Two idiots in love. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 (Finished series)
Mandalorian
Din D'jarin
His perfect little Cyar'ika.
You've made me worry.
Such a pretty sight.
I know you made her your riduur.
Invincible
Omni Man / Nolan Grayson
A big change.
Good Omens
Crowley
He may always be a demon, but she still loves him.
Is that a spot?
Hannibal NBC
Hannibal x reader x Will
I see the way you look at her, William.
His carefully crafted web.
A predicament.
Terms of Endearment (drabble).
Will Graham
No Pajama Party for you, Mr. Graham.
Fishing 101.
Their safe hold.
So scared but so happy.
Xmen
Charles Xavier
Of course, my love.
Midsommar
Pelle
That's a love rune. Casts a love spell.
Little bird.
Adjustment.
Twilight
Jasper Hale
Are you scared of me, Princess?
Sparring.
Marcus Volturi
The Best Thing for Marcus.
Caius Volturi
The human did interrupt.
Sherlock BBC
Jim Moriarty
A deer in the headlights.
Harry Potter Universe
Barty Crouch Jr.
His betrothed. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.
I hope I do.
Severus Snape
The astronomy professor.
Remus Lupin
Our needs. SMUT
James Potter
Feeling unwell.
OC stories:
Harry Potter universe:
The misaligned stars.
Remus Lupin x OC x (past)Regulus Black
Summary: The golden trio knocks on the door of someone who can help them with the Slytherin locket.
.............……………….
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When Cregan looked up from his desk to the window, his heart sank.
It was snowing.
He stood quickly, almost knocking over his heavy wooden chair in the process. But he didn't care, for he was panicked.
He throws the door open and practically bolts down the corridor. "Where is she? Tell me she's returned," he yells out at no one in particular. Every servant avoids his eye.
Down the stairs came his heavy steps, echoing through Winterfell with each one.
"My wife." He stops before one of the guards in the foyer. "Has she returned? Where is her entourage?"
The guard, older than Cregan himself, did not answer, but pressed his lips to a firm line. When his eyes met the Stark's, it held answer enough.
Summary: With the death of Jacaerys, Cregan becomes closed off. As his wife, reader becomes determined to get him to open up, even if it's by truth potion.
A/n: OKAY so I realized I'd never written a Targaryen reader that was sisters with Baela and Rhaena. So here we are 😈
You felt guilty for having to deliver that letter.
You knew whatever it held would be far from good news. In a perfect world, it would have been Prince Jace's handwriting telling him that the war was won.
But Jace's handwriting didn't look like that.
You'd grown up beside him. He always had sloppier handwriting than this.
No, this you recognized.
A bit too well.
A gasp had left your lips once you registered that it was from your dear sister, Baela.
She never wrote to you. But there it was in perfect script: Lord Cregan Stark.
Not to you. But your husband.
You pushed the door open and it creaked loudly to announce your presence. "A letter."
Cregan's head snapped up. His attention was abandoned from the various pages and scrolls around him. If you were delivering it, it was serious. "Who sent it?"
Your mouth opened, but you couldn't find yourself able to answer. Your panic was obvious and Cregan quickly moved to your aid.
His eyes darted to the letter once, but he didn't let it linger. Instead, his hands rested on your biceps. "It's going to be alright, my girl. Do you want to read it to me?"
You shook your head as your bottom lip began to quiver.
Cregan shushed you softly and pulled the letter from your fingers.
He knew you needed a moment to compose yourself, so he took it to the window to read in the light.
He broke the seal. His eyes skimmed each line carefully. Then that letter crumpled in his hand.
He stood there for a long while with nothing to say. His jaw clenched and unclenched.
It only made you cry harder because you knew deep down that Jace was dead.
Your poor Baela. Your poor Cregan.
"Cregan, are—"
He was already crossing the room with a new hurry and heaviness to his step. And he left without a word.
You couldn't help but crumple into a heap on the floor.
A devastating blow for the war efforts.
But a more devastating blow for the Targaryens.
…
Cregan had shut down. You tried to move on, tried to brush past it. Even tried to address it. But nothing.
He wouldn't speak of his feelings. He wouldn't acknowledge Jace's existence even happened.
Cregan was a cold man. He only really knew duty and what was expected of him. The rest didn't matter to him. He didn't care for what he wanted, or the things he felt. Especially love or heartache.
You were breaking slowly inside.
You made the mistake of confiding in your handmaiden, who told you of a witch outside the city that could help.
You weren't confident in your decision to visit, but your love for your husband overrode it.
"I once asked her for a luck potion. Next day, I found a gold dragon outside the castle walls— just sitting there! I tell you, milady, whatever you need, she can do." The handmaiden grinned widely and pulled you into the small cabin.
It was dark inside, a bit too dark considering it was light outside and there were many windows. Every table was covered in goblets and vials or things you didn't understand. Every shelf held cauldrons and other equipment you didn't want to ask about. Especially the collection of bones that you did your best not to stare at. Was that a bird skull—
"Oh, you again!" A sudden voice had broken out. An elderly woman stepped out from the other room. Her face dropped. "You've brought a friend."
"Yes," your handmaiden chirped. "This is the Lady Stark—"
"I know who she is." Her eyes darted between the two of you. "What does she want?"
"It is matters of the heart," the handmaiden explains. "For she and her husband."
"I don't dabble in affairs of the marital bed when it comes to conceiving." She tried to wave off.
"No, nothing of that sort. It is only—"
"I want to hear it from her." The old woman points a thin finger at you.
Your teeth clench. You're sure that if Cregan knew you were here, he would never let you out of Winterfell again.
You brush out your skirt nervously, trying to will yourself to speak. "I… my husband. I… We have just had a devastating loss."
"Yes, I knew of your… brother's death."
"You knew?" Your interest is now peaked, and you step around the table to her. "How?"
"I have my ways." She goes further back into her home and you find yourself following with more questions than answers.
"It is only Cregan does not speak to me. Not with close affairs of the heart. He is a stoic man, and I do love him as he is, but…"
She eyes you. "But you wish he would be honest with you?"
"Yes," you breathe. "More than anything."
"More than anything, hm. I might have something for that." She sees the hope in your eyes. "For a price."
"What price? Name it plainly."
She took her time, mulling over just what she wanted to ask of the Lady of the North. "It is a new interest of mine, what I am to give you. I have only given it to one other. They claim that it works."
"Another? Just one? How do I know it is safe?"
"Because I am giving it to you," the old woman waved off like it was self explanatory. She huffed around the cabin, gathering a few things in her arms.
When she turned back to you, her eyes caught the glimmer of your Targaryen pendant. It was one of the few things from home that you had anymore. Your father had given it to you not long after you reached womanhood. "I'll take that as payment." Her bony finger reached out towards it.
You instantly flinch away, your hand coming up to guard it. "You want my pendant? Why? So you can masquerade as a royal?"
Your handmaiden looked back at you in warning.
The old woman began to chuckle. "My child, I would never want to be you."
You wanted to take offense to that, but some part of you couldn't.
She holds out a vial. It's small. The liquid inside is an odd color, not yellow, nor cream, but a strange gold that shimmers.
You reach out to take it, but she pulls it away and looks down to your pendant.
You were a Stark now. Perhaps you could let this go.
For Cregan, you could.
"What does it do? What are the effects?"
"Well, he will be truthful with you. You need only to put it into a tea or ale. He drinks, you have what you want. Deal?"
Perhaps this is an invasion of Cregan's autonomy. You believe that you should be more ashamed for even being here in the first place.
You refuse to look as you hand her the pendant.
Your handmaiden takes the vial for you, stowing it away.
"One last thing before you go," the woman adds. "Be careful what you wish for. There is no reversal for this. However, it only lasts a few days, so it seems."
A few days. You can work with a few days.
Guilt ate at you the moment you left the cabin.
"How could I do such a thing? I could never put such a thing in my husband's cup. I was foolish to even entertain it."
"Do not be so hard on yourself, my lady. Women must do strange things to connect to their love. Women have done these things for centuries."
"But witchcraft? What would Cregan think to know I even spoke to a witch, much less took something?"
"You fret so heavily. It is unbecoming."
You stop. "Look what I am doing!" It echoes through the trees. "How could I?"
Your handmaiden sighs. "If it distresses you so terribly, I will put it into his cups without your knowledge."
You wave off the idea and continue down the trail.
But as the silence sits on, you ponder.
That wouldn't be a terrible idea.
She could put it in. You would be none the wiser to when or how. Cregan would be honest. You would get what you wanted without having to do it. Was it a coward's way out? Perhaps.
"That just might do."
…
You began to notice every cup in Cregan's hand.
Did he always drink so much?
Teas, ales, wines, all of it put you on edge.
You sat across the long supper table, your eyes on the way he ran his finger over the rim of his goblet in thought.
Every time your lips parted to say something, you immediately closed them again.
Cregan had a way of filling spaces of silence with something comfortable. But as of late, the comfortable feeling was masked over with a sort of suffocation. You hated his silences now.
"I have decided to hunt tomorrow. I need to get my mind off of this war."
Your eyes catch his grey ones. "Now, of all times? Winter is only now ending. You have only been back from the Wall for a few weeks. Please—"
"It is done. I will go at dawn."
You sigh to yourself, twirling your fork in your hand. "When will you return?"
"A week's time, if all goes well."
"A week? Cregan, I wish you would talk to me."
"I am," he huffs. "I… I am trying. It is difficult."
"To talk to me? Am I so difficult of a wife to you that you will not even look upon me anymore?"
That makes him pause. "You know that is not what I meant."
"Every time you look at me, you think of Jacaerys. I understand." You stand, not caring for his approval of your leave. "Goodnight, Lord Stark."
As you leave, your handmaiden stands in the other doorway with the vial in hand. It glimmers in its confined glass as she tips it back and forth.
What a stubborn bunch you two are. No matter, she will fix it.
…
You forced yourself to see Cregan off the next morning.
He kissed your temple, even as you glared. He pretended not to notice. "I will return anew. Time in the woods will do me well."
You watched him mount his horse. Even angry, you had to admit he was handsome.
He is barely gone before you're running back to your room to seemingly rot until his return.
…
You've written to Rhaenyra. You wrote to your father.
But every letter you start to write to Baela, you scratch out just as quickly.
The words don't come as easily as they used to. And what do you say to your sister who has lost her betrothed?
No number of sorrys would make up for her devastation.
You try to read.
Then you try to stitch.
You even try to paint, though you've always been poor at it.
All you can think of is how horribly you've treated your husband, and how reserved he is.
You've both lost a brother in Jacaerys. And his death should not be what tears your marriage apart.
Cregan will soon leave to fight a war. You know that somewhere deep inside. He'll march south with his wolves to reclaim your mother's rightful throne. And he may die in the attempt.
So why are you making his life more difficult?
The week gives you time to reflect. The long hours of listening to nothing but silence without him makes you realize how much you adored the silence with him.
You should apologize.
Perhaps a nice supper when he returns. A warm bath. Yes, you could do that.
No need for truth potions from old witches.
You were better than that.
…
Cregan does return in a better mood. He rides in on his horse, seemingly lighter than before.
And when he sees you, he even smiles. Well, as much of a smile as northerners do.
"My pretty wife." He pulls you against his chest. "Let us be mad at one another, but let us not do it alone. Hm?"
"I was unfair in my ways as well, Cregan. I have arranged for a warm supper in our chambers, if you would accept my company."
His gloved hand moves over your cheek but doesn't touch the skin. "I'll accept. Let me wash, and I—"
"I have arranged a warm bath for you as well."
Something twinkles in his eyes. "You have thought of every thing, haven't you?"
…
Cregan is a bit more chatty as he lays in the copper tub in your chamber.
He tells you in minimal detail about the hunt. The skin of their dead animals are currently with the furrier to make clothes. He tells you you'll have a new cloak before the week is out.
But he doesn't talk about his feelings. He doesn't discuss what he thought about while he was out there.
And though he's talking, it still feels as if nothing is said between the two of you.
You finally flop onto your bed and he chuckles. "And I thought you would have missed me."
"I promise you, I have."
His head lulls over. Your cheek is squished against the furs of the bed, making him smile. "You have made a whole dinner plan for me. So, I suppose I am inclined to believe you."
Soon after his bath, you have supper brought to your room. No need for a long table where it's hard to hear one another. Not when you plan to finally try to connect with him.
The two of you sit in your chambers, quietly eating. For the first time in a long time, the silence is almost comfortable.
You tell him about your time here while he was gone. How you got little done.
"I did not think you would miss me as much as you have," he admits. "Not with the glare you sent me away with."
"I should not have done such a thing. I realize that now."
He shrugs. "Let us be done with it."
"No." You sit up straighter. "I want to talk. Truly talk." You take a sip of your tea. "I miss that about us. We have not done so in so long. Not since…"
Your voice trails off.
"Yes, I understand," Cregan finishes for you, thinking you are still too hurt to talk about Jace's death.
But that's not why you stopped.
You stare down into your tea, which has a slightly gold glimmer to it that you recognize.
Your free hand comes up to your lips. The taste of the honey in it still settles against your tongue.
She didn't.
She wouldn't.
"Is something amiss, love?" Cregan lays a gentle hand onto your shoulder. "You've gone pale."
"It's nothing," you whisper. Your eyes still haven't strayed.
"Don't like the tea then?"
"Something like that."
He takes it from you, peering down at the warm liquid. "'S the matter with it? You usually like it before bed."
When you don't answer, he sighs and reaches over for his own cup of ale. He places it into your hands. "Here. This'll put you to bed well enough. Usually does."
You don't want to look down into it, but you do.
It glimmers a shiny gold as well.
"Let us be done with dinner." You stand, taking both cups and setting them far out of reach. "I am… tired. Perhaps we should go to bed."
Cregan watches you panic and struggle. He knows you far too well. He doesn't move, only patiently waits until you've looked at him in expectation.
His voice is soothing, calm in a way you'd missed so dearly. "I thought you wanted to talk."
"I do, just…" not when we're drugged "not tonight, really. In the morning, or… evening. The day after perhaps? Or next week?"
"Come here." It's quick, firm. A command of the Warden, the calmness of a husband.
You obey.
When you get close enough, he takes your hands and pulls you into his lap. His face is close enough to feel his breath upon your neck. His voice is low. "You're burning up m'love. Have a fever?"
"Yes, yes, a fever. That is it." You squirm in his hold. "I don't want to give it to you. Perhaps we should sleep separate tonight."
He holds your hips in place. "What is this, really? Tell me."
"Nothing." You hesitate. Damn, truth potion. "Well, not nothing. But let us speak of it in the morning."
"I have been waiting a week to see my pretty wife and she is suddenly trying to evade me. And after she wanted to talk. Bit unfair, sweet girl."
You tuck yourself into his neck. "Do not make me do this."
"And what's that?" His voice rumbles lowly.
"Tell you the truth."
He hums, letting the silence settle for a moment. "What if I go first?"
Guilt immediately churns your gut. He has no idea about the potion. It feels awful to let him share his heart when he is none the wiser.
"No, that is alright. Let us just enjoy one another's company."
He gives in, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
It's nice to be this close. To not be fighting for once.
"I thought about you," he admits softly. "I thought about your hair. Your eyes." A hand trails up your back and makes you shiver. "Your pretty skin."
"Cregan, stop—"
"I've only begun," he murmurs, tracing his lips over your temple. "I thought about how I must've hurt you. By suffering to myself. Thought I was helping you by keeping you away, but I wasn't."
Your lips part, but he beats you to it.
"The prince's death hurt me. That much is true. I fear I am becoming an angry man. And I know that you don't deserve an angry man as a husband. Look at me."
He forces your chin up to look at him.
"It feels good to tell the truth," he whispers.
You try to hide the tears welling up in your eyes, but he knows you better than that. He keeps your chin up so you can't escape.
"Would you like to be truthful now, as well?"
You shake your head, terrified of what you'd say if you used your voice.
He kindly smiles and catches your lips against his. It's soft and warm, and makes something in you whimper.
"Tell me," he tries again. "Tell me what is so heavy on your heart."
You try, you really do, but it all comes blurting out. "There was a cabin, and an old woman, and I told her, and she gave me a potion. Oh, but I didn't give it to you, I swear it but you drank it just now and I'm so sorry."
You slump against his shoulder in tears.
He lets you cry for a moment before his massive arms hold you even closer. "You made that harder than it needed to be."
"Oh, I'm horrid to you! Please forgive me," you cry.
"You did not give me the potion, m'love. Your conscience won out. That is what is important. I'd rather you come to be next time. To be truthful from the beginning."
You wipe at your eyes. "I tried, I did. You didn't want to talk—"
"Ah, I see."
He brushes your hair from your face and pulls you away just enough to get a good look at you. "My poor girl. I have been keeping a secret myself, you know."
You sniffle. "What?"
"Mhm. A big one." He brushes your hair back again. "I knew all of that."
"You… you knew?"
"Well, I'll admit I did not know why exactly you went to the woods that day. But your handmaiden came to me not long after. She told me the whole story. Even surrendered this to me."
He holds up the vial.
But that's strange.
The golden liquid is still inside.
Cregan watched you process all of it slowly, and finds it all amusing. "There is not a drop of it in your tea, nor my ale."
You sit up straight. "Then what… how…"
"The mineral mica has a fascinating shimmer to it. Completely harmless if used correctly. I added it to our cups tonight."
"Then you said all of that." Your hand rests against his chest. "You said all of that of your own accord? How you missed me, how you were scared?"
"All of it." His hand covers yours. "Because I am tired of lying."
"I am as well."
"Then let us stop, m'love. No more of this foolishness. This war comes closer by the day, and I refuse to spend my time in Winterfell with you not at my side."
"Then I will be there. No more hiding. Either of us."
He pulls you close, letting your bodies acclimate to the lack of tension in the room.
"We will always be angry for Jace's death, but let it not be in vain. We will use it against the spineless green and their Hightowers."
Your hand traces over the lapels of his coat. "Let us be true northerners then: honest, but stubborn and strong. What is a Hightower to Wolves?"
"I made a vow to the Prince, as my father did to the Queen when she was only a girl. And the North remembers." His hand traces down your jawline. "Winter is over, and it is the Hour of the Wolf."
He kisses you again, but it's anything but gentle this time. And you feel his promise sealed in it.
He would kill them all, and he would return home to you.
Cregan's love gets lost in a snow storm. He blames himself for it. How could he be so foolish as to let her out of his sight for even a moment? She is never to be found.
He mourns her horrifically, thinking of nothing but the North and his duties. He forgets how to live and love. He becomes as icy as the Wall.
Until a certain Velaryon prince comes to the North to ask him to supply men for the impending war.
Jace has brought along his newly wedded wife... a face Cregan recognizes from his guilty dreams every night.
“It is finished!” She flits into the solar with a large smile that Ormund swears lightens the walls.
He calmly sets his quill aside and gives his wife his full attention.
“The flame is a bit wrong, but I believe it’ll do.” She sets her embroidery onto the desk.
On a surcoat, she’s sewn the Hightower sigil. The tower stands tall, the flame a bit askew but still carefully done.
“And that line isn’t quite straight,” she begins to shy.
Ormund leans forward, carefully looking over the stitching like it holds something important within the seams. The fingers of his right hand brush over the thread.
He takes his time. He doesn’t smile, but something a bit warmer overcomes him. He peers up. “It is well done.”
Her cheeks warm at the compliment.
She would accept his praise any day over what had happened the first week of their marriage. She had sewn a Targaryen sigil and Ormund spoke of how “disappointed” he was in her work.
No, no. She was perfectly wrapped around his finger now, sewing green into fabric rather than associating herself with the likes of the dragon riding scum.
He would wear her handiwork with pride… when she straightened that line and fixed the flame at the top, that is.
But there is no shame in learning the right way. He’d be patient to teach her as a good husband should.
I HAVE AN IDEA. What if jasper hale and reader go on a romantic date but things start to escalate at the table 😏😏 like reader gets turned on by his accent and he is enthused with her outfit for the evening...and this all leads to a rendezvous at a near by hotel 😛
Oh my god I NEVER thought about how Jasper would be able to sense how turned on she is since he can sense emotions oh my goddddd yesssssss
Reading the dragon hybrid fic and I love the choice with morning..... But also imagining if it was Cannibal. Aerion x 6 foot 5 brick shithouse of a woman and she's walking him like a dog....
