the night?" "I will."

Ayato was the one who left first when the morning come. To him, that night was not a mistake, at the same time. It was a night that is to be buried on the back of his mind. It was the same night he, the two of you realised that the two of you were leagues apart. A love that could only be kept in the dark, away from the world to see. In a coincidence, Ayato was not able to visit the brothel in the following days and weeks due to the following festival to come at the time. Thus it is only natural that he was unaware of the things that were happening within the brothel.

"Have you heard? A high ranking courtesan has been bought from the Hōkōtei?" Ayato did not mean to eavesdrop, but was not that the name of the brothel you work ay? "Huh?" "Yeah it's true, they have been bought a month ago but the news were just spreading because an official tried to spend a night with them recently but it turns out they were long gone from the list of courtesan from the brothel." "That sounds impossible, just how rarely were they were-" "It's Ren Sakura! Of course only a few coould afford Ren Sakura! Do you know that the cost of spending a match of shogi with themm would cost a yeat of our earnings? What more was a night with them?! Argh! Just how much were they b-" "What did you say?" "Huh- oh! Yashiro Com-" "What did you say?" "Hu-uh?" "Tell me everything. Now."

Ayato never run. He was a man with elegance, you would never see him run in which dishevelled manner. And yet here he was, sweat rolling down his chin, clothes dishevelled, hair in a mess as he pant heavily in front of the familiar brothel, people who seemed to recognise him started whispering with each other and yet he did not give a damn about every single thing instead, stromed inside the brothel, to be specific, into the room of the owner, the madam. "Where were they?" He asked as soon as he saw the familiar madam who was casually smoking with a pipe in hand and then his lavender ones met with a pair of violet ones. "I'm afraid I cannot disclose the location of my client, Yashiro Commissioner." She laughed as if mocking him. "Where-" "They waited for you for years, at being said, I suppose its natural that if you won't make a move, someone else would. Do you think that they would just sit still and wait for you every single time?" His lavander iris tremble upon the madam statement. "In the first place, you were never interest in buying them. Why are you getting so worked up like they were stolen from you?" "You never plan to take responsibility for my child because you two were leagues apart, they were just a courtesan and you're a noble. The two of you were never meant to, isn't that right?" Every words that left her- the madam's mouth felt like a dagger stabbing his heart. Because it was true.

"Get out of my pavilon and never set foot in here every again." "Mada-" "Do I have to drag you out myself? Kamisato Ayato?" Her piercing violey eyes bore before him. "You brought this upon yourself, stop looking like you just lost the love of your life when they surely meant nothing to you and oh- here. Wear this and this." He felt numb, whether it was his heart of his body. He felt numb. So following the madam words, he left upon wearing the robe that was given to him. He felt like his body was moving on its own, his mind was foggy, he wanted to cry at the same time he could not. "My lord- are you alright?" "I'll be in my room, Thoma. Thank you."

Inside his room, Ayato sat in front of his shogi board and started playing alone, moving the pieces by himself doing the moves you would often does. In the end, he find himseld loosing in his own game. And so he laugh, he laughed as tears roll down his cheecks. Teeth grinning as he felt mad, mad to himself for lying, lying to himself. For being selfless, for losing the love of his life so easily. He angrily throw away the shogi board to the side, scattering its pieces all over this room as he stood up. He then proceed to remove his robe that was given by the madam back in the brothel. He was about to trow it too when his hands was pierced by something. On the robes pocket was a hair piece ornaments. But then again, he mad. About to throw the piece of ornaments into the ground with his bloody hand until he realised how familiar looking it was and his eyes widen. It was your hair ornament. The one he have seen you often wear. "This.." Then he found a letter.

It was not that long until silence once again field the room followed by sobs. "I'm sorry." He cried. "I was a fool, I'm sorry." The letter was slowly crumbling on the palm of his hand as he pull it closer to his chet as well as the piece of ornament. As if doing such thing would bring you close to him. "I love you." He utter in helplessness. "I love you..." He cried. But it was already too late, for you have already went away. Far within his sight to see, far within his arms to reach.

My Ayato,

Funny how you're "my" Ayato when you're not.

I thought we found love.

But perhaps that was just me, for the moment when I woke up in the morning, you were no where in sight. It was such a shame. I thought we had something. Turns out I was just being delusional. After all, how could a noble like you fall for a mere courtesan like me.

Still, I am grateful for the times we have spend together. I will treasure those moments deep within my heart.

I am glad that my first time was with you, my one and only love.

Come to think of it, I never told you my name, no? Then again, what would be the use when we sould never see each other again? But still, I still want you to know it.

My name is (First name). I doubt you'll remember it though.

Then, I apologise that I have to leave without saying anything I am afraid even if I did, nothing would change. If it wasn't the case, you have long take me away from this place. But you never did.

Your Lovely courtesan, Ren Sakura.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: late na ko fuck, bye.

[starshinegazer]

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

[allthornsnopetals]

Fire on Fire E.Bridgerton

With this much desire, together we're winners They say were out of control, and some say we're sinners But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms

A/n: This was requested from an anon, long ago. Sorry for the wait.

Warning: Lady Violet x OC mother of reader (their gay, for each other), not proof-read

This is wrong, all of this is wrong!

Y/n's thoughts roar, her eyes glued to the ceiling, bare in the sheets of the woman she loves most: Eloise Bridgerton. Another day, another night. Her heart ached for her, her air being her, whom she should not have.

This is wrong!

Eloise had her heart long before she even knew it, before her first kiss with a noblemen's son, out of curiosity. It were as if, it were made for her, made for a woman and not a man. Y/n stiffs a sob, clasping a hand over her lips, as to not wake Eloise. This was wrong and she knew it. If she were to live like this, she would bring great shame to her family. But if she did not, her heart would be in great pain.

But she had made up her mind. She would wed and bring great pride to her dynasty.

"I am so sorry, Ellie." Said Y/n, trailing from her sheets, dressing herself and departing without a final goodbye or kiss to her beloved's head.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Mama, did Y/n decide to have breakfast with her own family, this morning?" Eloise asks, entering the drawing room.

Violet draws her attention to her daughter, thinking and forgetting her tea. "No, my dear. She had left during the night. She seemed rather upset... Eloise, did you do something to upset miss Y/n?" Her eyes hardens with her lips drawn into a thin line, interrogating her daughter.

Eloise huffs exasperatedly, slumping on the couch opposite her. "No, mama, I have done nothing to upset her." She says, opening her book and beginning the first page with her mind occupied with her love, hoping she had not done anything to upset her.

Her mother, cocks a brow, skeptical like always, but letting her curiosity lay to rest. "It is to be calling hour in just a few moments, eat and do try. I want you to try." Violet ignores Eloise's groan of annoyance, returning to her tea and breakfast.

"If Y/n can stand calling hour, than so can you."

I already have someone to call on to, and it is not a Lord or noble.

Eloise thinks, allowing herself to smile, missing the scent of her better half. Once calling hour is over, she is to pay her a visit and perhaps visit the library and enjoy a picnic in the park. Her love is never bored of food or books, she is rather the eater and could never stop herself from indulging in what she fancies. Eloise had learned the hard way, many times.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Miss Eloise, what brings you here at such a time?" Said Maria, Y/n's mother: Lady Clearwater.

Usually a footman answers the door or even Y/n, but something important must be taking place for the lady of the house to be answering her own door. Eloise tilts her head, her brows drawn in confusion. "Lady Clearwater, I am here to spend my afternoon with Miss Y/n. Is she in?" She asks, trying to peek through the rather small opening.

Maria cages the door to her body, closing any opportunity for her to peek. "I am afraid to inform you that, Y/n cannot join you at the moment. She is sitting with a Suitor, something that you are unfamiliar with." Her tone was bitter and sour, like always. But it was always sweet for her daughter, and not for Elosie, someone she loathes.

Eloise knew it but she did not care much, after all her daughter loves her and she loves her daughter. "But calling hour is but over, Lady Clearwater." Said Eloise, sounding confused and lost.

Why, would Y/n be sitting with Suitors. She never sits with them, never.

"Well, she had many calls today. Y/n is simply unable to join you, perhaps your plump friend, Miss Penelope can accompany you today. And not my daughter, whom I have informed you to stay clear from, many times before. Now, never darken my door step with your stubborn presence again." She slams the door in her face, leaving Eloise stunned and confused. Had she done something to upset her beloved, Y/n?

No, matter. She will unmask the true intentions, regardless of the events in front and ahead. She will make things right.

Or, so she thought.

Eloise has sent letter, after letter. In each letter, she wrote of apologies, love and the longing her heart yearns for with the absence of her Y/n. At this point she is breaking, missing the girl who smelt of raspberries and limes. Who saturated her days and nights. Her dreams, stained with her face, with her love.

What did I do wrong? Did I finally say something, I should have kept to myself?

Does she not love me?

Eloise wept into her hands, hunched over her desk, staining her gloves with tears.

"Eloise are you read-." Violet pauses at the door, gasping and gliding to her daughter's side. "My darling, girl, what is the matter?" She embraces her, guiding her out of her chair and to her bed.

Eloise shook her head, seeking comfort in her mother's chest. "It seems I have upset Y/n. She hasn't spoken to me since late last week." She hiccups, rendering her voice weak and frail. "I went to visit her during and after calling hour, but her mama, a terrible woman, refuses to let me see her." Violet's nose screws up at the thought of Y/n's mother, who was in fact a nasty woman and close friends with Lady Cowper—both nasty and cruel.

She rubs comforting circles on her back, trying to sooth her. "I miss her, mama. I want her near, not far. I want her as one needs air... I want her back." Eloise sniffles, suffocating in her mother's bosom.

"She will come back to you and do not worry about her horrid mother, I will settle her dismay." Violet reassures her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/n danced with yet another Suitor, feeling rather sick of this and the stench of his man stink. He smelt unpleasant and musky, something she was not used to. She was used to the scent of lavender and tulips, which reminded her of Eloise, who watched on the side lines, itching for an opportunity to speak with her. Y/n noticed, so she dragged out the dance, making a show of false intentions, waiting for someone to steal Eloise away or waddle off in search of Penelope.

She did not want to see or speak to her. She wanted her to be less stubborn, leave her be and see what she is clearly doing.

"Lady Clearwater." Said Violet, watching Y/n dance while her daughter stood watching, clearly yearning for a moment with her. "Oh, Lady Bridgertion, how are you on this fine evening?" She returns her greetings with a ruse of a smile, offering her a slight bow.

"Good, but it seems my Eloise is having a rather poor time at the moment." She watches Lady Clearwater and her smirk, clearly caring very little. "Well, that is to be expected without a Suitor or company. Is she to be called on soon or-."

"Don't disrespect my daughter. You and your nasty comments can be kept to yourself and your nasty crony friends. You have no right to speak about my daughter behind her back or make her feel less then. She has every right to see her friend, for they have been glued to the hip before Edmund's passing." Violet takes a breather, pointing her finger in her face, making sure her voice is low enough for only them to hear.

"Your daughter has saved my Eloise. Saved her from herself, from her anger, from her distaste for society and especially her bad luck with her debut. And as for your daughter, you do not deserve her. You don't deserve her kindness or her intellect. She is my girl's sun and she is her moon. They will not part, simply because you do not-."

Maria grabs Violet, dragging her to an empty room, making sure they were not spotted or followed. She pushes her in, shutting the door behind her. "How dare you, pull me along without my con-."

"Be quiet, Violet!" Said Maria, hushing the other woman.

Maria breathes through her nose, calming herself. "Your daughter and my daughter are... They are..." She stutters, finding it difficult to manage the right words.

"They are what?" Violet says, clearly impatient, growing tired of her used to be a friend's antics.

"They are going through what we went through." Violet's brows knit together, trying to understand what Maria is implying. Maria huffs in annoyance, irritated by her slow brain. "Our daughters are seeing each other behind our backs, as we did before our husbands." Maria finally explains, waiting for Violet to finally understand.

Violet's mouth falls open with her eyes blown in understanding and shock. "They are romantically involved with each other?" Said Violet, pacing the room, consumed in thought and worry.

Maria taps her foot, impatient and irradiated. "You did not see it?" Maria cocks a brow, still so arrogant and short-tempered as she was when she were but a young lady without title. Violet glares at her, stocking towards her with hell in her eyes. "You did not inform me!" She points her finger accusingly to her.

Maria scoffs. "You did not speak to me after my marriage to Lord Clearwater. Please enlighten me with an explanation of how I was to inform you."

Violet deflates, recalling her past and her decision to ignore and vow to never speak to Maria again. "Right." Said Violet, backing away and fiddling with her fingers, embarrassed and feeling rather foolish.

"They gaze, only at each other... As if it were only them. My Y/n, seeks your Eloise, as if she were the moon and the stars." Maria chuckles faintly, staring at her feet with a small smile. "I am beginning to think, that queer traits are genetics." The ladies make eye-contact, acknowledging the other for the first time in many years.

Silence fell, like sheets cascading over a mattress. They both wet their lips, a shared trait of awkwardness and loss of words. It was as it should be for the ladies of separate dynasties. One found a love match after the shatter of her lover's heart, while the other found a political match, that had its romance in its own way.

They were both aware of the cracks, scars and bruises their love had left. The rumors, the dent their families received and the long lasting yearning for the company- the love, that only they found with each other.

"It was, rather painful, Mia. Having you marry another, while I watched... It left a mark, that not even Edmund could wipe away." Violet muttered, her lip beginning to quiver. "I had wished it were a bad dream or a mistake when I heard you were with child. I wanted to believe that you'll come back. Come back to me and tell me it were all but a cruel joke, a prank, perhaps a misunderstanding." Violet croaked, straying her gaze to the floor.

Maria cups her cheeks, wiping away her tears with the pads of her thumbs, shushing her. "I am truly sorry for the hell I dragged you through, but Vi you knew the cost, th-"

Violet silenced her with a kiss, dragging her close by the waist, wanting her to shut up and fill the void Maria had left. Maria pulls back enough for air. "Vi, what on earth are-." Violet backs them both into the wall, finding her lips again, and only parting to speak.

"We can't do this to our girls. What we had, left a wound on my heart. I don't have the strength to put my daughter through the exact pain I went through, and I am sure you can't do such a thing to your darling daughter, can you Mia?" Violet pants, gazing at her lips, silently begging her to reconsider her thoughts.

At the sight of her old love, her heart wallowed. How could she have let her slip through her fingers? How could her heart move so quickly and swiftly? Has it always been for her? She shook her head, pecking Violet on the lips, testing the waters, and feeling the sparks she had assumed belonged to another, calling for a show of fireworks and dazzling colors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Maria took her daughter's arm, dragging her to the nearest exit. "Rest, stroll, take this time to breathe and enjoy the cool of the evening." She lures, ushering her to walk the gardens. "But mama, I am to fill my dance card, sir phi-."

Maria raised her head, hushing Y/n as she spots Violet prompting her daughter to do the same. "Nonsense, this night has been quite filling. Now go, enjoy some peace alone." She grinned, swatting at her to leave.

Y/n allowed her shoulders to relax, weakening her posture with a thankful smile. "Thank you mama, I will return before the night is to end." She props a kiss to her cheek before waddling off.

She strolls mindlessly, before coming to a stop at the lake side, observing it and its endless solitude. Her mind has been in shambles and glass, since her departure from the Bridgerton house. She missed her lady of lavender and tulips. She misses the way her skin felt against her own, the sound of her laugh, and the intricate works of her mind. She wanted her girl back. She wanted to be near her, that is, if it so weren't wrong.

She needed to clear her mind. Needed her heart to stop pulling, stop squeezing the life from her being when Eloise polluted her mind. She wanted everything to stop, to pause and give her peace.

Y/n coughed, using the pebble path as a place of rest, sitting and cradling her legs to her chest. She released a tired sob with her head deep in her knees.

Go, away Eloise! Leave my mind and let me rest!

But Eloise did not want to. Her steps quicken at the sight of Y/n, running to her, wanting to be near her. "Y/n, what is the matter?" She slid beside her, and without thought, pulled her into her arms.

Once she realized who it was, Y/n was pulling away, shoving Eloise away. "You are what is the matter. You cannot leave me be!" Said Y/n scooting away, and finding her feet.

Hurt crossed Eloise's face, feeling as if she was stabbed or shot by the one she loves. "I do not know of what you speak? Am I the matter? I do not understand... Have I done something to offend you, or hurt you?" Her usual confidence and stature has gone, stripped from her within just a moment.

At the sight of light losing its life in her sapphire eyes, Y/n's heart winched, with her throat running dry. She wanted to avoid this. Avoid the pain of ripping off the band aid, the prick of thread and needle, stitching a wound or the pour of alcohol on an open gash. It felt like lava, washing over her, like rain, drenching her and even drowning her. It gave something in her, something rather sore, perhaps raw.

"Do not speak to me Eloise. You are the problem." Y/n swallows dryly, walking backwards. "If we are seen here alone, we are to be dragged through the mud, the dirt, the very gutters of lower London!" She inhaled harshly, glaring pained daggers at the woman she loves, and pausing in her steps.

"They speak and you ignore their whispers... Their nasty comments. Do you know of the tons thoughts. How they believe us as sinners. Women bedding the devil!" She exclaims, fiddling with her gloves.

Eloise rolls her eyes, amusing herself with an empty laugh. "I do not care for what the ton has to say. These men and women are just-."

"But I do! I care!" She drives forward, pointing her finger at Eloise. "But you do not! You skip around with your skirts above your ankles, living a life of sparkles and ponies." She spat, shoving her finger into Eloise's chest, accusingly. "You care very little about others, and that is what the problem is." She scoffed, backing away, shocked and irritated.

"I care very little? You left my letters unread and unanswered. You left me alone, hurt and you hurt me more, now! You stabbed me! Marked me!" Said Eloise, grabbing hold of Y/n's hand and holding it against her chest.

"You branded my heart. You, Y/n Clearwater strangle my heart and make it bleed. You feed it blood cells and provide it with chambers to feed the body. You have something, that I cannot afford to give away, simply because of silly gossip. And I will not let you walk away with it." She pleaded with her, begged her with nothing but desperation in her words and eyes.

"Do not let me bleed."

But Y/n was not her mother. She will not be so easily swayed, not like this. "Lord Philips has asked for my hand and I have accepted." Said Y/n, drawing back her hand, walking back to the ball.

"But do you love him!" Eloise yells, following Y/n and yanking her back. Y/n frees herself with Eloise quickly snatching her by her forearms, forcing her in place.

"Do you love him. Say it and I'll leave you alone."

"And what if I said, I did not? What would you do then? Cage me? Keep me hostage?"

Eloise, now grinned. "Perhaps I should cage you, like a song bird. Keeping you from society, forcing you to stay with me." She jokes, drawing her closer until her arms were encased around her shoulders, trapping her in, keeping her from running away, basically hugging her. Y/n laughs, finding her lips curling into a smile of her own.

Eloise always had a way to make her laugh or feel anything but anger or sadness in heated situations like this. They could argue for five to ten minutes until Eloise said something witty, clever or comical. Eloise would never end an argument with tears or brewing anger. She is too hopelessly in love for that to happen.

"I do not sing." She perched herself on Eloise's shoulder, gazing at her with an easier tone and lacy smile. She laughed, cupping Y/n's cheek, rolling her thumb over the smooth skin. "Perhaps not very well. But that can be fixed with the candles turned down and an empty house." Eloise winks suggestively, rewarding her with a pinch to the side. "Dirty Bridgerton." Y/n pokes, soothing the spot with the pad of thumb.

The pair relish in the solace of the arms of their lovers, relieved to have the other back in their respective positions. "My love, don't let the whispers of the ton ruin us. They know nothing, of our love. Nothing about what it means to yearn for someone, quite like we do." Eloise pressed her forehead against hers, content on keeping her near.

She drew her voice to a whisper. "Do you love me, miss Clearwater?" She finally asked, waiting with steeled breath.

"Yes, stubborn Bridgerton, I do love you. How can I not when you make me a fool for thinking to wed another."

[eveenstar]

double the bastard, double the...what's the saying again? | Ulf White x fem!bastard!reader - PART I

consider donating to my kofi if you like my work!

You were the bastard daughter of another bastard daughter, funny, isn't it? Well, not to you. Your mother was another one of Princess Saera's bastards, who worked her entire life to escape her own mother's shadow, but it lingered in the blood. In her hair. In her heart.

It seemed the apple didn't fall far from the tree, as she got impregnated by some stupid Lord that had heard tales of the "white-haired beauties" in the depths of King's Landing. Then, you were born, with silver-white hair of your grandmother and the eyes of your unknown father.

Your late mother, bless her heart, did all she could to not have you end up like her or her mother. No, she promised you were destined for greater things. Her dreams told her so. She swore it til her grave.

After your mother passed, you took refuge with her half-brother, Hugh, always munching on your mother's words over and over again. Your once silver hair was dyed brown, despite your friends' insistence that you shouldn't hide who you are. Let the royals see their doings.

But you knew they cared little. They could have King's Landing be a city of bastards and not give one single fuck about it.

When war came to your doorstep, you were not one to pick sides. Aegon or Rhaenyra, they were all the same. They didn't put food on your table, did they? What matters is that you stayed alive for one more week.

It didn't stay like that for long, no, no, no.

When the news came that Rhaenyra was recruiting bastards to Dragonstone, your mother came to you in a dream. You saw her, standing by one of the brothel's windows, humming a soft lullaby as she held babe-you in her arms.

"It is fierce out there, I shan't lie to you." She whispered. "But we are fiercer. We are the blood of dragons, my sweet girl. I know you will achieve what I could not, and I beg your forgiveness for such."

Now, here you stood before Rhaenyra. But you weren't alone. Next to you were Hugh, a girl named Nettles, the local drunk Ulf White, and a handsome young man called Addam of Hull.

"You have done what was deemed impossible." Proclaimed the Queen.

But not to us, you wished to reply.

Your dragon, albeit smaller than the rest, was an unnamed one when you claimed her. So you took it upon yourself to name her Golden Tooth for her yellowish scales and shy nature.

Still, doubts crippled in your mind. You were to fly to battle with a dragon, likely to never return. Your hand was forced on the matter; it was either starve to death or honour your mother. You wished to not partake in a siblings' war, but you couldn't bite the hand that feeds you. And that hand was Rhaenyra's.

"Wench! Another one of these little birds!" Interrupted Ulf of your thoughts. You looked up from your breakfast.

"You eat like a pig." Hummed Nettles, sitting besides you.

"Ah, ah," Tutted Ulf with a toothy grin. "Like a dragon."

"There's a difference?" Snickered Nettles in return, and you couldn't help but laugh with her. At last, you could use a feminine presence in this stone cold keep, one that wasn't a noble, that is.

Even if Prince Jacaerys and his betrothed despised your group's presence on Dragonstone, you knew he knew they were desperate. Without you, they were nothing.

You mustn't think like that, you reprimanded yourself, this is an honour.

Is it?

Training and practicing High Valyrian and dragon commands was...harder than expected. It seemed you and Ulf were the odd ones out, taking great difficulty in the pronunciations and proper commands. Silverwing was confused, and Golden Tooth believed you merely wanted to play. As if she was a dog and not a dragon!

It was frustrating. Even your good friend Nettles was better than you in this, and despise her innocent teasing, you were growing frustrated.

"Dra-cá-ryze."

"That's not how you say it."

"Shush, girlie. I was born for this."

You scowled at Ulf's words, standing back and watching as he ordered Silverwing to burn a sheep.

"Dra...cáryze!"

The dragon huffed, a brief cloud of smoke leaving its mouth.

"It's dracarys, not dracáryze."

"Ehh, what's the difference?" Ulf brushed it aside with a scoff, but the faint pink of his cheeks did not go unnoticed by you. Yet, you remained unamused.

"How are you to fly into battle with a dragon you do not know how to command?" You inquired. Ulf glanced at you, then to Silverwing, and smiled again.

"This lady knows what to do. She's smart, I tell you that. "She flew us to King's Landing without as much as a word!"

"And nearly got you both killed by a scorpion." You added.

Truth be told, you were never even remotely an acquaintance with Ulf back in King's Landing. You knew who he was, sure, a drunk and funny man who loved to boast himself as "Ulf the Dragonlord." But he wasn't the type of people you preferred to stick around with.

Now that you get to live with him, you regret staying in the city. He was...nothing like a dragonrider (not that you had met many of them). He lacked the grace, the poise, and the looks of one.

Well...

Now that he was bad looking, especially with the new wardrobe Queen Rhaenyra provided you. But he could use with some Valyrian braids, and maybe some brooming, and....

"Aye, girlie, y'starin'." You blinked. Ulf was standing in front of you with a sheepish grin on that stupid face of his. "Can't command a dragon whilst daydreamin', can't'cha?"

You huffed. "You know, I'd call you a bastard but I forget you already are one." You said as you stormed off. "And a stupid one at that!"

"That was mean." Nettles laughed as she jumped on your bed, falling beside you. "But hilarious. The man needs to be put in his place."

"How in the Seven Hells did he claim a dragon such as Silverwing? He's a complete idiot!" You sighed, frustrated. "And his manners at the table, speaking to the Prince and the Queen? I..."

Nettles rolled on her stomach, leaning her head against her hands. "Why are you so bothered? If he's truly that useless, that will be proven in a real battle."

You sat up, running a hand through your hair to adjust it. "Well.. I... Death is a bit much, don't you think? I don't want him dead, I just wished he would shut up and behave for a moment."

Nettles hummed, a cat-like smirk plastered all over her face.

"I know a few ways men can be silenced."

"Nettles!"

Supper had been served two hours ago, yet few little had joined the table. Queen Rhaenyra was absent, and so was her son, Prince Jacaerys. Lady Baela ate very little and kept to herself, merely glancing at Ulf whenever he was being too loud.

Addam was also absent.

Nettles had preferred to stay with Sheepstealer, under her vow to you that she'd eat something later.

The room was eerily quiet aside from your hushed conversation with Hugh about training and how you loved that Targaryen female attire had pockets (of all things you should be worried about).

Much to your displeasure, Hugh, too, wasn't one to stick around for supper. You knew your sweet stay at Dragonstone was coming to an end, and that war was waiting beyond the sea, with the Stranger waiting to bring some of you with him.

Two hours had passed, and you munched on your thoughts instead of the delicious (cold) food that lay before you. You couldn't bring yourself to eat anymore, not when there was a battle inside you. You were afraid, not only for yourself, but for your newfound friends and allies and....your dragon. Something you never thought possible.

I did it, mummy. I did it. I made you proud.

You hoped she was proud. You hoped you had made something good out of your lineage.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Asked Ulf, his eyes practically feasting on your cold plate. You said nothing, merely passed it along to him.

You must have underestimated him because Ulf hesitated in taking your plate, staring at you for a moment. Usually, you'd be laughing with Nettles or Addam while teasing Ulf for his lack of manners or proper conduct.

Not today, it seemed. Ulf wasn't sure if he liked that. It was enough to have everyone on Dragonstone sulking and glaring at him -- them -- everywhere they went. But you? You were the entire sun in the stone fortress. Despite your insistence and giving him a hard time during practice, Ulf found you interesting. Especially when his antics made you laugh, even if it was at him.

"Seems like the princeling got to you too."

"Excuse me?"

Ulf leaned back on his chair, resting his feet on top of the table as he munched down on a chicken wing. "Pouting doesn't suit ya."

"I'm not pouting." You frowned. "I'm worried. As you should be. As we all should be."

"I'm worried, alright. Worried all this food will go to waste. Where's everyone at?" Ulf looked around, but saw only the servants taking the food away, as if expecting him to ask for more.

"We're going to die, Ulf!" You suddenly snapped, bringing the man's attention to you. You'd never seen him so bewildered. "We're not knights, no matter what the Queen says. We're just...pawns in this war. We have no part in this."

Ulf said nothing. For the first time, he found himself speechless. He knew you were right; he wasn't a fool. Well, he was, but not blind. He knew what was coming, but he chose to live in the moment. What memories would he have to remember when the Stranger came for him? Sulking in a palace?

"And I don't want to die. I don't want Hugh to die. Or Golden Tooth, Gods, do the dragons know we are making them slaughter their own kin?" Exasperated, you ran your hands up and down your face. "They're not....We are not-"

Suddenly, a rough and alcohol-filled kiss was pressed to your lips, silencing you. Ulf leaned back, a proud smile on his smug face as he looked at you.

Had the bastard just....

You stared at him, wide-eyed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Couldn't help myself," Ulf grinned, "You women love to worry, y'know that?"

The grip around your cup tightened, threatening to spill on him at any moment. But you couldn't. Your cheeks were growing redder than any of Golden Tooth's fire. The cheeky bastard!

"Ulf."

Hugh stood at the entrance of the chamber, holding a sword in his hand. His glare could be felt across the room, like Vermithor himself had just walked in.

"It's time for training."

Ulf took one last sip of his wine, clearing his throat.

"Shit."

[milswrites]

We can't be friends

Cassian X Reader

Summary: Cassian had been distant. While he was still physically present around you, it was easy to see his mind was elsewhere. When you learn of the reason why this rift has appeared between you, you must make the difficult decision to step away from the man you once loved.

Warnings: Angsttttt

Notes: We've had our Rhysand breakup angst, it’s now time for Cassian's!!! Anyone else had Ariana Grande’s new album on their mind like 24/7? Stole the name from her song lol.

Cassian’s mind was wandering again. You could see it. Able to tell that he wasn’t mentally present by his blank expression and misty absent-minded gaze. His usually bright hazel eyes bore a dull film, as if someone had draped a cloudy vail over them.

You needn’t ask him what he was thinking of. Who he was thinking of. It had been clear enough to you that his thoughts had been occupied by the eldest Acheron sister from the moment he had met her in the mortal realm.

He would deny it of course, every time you brought the topic up with him he would spit some venomous comment about her poor attitude and the lack of love she held for her younger sister.

But you needn’t be a seer to observe what was going on here. It was as through fate that you had been cruelly blessed with the ability to see the golden thread which tied him to the woman.

Whether Nesta was oblivious to the bond or was just opting to ignore it you did not know. But you were sure Cassian knew. In fact you had never been more positive of anything in your life.

What you couldn’t understand was why would Cassian go about his life as though the bond wasn’t there? Why, at the end of each night, would he come back to your chambers to warm your bed?

The male continuing to crawl into your sheets after a long days work, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he cradled you to sleep, acting as though nothing was different. As though you couldn’t feel the grating presence of the bond.

Most nights you stayed awake as the man slept beside you. Your miserable eyes trailing along the length of the golden cord, following the string as it wound its way out of your room. No doubt if you followed it’s path you would end up right outside the door of Nesta’s flat.

So why was Cassian still drifting you along even though he had met his mate? And how much longer would you have to wait before the inevitable occurred?

These thoughts had plagued your mind for the past few weeks. Eating away at you as they slowly stole your happiness. Instead, an odd feeling of guilt wracked your body. The evil whisper of your conscience telling you that you were the third-wheel. The one thing stopping Cassian from being with his mate. That you should do the noble thing and end your relationship. That it was what he would want.

You defensively hiss back at your demons whenever they took a hold of your mind, reassuring yourself that Cassian loved you. That he still chose to warm your bed every night. Silently hoping that the only reason he hadn’t told you about the bond was because he didn’t want to worry you. That he didn’t want you to question the unwavering affection he held for you.

And yet you always found yourself back here.

In the company of the male whose mind was in another place. With another person. Finding yourself once more having a one sided conversation with yourself. Cassian only occasionally offering up a small grunt of acknowledgement.

His glazed eyes which stayed locked on your form, no doubt imagining a different view. A picture of the woman he was dreaming about. A woman that wasn’t you.

It began to feel like there was a ghost in your relationship. Only you couldn’t figure out whether it was you or Cassian.

Cassian who had become a shell of the man he had once been around you.

Or you, who now struggled to be both heard and seen by the man you had devoted the last three centuries of your life to.

The once overwhelming surge of radiating joy had dimmed. A candle, struggling to stay alight as it consumed the last dregs of fuel from the wick. The flame between the two of you now fading into a dull flicker.

Your heart no longer skipped a beat whenever you saw the male. Instead it weighed heavy in your chest, as if clamped by a strong metal hand, choking the last remnants of happiness from your soul, flooding your body with a terrible sense of dread.

This wasn’t the way you wanted to live.

You knew that much. You were smart enough to know that you didn’t want to be the second option. The afterthought, even though you had known the male longer, had loved him for longer.

Therefore you knew what had to be done. Yet after sharing three hundred joyous years with the male you couldn’t be blamed for struggling to find the strength to do it.

~~~~~

But you could feel it now. The strength seeping into your body, fighting to share the room alongside your agony and grief. Mourning your relationship before it has even come to a close.

It was hard to ignore the way your hands had begun to shake. Nor the drying of your throat as you blurted out the words before you could stop yourself and cowardly continue on with the relationship which had began to drain you of the last of your happiness.

“We need to talk.”

The words came out thick and heavy. The change in the tone of your voice from your monotonous dialogue to this statement being enough to capture Cassian’s attention. The absent clouds drifting from his eyes until your determined ones were met with his hazel orbs.

“I thought we were talking?”

The male gulped as he spoke, clearly feeling the unsettling aura which filled the room. All your years together being enough for Cassian to know the gravity of what you were about to say.

“Why are you still here Cas? With me?”

“W-what?” He stuttered in answer, your eyes searching his as you tried to distinguish whether he knew what it was you were talking about. Fear building in your chest at the realisation you were going to have to say it yourself before this conversation led to nothing.

“Nesta, Cassian. The bond.”

He didn’t know. All this time he had been unaware of your silent heartbreak. You saw the truth of it in the way his face dropped, the extinguishing of the spark in his eyes.

“How long?” He gulped, guilt crossing his expression as he forced the words out. His cheeks flushing in shame that he hadn’t been the one to tell you.

“Weeks? Months? Long enough to question why you’re still with me.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say. He started at you with a crushing remorse, the glint of love in his eyes doing nothing to reduce your pain.

“I’m not a fool Cas,” you smiled sadly at your own unfortunate situation, his name catching in your throat as you reached your hand forwards to lay atop of his, “you want to be with her, I know that.”

A pained look flashed across his face, his eyes burning with self-hatred failing to meet yours in his regret. You allowed him the time for his emotions to settle, sitting in silence as you continued to grip his hand.

Eventually, once his flood of shame subsided, Cassian found the words to speak, “All I’ve ever known is you. All I’ve ever loved. I’ve never known anything else.”

“I know Cas” you flinched at the earnesty which laced his words. Cassian had never given you any reason to believe he didn’t love you. Even now, when his heart was calling to another, you still felt the outpouring of love from his soul.

“It’s not fair,” he grit through his teeth angrily, “you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. I’m the one who can’t control my feelings, my thoughts which dream of another. You don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t” you said simply. Your face remaining blank as tears began to fall down the males cheeks. You have had months to cry about your lost love, there would be no more tears shed by you. Not now, not when your well had run dry.

“We can still be friends though right? You’ve been in my life for so long I can’t imagine it without you” he choked the words out as if he wasn’t the one who had already ended things between you. He never had to say the words to you, his actions and his heart did all the talking for him.

“No Cas,” you shake your head solemnly, “we can’t be friends.”

The male looked to you in shock, his eyes blowing wide as he took in the force of your words. What this would mean for the two of you, for your future together. Or lack thereof.

“It’s not fair Cas,” you reason, giving his hands a gentle squeeze, emotions still holding firm in the face of adversity, “not to me and not to Nesta. We both know what needs to be done. We both have for a while.”

“But I love you” he fights your calm demeanour, his watery eyes staring into yours with an intensity, begging you to take back the words you were saying.

“We can’t go back to being us Cas, it’s too late for that. The damage has been done,” you lift your free hand to settle against his cheek, thumb wiping away the downpour of tears, “but with Nesta, with your mate, you have a chance. You should go for it. Follow your heart.”

“I’ll never forget you” he stubbornly argues, adamant that he can have everything he wants. Nesta by his side and you in his life. His love blinding him, allowing his selfish wishes to be spoken aloud.

“I think for both our sakes forgetting each other may be our best option baby.”

You couldn’t help it, the silver tear which escaped your eye, betraying the cold emotions you were trying to display on the outside, your thumb still caressing his cheeks as your eyes flittered across his face. Taking in everything that was Cassian for what would be the last time.

“That’s what I’m going to do,” you cried, “I’m sorry Cas but it’s the only way. I have to forget.”

It was the acceptance that was the hardest part of all. The admission that while you weren’t Cassian’s once in a lifetime, he was yours. And it was your love for him that would allow you to let him go. Your will for him to be happy, outweighing the pain of seeing him in another woman’s arms.

[toxicanonymity]

when raider met sweet pea

1k words  | analysis of raider!Joel x f!reader

Raider Joel Master List 

This is a peek inside early, unevolved raider joel in the original fic from March. We know how much he’s grown since then, but he’s done terrible, inexcusable things, and he knows it.  NOTES: You're referred to as sweet pea in this, Joel's pet name for you. General HC followed by Q&A. Thank you @milla-frenchy for always having good Qs. I have great Qs from others too that I'll get to as I can (looking at u @javier-penas-wifexx420, and others). To raider's pr team, sorry for going back in time but FIWB. WARNINGS: References to noncon, assault.

Here’s how I HC what happened under the surface:  When Joel interrupted the men from taking sweet pea, it wasn't a noble rescue mission. Mainly, he was fed up with the men and wanted to put them in their place. But then, one of the men used the butt of his rifle under her chin to make her look up, and this is what unlocked or triggered something in Joel:  She looked at Joel thinking he was saving her, and something in her face had a subconscious effect on him -- like he saw her hope and appreciation, and saw someone looking at him like he was a good man who mattered to them. It made him feel needed, which he hadn’t felt for so long that he didn’t even recognize the feeling, or know how to feel it, much less what to do with it.

That moment created the tiniest crack, a minuscule window into the man buried under the persona built by trauma and the apocalypse. The crack was too tiny to change his behavior yet, but that tiny window allowed him to see a glimmer of something else possible and allowed him to subconsciously connect with her in a way he hadn't connected in ages.  From his raider persona, everyone is pretty 2D, so consciously, he's not seeing or treating her (or anyone) as a real person at this point. But that moment still resulted in a “spark,” like a magnetism, and the crack in his shell grows over time. 

When he takes her inside: it was likely unusual that he took her somewhere private. Normally, he does things in front of the other men to show dominance (see Stash House).  Subconsciously, that tiny part of him wanted to feel like a protector, and taking her somewhere private may have been his pathetic idea of a protective gesture, physically picking her up and taking her away from the worse (more violent) guys.

He takes her to the room intending for her to suck his dick by default, but I don't think P in V was always his intent:  He doesn't threaten or mention fucking her upfront when he’s telling her what’s going to happen.  He tells her she's gonna suck his dick and to be a good girl and it'll be over quick. While she sucks him, he decides he has to have her (be inside her).  He says "alright sweet pea, now pull down your pants for me." He was acting on his primitive urges and what his body wanted in that moment for whatever reason -- he's a raider and has a huge sense of entitlement. Even though his escalation wasn’t out of malice, the effect is that he made the attack worse. He’s a bad person and a r*pist, and he knows it.

(Note, I’m only censoring this word because other people censor it and I sense some people find it jolting to see even if they read noncon. I'm not censoring it to try to make him look better. His past is a part of him, there's no getting around the fact that he's a r*pist. He's the last person who would want it forgiven or excused. He kinda hates himself ). 

Q: I've been wondering if he could have done to other women what he did to sweet pea in the 1st chapter

He did at least make other women suck his dick in the past. As for how he sees his past behavior now, it'll come out eventually, not like an OOC monologue, like a word in passing or implied here or there.

Q: I think you wrote somewhere that Joel didn't approve of the behavior of some of his men with women, and that Carter wasn't like that (was I dreaming?)  

The men who had sweet pea at the beginning of ch 1 are more physically aggressive and violent with women, physically forcing them and hurting them, whereas Joel calmly told sweet pea what to do (while he was heavily armed) and didn’t physically hurt her. The other men will smack them around and gang rape them. Joel feels like that behavior from men is weak, like if you're going to physically hurt someone, pick on someone your own size. He doesn’t feel moral superiority for this (I mean he doesn't see himself as a good guy), but he sees himself as stronger and more dominant than men who need to hurt a weaker person.

Q: Why is he so possessive and jealous, since day 1? In failed rescue : "He describes you. Joel’s jaw clenches and his eyes darken.  He waits a beat before answering." I love that 😏 but it's super fast. Did she trigger something in him from day one?

When he initially decided she's his so quickly, most importantly, he means she's not anyone else's. He's in charge, he's claimed her, he's dominant, and he's the boss. That was his original intent and he didn't expect it to go further than that.  But it goes beyond that because of the moment explained above. So it's also his primitive instinct that she's his, and that’s what you see when her bf describes her in your quote. Whatever connection or feeling was created by the way she looked at Joel made her special, and he couldn't let go of it. So she became like a precious possession at that point. Since then, he’s slowly evolved to where she’s not just a possession, but certainly still his. 

—

Thank you so much for reading. I really adore everyone's interest and investment in raider!Joel. If you love raider joel, please interact with his fics -- it's always better late than never. Comments mean a lot no matter how small, and reblogs mean a lot regardless of blog size. I know most of raider's fans started as lurkers, and I don't judge for your lurking era. Most of my tumblr bffs started as lurkers.

Ik the tense is all over the place in this sorry lol

TY ILY 🖤🖤🖤

[musings-of-a-college-dork]

An Odd Request

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word count: roughly 1K

Steve’s wife goes to the gym and makes an odd request when she arrives home. 

Warnings: sorta NSFW (mdni), use of Y/N, terms of endearment (baby).

Author’s note: This is just fluffy Steve and was written directly after I got home from the gym needing this man and a very specific kind of cuddling so…here it is! Short and sweet and very silly. Hope y’all enjoy! 

It was a quiet Saturday morning in the Harrington household. Steve was the only one home, having a few hours on his own as Y/N went to meet her personal trainer. She had been seeing a trainer for a while as she, quote on quote, wanted “to be able to carry all the groceries in a single trip all by myself.” A noble and worthy cause in Steve’s eyes and yet as long as he was around, she’d never have to lift a finger. He was more than content to show off his own strength for her enjoyment…and yet wished to support her in any and all of her goals so off to the gym she had gone. As such, he had the home to himself for a few hours, a chance to get some work done. 

He had spent most of the morning thus far drinking his coffee and sketching up new basketball drills and formations for the middle school team he coached. He finally understood exactly what Hopper had meant all those years ago about “coffee and contemplation” finding more and more that the man’s wisdom was never ending the older he got. We’ve gotta tighten up their current formations, he thought as the TV played some mindless sitcom in the background while he chewed on the end of his pencil. His mind looked over the squiggles on the paper in front of him trying to decide how to fix this. It had been weeks since they had won a game and morale was dropping fast. Jamie has to pass more but Donovan can’t really shoot…maybe if we move Paul to center and then swap Jordan and Cole we could-

The man wasn’t given another moment to think as he heard the front door open and close with a loud slam, the sound of feet padding their way down the entry hallway. 

“Hey, baby!” Steve called as he continued to focus on the squiggles, drawing a few more lines before erasing them with equally as much vigor, “How was the gym?” A loud groan was all he received in reply as his wife dropped her bag to the ground and kicked off her tennis shoes, not even bothering to put them in the basket where she knew they belonged. The same basket she insisted his shoes lived in but rules didn’t apply to her, at least not right now. I’ll tease her about it later. “That good huh?” He called with a low chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair, “Well your protein shake is in the fridge. Should be cold enough since I put it in when you left.” Oddly enough, the man received no response. He waited a moment before he called again, looking up from his work.

“Bab-” And just like that she was in front of him. He jumped and let out a quiet swear as he clutched a hand to his chest. He hadn’t seen her before she had left and found himself taking a sharp inhale as he looked her up and down. She looked so fucking gorgeous in those tight black leggings that fit her just right, a simple white workout top, hugging her every curve, and the expensive black workout jacket he had saved up to get her for Christmas that she never left for the gym without. Not to mention the way her hair looked post-workout and the glow of sweat that radiated off of her. He was about to open his mouth to make some lewd remark he hoped she’d find charming but-

“Hold my tits.” The man blinked once, then again, his mouth open and gaping like a fish. 

“W-what?” 

“I want your hands on my tits,” Y/N repeated, holding his gaze with complete and utter seriousness, “Please.” 

“Like…you want my…”

“Your hands. On my tits. Now.” When the man continued not to move his wife let out a deep sigh and took the pencil from his hand, laying it down next to his sketch as she replaced it with something much better. She led his large palm gently to her breast, letting out a sigh of relief as she encouraged him to give a little squeeze. Again, Steve didn’t even know what to do, never having seen her like this. Sure, she was usually a little more cuddly and blissed out after the gym as the endorphins ran through her body but this was…new. A good kind of new. 

“So I take it you had a good time at the gym?” The man teased breathlessly as he ushered her around the coffee table to sit beside him on the couch. The woman let out a hum in confirmation as she laid down so they were pressed together, her back to his front, and wrapped his arms around her so his hands could live right where she needed them to. Another chuckle came from Steve as he buried his face into her hair finding-

“Did you put on perfume?” 

“After working out,” she whispered as her eyes closed shut in complete and utter satisfaction, being held just the way she needed to be right now, “Didn’t want to come home smelling only like sweat.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve used his nose to brush the hair from the side of her neck, making her giggle as he pressed mindless kisses there, “I smell like sweat all the time and you still love me.” 

“I do,” Y/N titled her head so he could press a kiss to her lips, one she returned eagerly before laying her head back down on the couch, “Fuck, I’m never doing the Stairmaster ever again.” 

“Y/N, baby, if this,” Steve gave her tits a little squeeze to punctuate his thought, “is what happens after you’re on the Stairmaster, by all means, keep doing it. Any excuse to cuddle with my pretty little wife and hold her boobies is more than fine by me.” 

“Don’t call them that,” Y/N scrunched her nose with a chuckle as she pressed her ass more into him to fit them closer together. 

“What?” The man teased giving another squeeze, “Boobies?” 

“STEVE!” The couple dissolved into a communal fit of giggles as they lay there together, all stress and strain completely forgotten as calm domesticity filled their hearts and home.