I HAVE ISSUES OK?!?

27 | they/them

[maxtermind]

Imagine that the reader, Charles, Lando and Carlos randomly get the idea to go to Costco and try some viral food they saw on TikTok so when they go to buy the product, Charles grabs a separate cart and when the guys ask him why if they are only going to buy one thing, he says that the reader always ends up buying too many things and then has nowhere to put them so Charles is used to carrying an extra cart because he knows his girlfriend is a compulsive shopper.

retail therapy

★ : feat :: charles leclerc x reader ★ : genre :: fluff; crack ★ : word count :: 1.4k ★ : a/n :: i've had this in my drafts for so long. i'm so sorry love, i unfortunately suck and forget to schedule the post. thanks for the fun request <33

You found yourself in the expansive parking lot of a large store on an otherwise ordinary Saturday afternoon, accompanied by Charles, Lando, and Carlos.

The mission? To grab the viral food product that TikTok had unanimously declared a must-try: Shin Ramyun. It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out operation, but Charles had other plans.

”Why'd you grab an extra cart?” Lando asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion as Charles nonchalantly pushed the second cart alongside his own.

”We're only buying one thing,” Carlos chimed in, clearly perplexed.

Charles sighed dramatically, casting a knowing glance at you, who were busily scrolling through your phone to find the exact aisle where the magical ramen resided.

”You guys don't understand,” Charles began, shaking his head as if explaining a basic concept to toddlers before whispering so you wouldn’t catch it. ”Y/N always ends up buying too many things. It's like she has a radar for… unnecessary purchases.”

”Hey!” you protested, looking up from your phone. ”They're not unnecessary. They're uh- useful in unexpected ways!”

”Like the 50-pound bag of gummy bears?” Charles retorted, smirking when he saw your eyes widen. ”Or the industrial-sized jar of pickles you bought last time?”

”They were on sale,” you defended, crossing your arms. ”And you love pickles.”

”I love them in moderation, not in bulk.”

”You take that back, mister!”

Lando and Carlos exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

”So, what's the plan?” Lando asked, eager to get the show on the road.

”Simple,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. ”We go in, get the Shin Ramyun, and maybe... just maybe... see if there are any good deals.”

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. ”And this,” he said, gesturing to the extra cart, ”is why we can't have nice, quick shopping trips.”

You entered the store, greeted by the overwhelming scent of bulk goods and free samples. You navigated through the aisles, Charles dutifully pushing one carts, while Lando and Carlos alternatively pushed the other.

”Okay, the Shin Ramyun should be in aisle 12,” you announced, leading the way. ”But we should definitely check out the electronics section first. You never know when there's a sale.”

”We're here for food,” Charles reminded you, though his tone was more resigned than stern.

”And electronics,” you added cheerfully. ”Come on, it's right this way.”

Lando nudged Carlos, whispering, ”Ten bucks says our bill will be over two grand.”

”Mate, talk around five and you're on,” Carlos replied with a grin.

Sure enough, as you wandered through the electronics section, your eyes lit up at the sight of a massive flat-screen TV on sale.

”Look at this deal!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. ”We could totally use a new TV.”

The boys behind you just shook their heads and to appease them, you slowly started, ”I’m just saying that the bonus I got last week has got to—”

”You guys have a TV,” Lando snickered.

”Yes, but not this TV,” you said, gesturing dramatically. ”Think about movie nights! Think about the sports games! Think about—”

”Think about where we're going to put it,” Charles interrupted, though he was already losing the battle. The allure of a good deal was strong, even for him. You could see it in his eyes that he was already almost convinced.

”Fine,” you huffed anyway, moving along. ”But we're coming back for it if we have room.”

Lando and Carlos exchanged looks, trying to stifle their laughter.

”You guys are a mess,” Carlos said, shaking his head. ”This is better than Netflix.”

”Just wait until we hit the snack aisle,” Lando added, trying to be discreet but you caught it. ”That's when things get really interesting.” He just gave you a nervous cheeky smile in return as you glared.

As you made your way to aisle 12, you inevitably got distracted by various items along the way. A giant jar of Nutella? In the cart. A set of high-end kitchen knives? In the cart. A year's supply of toilet paper? In the cart.

Charles dutifully followed, pushing the now significantly heavier cart with an air of resigned amusement. ”See?” he said to Lando and Carlos. ”This is why I grabbed an extra cart.”

Finally, you reached the aisle with the viral TikTok food product. There it was, Shin Ramyun, in all its spicy glory, stacked high and tempting.

”Here it is!” you said triumphantly, grabbing several boxes and adding them to the cart. ”Mission accomplished.”

”Can we leave now?” Charles asked, though he already knew the answer.

”Not yet,” you replied, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. ”We need to check out the outdoor section. Summer's coming, and we could use some new patio furniture.”

Charles groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. He knew this was just how your trips to the store went. Besides, there was something endearing about your enthusiasm for finding deals and stocking up on... well, everything.

As you wandered through the outdoor section, Lando and Carlos tried out various patio chairs and loungers, providing a running commentary that kept everyone entertained. You found a particularly nice set that you insisted would look perfect in your backyard.

”Think of all the barbecues we could have,” you said, looking at Charles with pleading eyes.

Charles sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ”Fine, but this is the last thing. I mean it.”

”Promise,” you said, kissing him lightly while your friends fake gagged in the background.

You made your way to the checkout, carts overflowing with all manner of items. The staff recognized the boys and immediately started asking for photos and signatures as you guys waited for your turn.

That’s when Charles moved around and squeezed,”Gotta run to the toilet, I’ll be back in two?” He leaned down to whisper.

You shrugged and nodded your head, instead discussing Lando's new apartment with him. Failing to notice how Carlos was nowhere in sight either.

The cashier raised an eyebrow but didn't comment as she rang up the seemingly endless stream of products.

She was on the last few products when you heard Lando sigh under his breath and as you turned around, you saw Charles and Carlos carrying the box of the TV that you were eyeing.

Your own eyes widened as you jumped up and down and screamed,”No way, I love you!” Charles just snorted as skipped towards him.

He set the TV down and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. ”I couldn't resist,” he admitted, his voice soft. ”Your excitement is contagious.”

You beamed up at him, feeling the love and warmth in his embrace. ”You always know how to make me feel loved.”

Charles kissed your forehead, his eyes twinkling. ”Cmon, babe. It’s like breathing for me now”

Lando and Carlos approached, carrying the last few bags and boxes. ”You two are adorable,” Lando teased, nudging Carlos. ”A bit nauseating, but adorable.”

As you left the store, pushing your heavily-laden carts towards the car, Lando and Carlos couldn't help but laugh.

”I owe you ten bucks,” Lando said, nudging Carlos.

Charles wrapping an arm around you. ”What do you think we can do with our old TV?” You smirked before looking over at Lando and Carlos who were loading the car.

”You know the way Lando bought a new apartmen—” Your boyfriend threw his head back and laughed before you could even finish.

”God, baby, I love you! Compulsive shopping and all.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. ”And I love that you always bring an extra cart. Just in case.”

”So, what's the first thing we do with all this stuff?” Carlos asked, squeezing the last box into the trunk.

”Easy,” you said with a grin. ”We head home and have a fun game session with some Shin Ramyun and a movie on our new TV.”

Lando snickered. ”Sounds like the perfect end to a perfect shopping spree.”

”And if anyone asks,” Charles added with a wink, ”this was all part of the therapy. Sometimes, a little retail indulgence is just what the doctor ordered.”

”Retail therapy,” you said, snuggling into Charles as you drove off. ”It's cheaper than real therapy. Sometimes.”

Charles laughed, kissing the top of your head. ”And way more fun.”

(grid masterlist \ masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[entitled-fangirl]

Return to Winterfell.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: After winning a war, Cregan returns home to his wife. Two years feels like a lifetime away.

A/n: Suprise! Cregan reunion fic! My writing got better, I dare say.

Part 2

Masterlist

.............................................................................

Your heart almost stopped as you were told the news:

Lord Stark is only a few days out from Winterfell.

Your hands began to tremble, a shake to your fingertips that you couldn't settle if you tried. 

Tears sprung to your eyes. 

In only a few days, you would have your husband back. His hands would find your waist, his lips to your forehead. The cold of the corridors would be chased away, filled instead with the warmth of his uptick smirk and his soft laugh that only you heard.

Letters did not come often. He couldn't risk them getting intercepting during the war. Instead, you heard most of the news through word of mouth and whispers of the few left around. There were no high lords or councils to help, for all were away. 

Sometimes, you merely sat in Cregan's solar. But even then, you could think of nothing else but his broad shoulders leaning over war plans, brows pinched. 

Every spare moment was spent thinking of him. 

You would stare at the flames of the hearth in your chambers. You had moved to the lady's quarters. You couldn't sleep in the larger bed without him. 

You wondered if he ever thought of you in the night. Perhaps he laid in his cot, cold and wishing of nothing but to hold you the way he used to.

He would be no doubt different. You knew you had changed as well, even slightly. But you hadn't fought a war. You'd heard stories of men who left to fight battles and returned different men entirely. 

Regardless, you vowed to kiss each bruise, care for every cut. 

He was your Cregan, your Wolf, your life. And your heart grew full at the thought of his return.

…

With his return being so unsure, you'd spent the upcoming days preparing everything. You had no idea what time or which day he'd show at the gates, but you would spare no expense to ensure he felt welcome enough. 

It was the fourth day that you heard a horn blow from outside. 

Your head snapped towards the sound, all thoughts fading from your head to be replaced by one single one.

The Warden of the North is home. 

You don't bother to excuse yourself from your conversations. 

The last few days, you had hoped for time to freshen up right before your reunion. You had even laid out your prettiest dress to change into. 

Now? Your mind is on nothing but him. 

You run, far from ladylike. 

Pushing off walls, you take corners with far too much haste. You could practically hear the tsk from his lips if he could see you. 

Down the stairs, you almost collide with a poor servant. 

You missed the way her face turned happy at your rush to go to your husband. 

Starks were full of such honor and duty that they often overlooked love. Cregan, the ever dutiful man that he was, was one of the few Starks of late to truly marry for love. 

Gods, he loved you. More than he thought he should. 

The first few months of your marriage were warm, with giggles echoing through every hall. The old maester once swore Cregan never smiled before his marriage. 

But it had been two years since you'd seen that smile and it was killing you to wait another moment. 

You shove open the main doors before the guards can open them for you. And you freeze at the sight of him.

He's standing out in the courtyard, brushing a hand down his horse's mane. But his head snaps like a predator towards the doors and his eyes settle on you.

He doesn't move. Instead, his misty eyes roam over your face, taking you in as if doing so for the first time. He remembered you were beautiful, but how could he forget the way you forced his heart to beat faster?

You're breathing hard, the adrenaline finally catching up with you. Your chest rises and falls, a hand settled upon your upper stomach to calm yourself.

If there were others in the courtyard, you didn't notice.

Cregan aged. But not in the way you'd expected. He stood differently. His eyes had matured in the way they dissected you. Like he had to force himself not to act on impulse. No doubt the war had done so to him. 

His hair had grown longer, half tied out of his face. He had a slight beard now. You'd never seen him with one. But you had to admit that it made you feel something warm.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. The first show of movement. Of life. Of remembrance. 

He steps out, posturing opening up to you. His head tilts, just a bit— like a dog hearing its favorite word. His light lips part slowly, letting the hoarse tone soften in its hesitance. "My lady."

All the rushing you had done before faded, replaced by each manual breath you had to focus on. Your limbs felt numb.

He noticed, of course he did. His hand slides from his horse, falling to his side. His large fur cloak ripples, covering his frame. 

He takes a step forward, then another. Each crunch under his boots echoed loudly in your ears. 

The distance closed with few large steps. Even his gait had changed. 

Closer now, you could properly see his face. His beard had a hint of red to it in certain lighting. He had a light scar down his cheek. His nose had a slight crook to it, perhaps from being broken.

His frame was hulking, much larger than it used to be. He carried himself stronger. Even a meter away, his presence was suffocating. 

But none of it compared to the deep haze of his eyes. Something swirled in his pupils, thoughts unsaid. 

Men returned from war changed. Violent. Demanding. Ruined. 

But before the thought could fester in your mind, he moved again. 

His head tipped down, chin to his chest in a show of deep respect saved for royalty. 

Then he bends to one knee. 

Your breath catches. 

The Wolf of the North, the man who won the war, bows before you as if it is the most natural thing he's ever done. 

It's a show of loyalty, a loud visual sign of humility.

Cregan wouldn't even do that to the last King on the Iron Throne. 

But he did so easily before his wife.

"Lord Stark," your voice shakes. You clutch your own hands tightly. "Winterfell welcomes your return."

There's a single shake under his cloak that you almost mistook for that huff of laugh he used to do. 

Far from rushing to get up, his head tips up to look at you. And there it is, that gentle smile. The sparkle in his eyes had suddenly returned, as if summoned only by the sound of your voice. 

His northern voice is so soft, it's a purr from deep in his throat. "You're as beautiful as the day I left."

There's a tension rising, one that grows more and more each time your eyes connect. 

Not that his ever stray from you.

"Rise, my Lord."

He does so, stature rising above your own like a shadow swallowing you whole. 

He's dangerous, with the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands on his hands. 

He'd broken necks, stabbed through bodies, taken off heads entirely. 

You finally take a step forward, starting to close the distance. Your hand reaches up to his stubbled cheek. Your fingertips hesitate just over the skin. His eyes beg you to do it.

The moment your skin brushes over his own, he rushes forward as if permission is finally given. A heavy arm wraps around your waist, crushing you into him. His other comes up to cradle your head and he tucks his nose into your neck. 

And he groans. 

Being surrounded by men for years in dirt, sweat, mud, water, blood, fire, and tears, made his mind fuzz at finally having the scent of the flowered oils you always bathed with. The fabric of yours that he'd stolen lost your scent within the first month, leaving him to imagine hints of you in every field they passed.

You hugged him back just as tightly, your fingers grasping at his furs as if he'd disappear again. And tears pooled in your eyes. 

The hand at the back of your head tried to move through your hair, but his gloves kept him from truly feeling you. 

With a deep growl, he parted just enough to keep you caged against him but yank at his gloves. 

He tosses them aside, not caring what happens to them. Then he cups your face with calloused palms. His thumbs move over your cheekbones. His face is so close that you can feel his breath. His lips are parted as if wanting to speak, but finding himself without words. 

His eyes flicker over every freckle, every piece of your face, just to commit it to memory again. Or perhaps to ensure it's all as he's left it. 

From your watery eyes down to your nose. Your cheeks are more sculpted now, a show of your maturity while he was away. 

A thumb pulls your bottom lip down lightly. You look to his own lips on instinct. 

"Cregan," you whisper, hand tightening against his surcoat. 

"Let me kiss you." He asks, not straying his attention from your lips. He runs his thumb over your mouth again. His voice breaks, "Please."

You're barely nodding before you're engulfed in warmth. His lips press to yours as if his only way to find oxygen. A small whimper leaves you, only encouraging him to pull you closer. 

It's different. He's changed. The very taste of him is new. And yet, it's familiar. It's warm. It's the final piece to a puzzle you'd gone two years without. 

You only wish he could be closer, though it's not physically possible. 

He pulls away first, forehead leaning against yours. His eyes are closed in bliss, his shoulders relaxing as if doing so for the first time since he'd received Prince Jace's letter over two years ago.

"I missed you," he murmurs. "More than you could ever know."

"You won a war. Your mind was occupied with more important matters."

His grip tightens, just enough. "None of it mattered if I did not have you to return to."

"You've changed."

That makes his eyes open. "Have I?" He pulls away just enough to look at you properly. "I am still the man you married. Only…" He thinks for a while, having trouble with deciding exactly what word to use. "...harsher."

"Harsher," you test, not liking the sound. It did not align with the taste of his lips, nor the tension up his spine. Harsh was not the word at all. "Perhaps relentless."

"Brutal."

"Stronger," you counter.

"Callous."

"You don't hold me with a calloused touch."

Something breaks through. He takes your words to heart clearly, eyes softening. "No," he whispers. His fingers twitch. "No, I don't."

You hum, watching his demeanor brighten at the sound. On restless nights, he'd close his eyes and wish to hear your hum again. Your laugh. Your sighs. 

Now, you filled his sight, his scent, his touch, his taste, his hearing. 

He fought every day for the last two years. Each time he limped, every time he wrapped a cut, every single time he neared death, he got back up. For he'd swore he would not die away of the North. He refused to die away from you.

And now, he felt as if he could die happily as long as you stood before him. 

His mind was wandering; you could see so in the distant look in his eyes. You reached up to his cheek again, brushing over his growing stubble. He twitched, coming back to you. He warmed as his eyes were blessed to focus on you again. 

And you smiled. 

He stared, enraptured at the sight. When was the last time he saw something so bright? 

"You must be weary from your travels, my wolf."

"I will live. As long as you refuse to part from me."

"I…" you had duties, things to further prepare. But this? He was all that mattered anymore. So you nod. "How could I ever part from you again?"

He pulls you in again, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. And he picks you up with ease, leaving your legs to dangle loosely as he walks you both into Winterfell. 

..................................................................................

A/n: do we need a part 2 of them relearning each other's bodies in the bedroom? 👀

Edit: PART 2

Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995, @raven-dor, @oohzkdlins, @lunaritychuwolf, @nlnny@silverlightsaber, @t958580, @fangirling-jess, @shesneverreallythere, @sw0rdmaiden

[jackkdaniels]

when i was a kid i decided that killing people was bad therefore war was bad therefore the military was evil. and adults would tell me it's more nuanced than that and i would understand when i grew up. well i'm a grown up now and idk i still think that killing people is bad and war is bad and the military is evil

[crushmeeren]

☽ ⋆ ⋅ it’s not zuko’s fault his wife can’t keep her hands off him.

☼ cw ; fem! reader, fire lord zuko, being late to a meeting because you can’t stop riding zuko, mentions of all the babies you guys have, sokka being sokka. the gaang’s all here (after the sex).

☽ ⋆ ⋅ m.list

“Come on Zuko— one more time? Please?” You’re panting, naked, hands braced on Zuko’s sweaty chest as you grind back and forth in his lap.

His breath hitches from the sheets, squeezing your hips. “Seriously? I’m already late. How does it— fuck. Stop that!” Zuko frowns and pinches your ass when you tighten around his cock on purpose.

“How does it look if the Fire Lord can’t stop fucking his wife long enough to attend a simple meeting with the Avatar?” He continues.

Zuko is still half hard inside your pussy, cum trailing down his shaft— filling out thick and hot by the second.

“Then why are you getting hard again?” You tease, dipping down to suck on his throat.

“That— that’s unfair,” he moans. You draw back to look at his face, and his cheeks are flushed such a similar color to his scar it almost blends together entirely.

“And if you really thought this meeting with Aang was important you wouldn’t still be in bed with me.” You place your palm over Zuko’s mouth, grinning at the way his eyes go wide and his cock twitches.

“Now shut up and let me ride my husband one more time.”

When you walk into the fire temple chambers where the meeting is taking place, the entire group is there.

Aang and Katara share a look, laughing at the picture you and Zuko make. Hair mussed and clothes ruffled, a hickey high on Zuko’s throat.

Sokka looks thoroughly annoyed and throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Seriously dude?!” He shouts, jumping from his chair and jabbing a finger at the poorly hidden hickey. “This is why the fire temple is crawling with your offspring!”

Toph snickers, and Zuko doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.

forgive me i wrote this in thirty minutes immediately after i watched the movie.

[anarchistmemedistro]

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 🪨 || 𝐒𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐚 ||

↪️A very Nice Rock

A/n: I kept thinking about the Betrothal Necklace then I thought about the Gang seeing it for the first time.

Sokka stood in the middle of the living room like a man about to declare war....or worse, something far more terrifying as his chest puffed out, chin lifted, and eyes gleaming with unearned confidence. The late afternoon light from Republic City’s skyline poured in behind him, catching on the leather cord around your neck, the very leather cord he had been obsessively carving and muttering over for days.

“I have an announcement,” he said loudly, clapping his hands once for attention, nearly startling Momo off the windowsill, his hand tightly holding on to yours.

Katara looked up first, already smiling, already proud, because that was her default setting when it came to her brother. “What is it, Sokka?”

He grinned, wide, smug, unstoppable. “She accepted my betrothal necklace.”

There was a beat of silence then Katara beamed, her hands flying to her mouth. “Sokka!! that’s—” Her eyes dropped to your chest, to the necklace tied to your neck.Her smile froze, faltered as she was unsure on how to respond as she squinted and then very slowly, her expression shifted into something that tried very hard to still look supportive. “Umm..Congratulations, Sokka… the necklace is…” she swallowed, nudging Aang hard with her elbow, “beautiful.” Her voice then whispering to the Avatar. "Say something."

Aang leaned forward immediately, squinting like he was trying to solve a puzzle carved by spirits. “Why is it lumpy?”

“Aang,” Katara hissed through her teeth.

“What?!” he whispered back, still staring. He tilted his head slightly, then the other way. “It looks like it lost a fight with a rock.”

Toph snorted again. “That’s a generous way to say ugly.” she said, waving a hand. “It must be a bad one if Twinkle Toes said something...I mean i've felt better rocks on the side of the road.”

Sokka spun toward her, scandalized. “You’re blind, so you can’t even see it!”

Toph smirked, arms crossing. “And somehow I still have better taste than you.”

Aang leaned in again, undeterred. “Wait… are those supposed to be flames?”

Sokka froze, then pointed at him like he’d just been declared a genius. “They are flames! Thank you! Finally, someone with artistic vision!”

“They look like noodles,” Aang said.

“They do not look like noodles!”

“They look like sad noodles.”

“They are not sad—what even is a sad noodle?!”

You couldn’t help it, you smiled, fingers brushing lightly over the uneven surface of the stone resting against your chest. It was rough, imperfect, a little ridiculous… and entirely him. “I love it,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the chaos.

Sokka immediately turned back to you, all outrage melting into something warm and almost shy.

“Because Sokka made it.”

The room quieted, just for a second.

Katara’s expression softened instantly, her earlier horror dissolving into genuine emotion. Aang straightened, smiling now instead of analyzing. Even Toph made a small noise that suspiciously lacked sarcasm.

And right on cue, the door slid open.

Zuko walked in, pausing mid-step as his eyes landed on the group and then on you. His brow furrowed. “…Why do you have a rock around your neck?”

Sokka snapped around so fast it was a miracle he didn’t fall over. “IT’S A BETROTHAL NECKLACE!”

The silence that followed could’ve cracked stone as Zuko blinked once.

His arm lowered slowly, like he needed a second to process what he’d just heard. “…I’m sorry,” he said, voice tight with disbelief. “A what?”

“A betrothal necklace,” Sokka repeated, puffing up immediately, stepping forward like he was presenting a masterpiece instead of… that. “She accepted it. Which means we’re 100% engaged and she's off the market."

Katara quietly covered her face with her hand.

Toph made a choked noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Aang just stood there, eyes wide, like he was witnessing a cultural event he was not qualified to comment on.

Zuko’s gaze flicked back to you, then to the necklace again, then back to Sokka. His brow furrowed deeper with each pass. “…That,” he said carefully, “is a rock.”

Sokka threw his hands up. “YES! I KNOW IT’S A ROCK! THAT’S THE POINT!”

Zuko looked at him like he was reconsidering every decision that led to this moment. “You didn’t… shape it? Refine it? Do anything to it?”

“I carved it!” Sokka snapped, offended. “With my own hands!”

Toph wheezed. “Barely.”

“I did!”

Zuko stepped closer without breaking eye contact, studying the necklace like it might reveal some hidden logic if he stared long enough. His expression shifted confusion melting into something sharper, more incredulous.

“…Those are supposed to be flames,” he said slowly.

You smiled a little, fingers brushing over the uneven grooves. “They are.”

Zuko exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he was fighting for his life internally. “They look like scratches.”

“They are intentional scratches,” Sokka insisted.

Toph lost it completely, laughing so hard she had to lean back on her hands. “Oh my god, he’s serious.”

Katara sighed, stepping in before Zuko could combust. “It’s… symbolic.”

Zuko turned to her slowly. “Of what?”

Katara hesitated. “…Commitment.”

Toph snorted. “Bad craftsmanship.”

Aang raised a hand cautiously. “Love?”

Sokka pointed at him immediately. “Yes! Thank you! Love!”

Zuko’s golden eyes slid back to you, softer now—but still baffled. “And you… accepted this?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I did.”

That made him pause again.His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then dropped once more to the necklace. His expression didn’t fully soften—but it shifted. Just slightly.

“…Huh,” he muttered.

Sokka grinned, victorious. “See? Even the Fire Lord gets it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Zuko shot back immediately.

Toph snickered. “He’s trying so hard not to insult you right now.”

“I’m not—” Zuko started, then stopped, clearly recalibrating. “…I just don’t understand why you didn’t at least polish it.”

“Because it’s authentic!” Sokka argued.

“It’s painful to look at!”

“It builds character!”

“It looks like it belongs in a river

You laughed softly under your breath, stepping in before it turned into a full argument, your hand slipping into Sokka’s again. His voice cut off instantly.

“I like it,” you said simply.

That did it.

Zuko went quiet.

Not convinced....definitely not convinced, but quiet.

Toph gagged again from the floor. “Blegh—there it is again.”

Sokka, completely undeterred, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side like he’d just won a war. “She loves it....which means she loves me."

You leaned into him easily, your fingers once again tracing the uneven, cracked stone.

Zuko watched the two of you for another second, then exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he turned away. “…I’m surrounded by idiots,” he muttered.

Toph grinned. “You love us.”

“…That is debatable.”Zuko muttered and at this point he didn’t walk away and that was the problem.

He should have walked away, muttered something about idiots and gone back to whatever very important Fire Lord business he absolutely did not want to deal with right now.

Instead… he stopped.

Turned.

Looked back at the necklace.

And then, slowly, like a man making a terrible but inevitable decision, he stepped forward again.

“I can’t let this go,” he said, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. His hand lifted, hovering dangerously close to the stone at your chest. “Just....let me melt it down. Or at least let Toph or Aang fix it.”

Sokka moved instantly.One second Zuko’s hand was reaching , the next, Sokka had physically inserted himself between you and the Fire Lord like a protective wall of indignation and offense.

“Get your hands away from my soon to be wife!” he snapped, pointing accusingly at him.

Toph made a delighted noise. “Oh, this is getting good.”

Zuko blinked, caught off guard for half a second before his expression flattened again. “I’m trying to help.”

“No, you’re trying to ruin it,” Sokka shot back.

“I’m trying to make it wearable without it looking like it fell out of a quarry.”

“It’s supposed to look like that!”

“It looks like you lost a fight with a hammer!”

“I didn’t even use a hammer!”

“Exactly my point!”

Katara groaned into her hands. “Spirits… not again…”

Aang hovered awkwardly between them, glancing back and forth. “I mean....I could smooth it out a little? Just… gently?."

Sokka whipped around so fast it was honestly impressive. “No!”

Toph raised a hand lazily. “I could fix it in two seconds. Make it actually symmetrical.”

“NO!” Sokka repeated louder, now spinning like he was surrounded by traitors. “Nobody is touching it!”

Another laugh escaped your lips, your hand reaching out to grab Sokka's gently. "Guy's really I love it. If any of you fixed it then it wouldn't be he's, he made it for me....it's why I love it." Your hand cupped his cheek gently.

Sokka's gaze softened as he lent into your touch, as he looked at you, really looked. He saw the way your fingers kept brushing over the carved lines, the way you held it like it was something precious instead of something objectively questionable. His shoulders relaxed, his usual bravado softening into something quieter, something real.

“…You really like it?” he asked, just a little hesitant now.

You stepped closer, reaching up to tug him down by the collar, pressing a quick, warm kiss to his cheek. “I love it.”

Zuko groaned and rolled his eyes. "Gross, you two shouldn't be that cute in public."

Sokka straightened immediately, puffing up again like he hadn’t just been completely undone. “Yeah, well....get used to it. This is the face of romance.”

“More like the face of geological failure,” Toph shot back.

Aang snickered. Katara sighed fondly. Zuko muttered something about needing tea.

And you just stayed there beside Sokka, your fingers curled around the lumpy, uneven, cracked little stone necklace, your necklace, smiling like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Daughters First Festival || Zuko ||

A/n: Bless those who worked hard on the movie, FUCK PARAMOUNT FOR BEING GREEDY ASSHOLES. Sidenote: If you are going to watch the leaks then please find away to support only the people that worked hard. They don't deserve any hate....but fuck paramount.

Your daughter’s first memory of the Fire Lord Festival is not the crowds.

It’s not the banners or the drums or the way the palace glows like a living ember once the sun begins to set.

It’s your hand.

Small fingers wrapped around yours, sticky with candied plum syrup, her other hand clutched tightly in her father’s sleeve like she’s afraid he might disappear into the noise if she lets go.

Zuko keeps glancing down at her.

Not in the stiff, ceremonial way he used to glance at crowds, no...this is softer. Quieter. Like he’s counting breaths, grounding himself through the warmth of her grip.

“She’s staring,” he murmurs to you, leaning down just enough that only you can hear. “Is she overwhelmed?”

Your daughter looks up at him at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed from excitement and heat. She doesn’t say anything—she’s still at the age where words come slowly but she squeezes his sleeve tighter and grins.

You smile. “She’s amazed.”

Zuko exhales. “Okay. Good.”

He says it like he’s passing some invisible test, shoulders less tense.

The Fire Lord Festival has been rebuilt from the ground up, no displays of dominance, no roaring infernos meant to intimidate. Instead, there’s warmth. Lanterns shaped like dancing flames. Street performers bending fire into floating koi and drifting petals. Musicians laughing as they play as others danced.

The people bow when they see Zuko.

Not sharply. Not fearfully like they used too, they all now with gratitude.

Your daughter notices.

She pauses, right in the middle of the walkway, and tilts her head as yet another group lowers themselves respectfully before her father.

She looks up at him, confused.

“Daddy?” she asks, soft and uncertain.

Zuko stops instantly. “Yes?” he answers, kneeling so they’re eye level, completely unconcerned with the fact that he’s halting the Fire Lord procession.

“Why… people do that?”

Your heart tightens.

Zuko doesn’t hesitate. “Because I help take care of them,” he says simply. “And because they’re being polite. But you don’t have to do it back unless you want to.”

She considers this very seriously, cheeks puffed and then she waves.Just a small, enthusiastic wave, fingers wiggling like she’s greeting duck-turtle hatchlings.

The crowd laughs.

Zuko blinks for a moment then laughs too, a quiet, breathless sound that looks like it surprises him every time it happens.

“That works,” he says.

She beams like she’s solved something important.

Aang arrives later, a grin already plastered on his face as he comes gliding down into the festival on a current of air that sends streamers fluttering and children squealing. He lands lightly, already smiling, already barefoot, already radiating a joy that feels impossible to contain.

“Aang,” you greet warmly.

Zuko straightens instinctively but not stiffly. Not like he used to.“Aang,” he says, nodding.

Your daughter stares, wide eyes, head tilted back as she kept her gaze only on him.

Aang crouches immediately, eyes lighting up. “Whoa. You must be the famous one.”

She let's out gasp then presses herself closer to Zuko’s leg, peeking out with curiosity.

“This is my daughter,” Zuko says, pride threading through every word. “And...” He clears his throat. “—this is Aang. The Avatar....My friend

Her eyes widen.“Va-tar,” she repeats carefully.

“That’s me!” Aang grins. “Do you wanna see something cool?”

Zuko glances at you, hesitant. Protective.

You nod. “She’ll be okay.”

Aang lifts his hands slowly, gently, and forms a tiny swirl of air that lifts a single lantern ribbon into a floating loop. It spins lazily, harmless and beautiful.

Your daughter gasps. She reaches out instinctively, fingers brushing the ribbon as it drifts. She then explodes in giggles.

“Again!” she demands, voice full and delighted now.

Zuko watches the whole thing like he’s seeing the world rewritten in front of him.

Aang catches his eye and smiles soft, knowing.

“You’re doing good,” Aang says quietly.

Zuko swallows. Nods once.

As night falls, the lanterns are released.

Your daughter sits on Zuko’s shoulders now, tiny hands tangled in his hair as she points at the sky.

“Fire stars!” she shouts.

“They’re lanterns,” Zuko corrects gently. Then pauses. “But… yeah. Fire stars.”

You stand beside him, your arm around his waist, feeling the steady heat of him beneath your palm—not the wildfire it once was, but a home.

The people cheer as the sky fills with drifting light.

Your daughter claps.

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Zuko’s head, entirely unprompted.

Zuko freezes.

You feel him go still beneath your touch.

Then his shoulders shake.

He doesn’t cry. Not exactly.

But his voice is thick when he says, “I’m glad she remembers this.”

You rest your head against his arm. “She will cherish this.”

He looks at you then looks at you. “When I was her age,” he says softly, “my memories were… different.”

You squeeze his hand. "These are hers,” you reply. “Because of you.”

He nods, unable to speak for a moment.

Your daughter yawns, finally, eyelids drooping as the last lanterns fade into the dark.

She curls against his head, half-asleep.“Daddy?” she murmurs.

“Yes,” he answers instantly.

“Fire… pretty.”

He smiles. “Yes,” he says. “It is.”

And for the first time, standing in the heart of the Fire Nation with his family wrapped around him, Zuko believes it, not as a ruler, not as a symbol, but as a father watching his child grow up in a world he helped make kinder.

This is the festival she remembers.Warm hands. Soft light. Laughter.

And a father who never lets go.

[magicalmatcha]

— all mine

❝we had our downs but we had way more ups,let's make love❞

pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!earthbender!reader

synopsis — who was surprised when you and zuko were the first in the gaang to get pregnant?

content — fem!reader, mature content (17+), suggestive themes, mention of sex, no actual plot really, indulgent fic, takes place seven years before the legend of aang (which takes placed 12 years after ATLA) so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21, no use of yn, not proofread

author's note — I didn't watch the leaks yet just clips and if I do I'll still be watching the movie to support the animators

The Princess of the Fire Nation, though she often felt that, as the wife of the Fire Lord, she deserved a far grander title, sat before her vanity, studying her reflection. One by one, she had dismissed her maids, choosing instead to prepare for bed on her own. In truth, the new trending fragrance they all insisted on wearing had begun to make her nauseous.

Though, lately, everything seemed to make her sick.

“Aang sent a letter.”

She hadn’t even heard him enter.

Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.

“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”

“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.

“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.

“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.

His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.

“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.

“And all of you.”

She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.

But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.

His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.

This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.

His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.

“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."

She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.

Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.

“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”

"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.

“A village?”

Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."

He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”

She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”

She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”

Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”

“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.

Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”

Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”

The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.

“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”

Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”

There was a beat.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”

Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”

Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”

The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.

In fact, she looked amused.

“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”

Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”

Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”

Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”

“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.

“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”

Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”

“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”

Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.

She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.

“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.

The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.

Katara, however, had not left her alone once.

The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.

“What’s the gender?”

“No clue.”

“Any baby names lined up?”

“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”

Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”

“Are you going to have more?”

The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”

Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.

Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.

Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.

“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.

“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.

By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.

They didn’t have to search long.

Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.

“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”

His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.

Then paused.

“…Whoa.”

Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”

But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”

The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”

Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."

Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”

“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”

Toph let out a quiet snort.

Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”

Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”

Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”

“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”

The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”

Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."

Toph laughed outright at that.

Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Sokka wasn’t done.

“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”

Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”

“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”

“Sokka.”

“—expand the royal family.”

Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”

Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”

“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."

Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”

“Sokka.”

“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"

The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.

The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.

So yeah, there had been tension.

A lot of it.

It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.

His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.

“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.

Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.

“Not until you say please.”

Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

Another slow press of his lips, lingering.

“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”

She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”

“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”

His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.

“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”

“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.

His eyes flicked across the group.

Paused.

Then widened.

“…Are—did—?”

He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”

Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”

Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”

“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.

Aang blinked.

Then looked back at them.

Then back at Katara.

“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”

Toph snorted.

Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”

Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”

“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.

“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”

There was a beat.

“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.

Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.

“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”

She sighed.

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”

Toph smirked. “Told you.”

Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”

Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”

Zuko shot him a glare.

Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”

She gave a small, confident nod.

“Always.”

Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”

The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”

Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”

Zuko sighed. “Of course.”

Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”

Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”

She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.

“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."

He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”

love speaks! rushed and indulgent sorry i wish this was better but if i draft it it'll never get done. divider by @/cafekitsune

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎ Legendary Lovers (starring . fire lord zuko)

synopsis . Overstim with your husband but he keeps accidentally setting things on fire because of it. content . afab!reader, masturbation (m!receiving), established relationship, improper use of fire bending(?), overstim, wife!reader, switching dynamics, bondage, pet names, nipple play (m!receiving), somewhat dom!reader, missionary, manhandling, etc.

“S-Shit,” Zuko huffed, hips insistent with their bucking as he uncontrollably drives the frustrated head of his weepy cock up into your hand.

You sat at his side with your eyes innocently watching as he fell apart entirely under your touch, “Does that feel good?”

He couldn't take his eyes off the way your fingers looked wrapped around his length, “Hhngh-, fuck.. So good,” He huffs, admiring how perfectly you jerked him off and struggling greatly with the bit of rope neatly tied around his wrists—which are positioned behind his back. “D-Don’t stop. Please.”

You squeeze at his base and feel how his veins pulse ‘n twitch against your palm, the tip of his cock a flushed shade of tanned red.

Then your gaze flicked up and you caught the way he threw his head back, letting the long, loose strands of his silky hair flutter all elegantly with the motion. There was certainly nothing more endearing than watching the fire lord come undone before you like this.

A slopped mess of slick cum keeps your hand steady with its slippery motions up 'n down his dick, his balls aching and heavy with need to release yet another load into your palm. You grin before silently leaning forward, letting your lips press into his chest all lightly as you hear him struggle with whines and grunts.

“Ah, your hand is always-, shit… s-s’soft..” Zuko mumbled, his abs tensing at the feel of your touch. Without warning, he nearly whimpers at the sensation of your lips cupping his nipple. “Oh God-,” Your husband's breathing tangles up in his throat, “Wait-, fuck.. Y’know I’m sensitive there, wait—“

“Mmnh..” You hum delightedly against him and let your hands pace quicken against his cock, feeling the entirety of his body heat up for a moment before he begins to twitch all over the place, his wrists fighting against the restraints keeping them in place.

This whole thing had been his idea. He'd asked you time and time again to tie him up and do whatever you want to him, but just like all the times in the past where this has been tried—he never seems to last too long before-

The smell of fumes hit your nose.

You pop your lips off his swollen nipples and halt your sucking for a moment just to look up at his teary-eyed face, admiring the pout he’s got on. “Zuko…” You purr with a slightly raised brow.

He angles his head back down to meet eyes with you, batting those dark pretty lashes at you as if he'd done nothing wrong, “Yes, love?”

“Are you burning through those ropes again?” You ask.

The fire lord shakes his head, “N-No..?”

“Then…" Your gaze narrows at him skeptically, "What’s that smell?”

Before he gathers his thoughts enough to answer you properly, you turn your head to see one of your nightstands on fire.

Damnit. That’s the third one this week!

Luckily enough for the both of you, the flame isn't as large as it'd been previously. Though, as you let your hand halt in jerking your lover off and try to pull away for a moment to go put the fire out, there's a stronger scent of fumes flying into your nose.

This time it's the smell of burning rope.

Followed by which is the sound of something snapping and suddenly—there's a pair of grabby hands meeting your arms and your body is being pushed right over.

A flutter of royal-red and gold fabrics scatter around your frame and drape your sides whilst your attention is redirected upwards. Panting above you is your needy husband Zuko, who's got his brows furrowed slightly and his eyes pleading as they land down on you, "Ignore it," He suggests.

You flash a confused look at him and then playfully swat at his chest, "I can't just ignore it, that's the third one this week!"

He shyly glances off to the side before muttering, "...So?"

"What do you mean so?" You scoff, "We'll have to rebuild the entire bedroom suite at this rate!"

His eyes find yours again and you feel his body coming closer to yours, flinching at the wet swipe of his drooling cockhead over your inner thigh as he adjusts himself. "You're the one who insisted on teasing me."

"You asked me to." You remind him.

"Well,” He frowns a little, “When I told you to use me, I was hoping..."

Your hands reach up to cup his face and pull him down impossibly closer—the warmth of his body enveloping you further. "Hoping what, my lord?" You whisper.

He shoots you a short-lived glare, "What'd I tell you about that?" You give him a cheeky smile and he rolls his eyes at it. "I was hoping you'd use me in here," To add emphasis to his words, his cock comes pressing against the soppy wet-spot in your panties.

"Zuko!" You gasp in surprise, earning a sleazy little smile from him.

Then comes a quick finger to swat that measly fabric out the way, his tip rushing to kiss the saturated lips of your cunt and smear the apart for entry.

Just before he can push into you, "Wait," You huff, "When and how did you break free?"

"Hm?” Zuko raises a brow, “Free of what?" He hums innocently.

Your expression is entirely unconvinced of his innocent act. Deadpanning, "You burned the ropes again, didn't you?"

Another smile paints into his perfect features before he grinds his hips down into yours, throbbing cock sliding ever-so-gracefully into you as if to distract you. Zuko leans down to your ear to whisper, "What ropes?" and you hear some sort of flame crackling in the distance.

He definitely just set something else on fire just from pushing himself into you, but it’s not like he gave you much room to care. Not with the way his dick felt easing your walls open and stretching you out in the same fashion you’d beg him to nearly every other night—if not every single night.

Surely the fire nation would be expecting an heir to the throne any day now. Though, you’re not sure this heir would come about with your bedroom in one piece…

Especially since Zuko has a bad habit of burning things when he cums.

(not proofread btw) || banner art by Rororogi Mogera || tags:

@stardewplz @muddiedlove @rain-market @mayashoee @kayxox123 @yoshinorecommends @whimsynojai @blcknebula @sukubusss @iiakithegoat 

@1ana22 @miss-f0rtun3 @helloxkittylo @p-plenitude @bunbun812 @cuffiescariche @ily24 @neoroneo88 @taemfvante @gracewinston

@shesthemanluver @kayxox123

first time writing outside the jjk fandom in years, if it's bad i'll just jump off a cliff sorry! <3

edit: more zuko here 😵‍💫

[fawnindawn]

scale of attraction.

summary: zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)

pairing: firelord! zuko x reader

content: fluff, idiot zuko my love, mutual pining, firelord zuko 😞🙏

"He's very attractive." Zuko admits, eyes unblinking as he stares at the unconscious stranger.

The entire team whips their heads to stare at Zuko in unconcealed shock.

"What?" Zuko mutters, gaze lingering on the surprised expressions casted onto him, before eventually landing on yours. "He is. It's all in the bone structure."

You blink, unable to process his straight-forward words that landed on you like a gut punch. You've never considered it, the fact that Zuko also found others attractive.

It seems like a completely, silly notion now that the thought has verbalised itself in your mind. Of course Zuko would notice if others were considered attractive. Maybe it just never occurred to you in all your years of knowing him—of also finding him—

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away from his prying gaze, confusion alight in his eyes from your taken-aback expression.

If he's unconsciously considered the attractiveness of this stranger... has he ever—no, this should not be your priority. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you, it's not like it would change a thing. He's practically admitted it non-verbally through that monotonous admission of his, that a person's looks is assessed by him in a completely, impersonal standpoint.

Bone structure? You shouldn't be curious. Knowing Zuko, he might accidentally insult your structure if you asked.

The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.

It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.

It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.

Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.

"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"

Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.

Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.

"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.

"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."

There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.

"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"

He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.

Why is he looking at you like that?

It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.

"You were saying?" He prods gently.

You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"

His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."

"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.

"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."

"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"

"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."

You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.

"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"

"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.

You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"

He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."

No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.

"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."

"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."

Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.

"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"

A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.

"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.

He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."

"Was the view bad then?" You prod.

"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.

Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.

"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."

The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.

"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.

He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."

Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.

"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.

"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.

Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."

"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"

Surprise colours your features.

Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.

Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.

He's— "Beautiful."

By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.

You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."

"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.

"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."

It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.

He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."

You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."

"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."

You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?

You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.

"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."

He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.

"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."

The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"

"Never."

He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"

"Who's finding who attractive?"

Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.

"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"

"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"

You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.

Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.

"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"

"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.

"Agreed." He mutters.

Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."

His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

a/n: i need to write more firelord zuko stat. he looks so good and still so awkward my childhood crush has been reignited.

[entitled-fangirl]

Only curious.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's wife is quiet and curious- and it gets her into trouble. But the Warden can't even stay mad at her.

Warnings: running, anger, frustration

Masterlist

........................................................

She was a curious thing. Quiet like a church mouse with the curiosity of a cat that was indeed killed and brought back to life- or however that saying went. 

Cregan had never minded quiet moments. It gave him time to think. To reflect. To consider important decisions for the North. 

And to have her also being quiet- near to him but neither in his way or gossiping like other women do? Well, that was his idea of a perfect day. 

Not that she didn't occupy his mind. 

In fact, his mind was occupied with her quite consistently, for she was worth thinking about. 

She viewed the world with wide, ever watchful eyes that noted every movement. Every change. Every motion and detail. And she was not judging of it. Only curious.

He fondly remembers the first time she stepped foot in Winterfell. Her eyes couldn't look at everything as quickly as her mind begged her to. 

Now, she sat in her cloth chair by the fire, stitching with a delicate precision. In silence. Comfortable and steady.

Cregan sat at the edge of their bed, head in his hands, trying to debrief from the stress of his day. 

And before he lifted his head, his felt her soft fingers running through his hair. 

He faltered. She moved so quietly. 

And as the question came to his mind, she was already answering it in that soft voice of hers. "You breathe harsher when you are under stress."

He didn't know that.

But with her hands in his hair, he finally felt some of the stress fade. He let out a soft sigh. "I must go out tomorrow."

Her hands paused. "When must I be ready?"

He tilted his head up to look at her. "My love, you're to stay here."

Her face fell.

He tugged at her hands, pulling them into his lap. "I want you to stay here. In Winterfell. It's only for the day."

She stayed silent, accepting his words.

He secretly worried every time she stepped out of the stone walls. In her quiet nature, she could be easily lost or taken. Perhaps even whisked away in her curiosity. And he couldn't bare the thought of it.

He tipped her chin down to meet her eyes. "Only the day. You'll be good, hm?"

She nods reluctantly.

"Good." He leans forward and kisses her cheek.

…

That next day, Cregan walked the streets of the city.

He was to personally visit the blacksmith over a matter of horseshoes for his beloved steed. He was to leave for the Wall soon. He needed his horse to be properly prepared.

He chatted with the blacksmith. He was a favorite of the Stark's. A man that works with fire and his hands- now that is a man. And his work was so intricate and beautiful that Cregan could never find a flaw with him.

As Cregan walked back through the busy market streets, his eyes caught a familiar face.

His wife.

He knew that woman from anywhere, any place. Even with her hood up, he just knew. 

She had yet to see him, so he used that to his advantage. 

Her quiet nature showed even in her light movements down the streets, going unseen and unnoticed by those around her. 

They had no idea the Warden's wife was near them. And it showed.

Cregan's blood boiled when she was forcefully bumped at her shoulder, causing her to lose her footing for a moment. 

He wanted to force the perpetrator down to his knees and take his head from his body. 

But he had to remain calm.

She carried on, not particularly bothered by what happened. Her feet carried her down the road slowly, her eyes taking in every single market vendor. Every item. Every stone in the pavement. 

"Lord Stark!" A deep voice echoed.

Cregan cursed under his breath.

His wife's head shot up and in his direction. Their eyes met.

He can tell there's panic in her eyes, and he motions for her to come to him. 

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. 

Cregan takes a step forward, determined to get her himself when someone steps in front of him. The man that had just called his name. 

He's jolly. Some market vendor that Cregan vaguely recognized. But as he begins to talk, the Stark steps around him and continues on his hunt for his bride.

He can't shout at her. One, it would hurt her to raise his voice more than he cares to admit. Two, she's not in his care yet, and exposing her as the Warden's wife would put her in danger. 

So, instead, the Warden of the North is chasing a woman down the busy market street.

She takes off down the road, weaving and dodging past people to the best of ability, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. 

But Stark's strides were much larger. And as the crowd dwindled down, so did the distance between them.

She takes a turn quickly. As he follows, he stops short. She simply standing there now, reluctant but knowing that she has to stop. 

He pants lightly, the frustration evident but the pure anger of her disobedience pulls away from him like the sweat down his brow. He's upset. Reasonably so. 

He says nothing, only standing and staring with a look in his eyes that's between relief and pure disappointment.

His wife's cloak barely moves in the light breeze. Her lips are downturned. A hint of tears to her eyes. 

When he steps forward, she steps back. "Cregan."

He stops for only a second, taking another step. One she takes back as well. "Cregan," she softly tries again.

"Why are you not home?" He whispers. It's quiet, but it carries perfectly to her ears.

"I-" the explanation died on her lips. "I was only cu-"

"-Curious. Yes, I know." 

Silence settles for a moment. But Cregan's emotions do not.

He takes quick steps, grabbing her wrist just tight enough to pull her to him. Then, he bends down and throws her over his shoulder. His arm holds her legs steady against his chest as he stands. 

She lets out a shriek at his suddenness but knows better than to fight him. 

And with that, the great Stark stomps back to Winterfell with his meek wife over his shoulder. 

She makes small remarks along the way. 

"'M sorry."

"Yes, I know."

"I only wanted to go see-"

"Yes, I know."

"You're angry."

"…yes. I know."

…

Upon the doors of the castle opening, the servants were quiet. Their Lord was clearly not in the mood. Neither was their Lady.

Only when they entered their shared chambers, did he finally put her down. He was oh-so-gentle, cradling her neck as he laid her on the bed. But with a light glare, he stood straight again and walked to the fireplace. 

His hands rest on his chest, crossed at the wrist as his grips his collar. It was a natural movement from him. He's so used to wearing the rough and harsh armor that his hands always rest there. Especially when he's deep in thought. 

He couldn't decide how angry to be with her. True, she was only curious. And a part of him was relieved of it. He loved that about her. But she not only ran off, but disobeyed him. Something could have happened to her, and he couldn't live with himself if it had. 

But he sighed heavily and steps out, leaving her in the silence behind him.

…

That night, she sat down for supper. The chair made an unpleasant sound against the floor. She smoothed out her dress with a guilty expression. 

Cregan had been completely silent. Rather unmoving. Only staring at her from his place across the table.

And with that, she quietly ate. 

And Cregan did not.

Her nimble fingers picked at the dried meat on the plate, movements slow and careful as if Cregan would pounce at her. 

Finally, she'd had enough. "Did y-"

"What were you searching for?" He interrupts.

Her words die off and she's left to decipher his meaning. "W-what?"

"When you were out. Were you looking for something?" 

Cregan did not ask it with a clear intent of the type of answer he wanted from it. 

"No," she answered truthfully. "I was not searching for anything. Only wishing to see things myself."

He nods. "And how many times have you done that?"

There's the silence again. "You beautiful, stubborn woman," he urged, "Answer me."

"Enough."

"A number will do."

She considers it, picking at the food on her plate. "Perhaps… five."

There's a tension that waves through the air, accompanied by Cregan leaning back in his chair. 

"Will you lock me away now?" 

"Perhaps I should!" His voice softens sooner than it rose. "But I will not. No. I cannot fault a curious doe for the crime of being curious." He picks up a piece of jerky and eyes it as he thinks. "I must be the one to satisfy her curiosity."

She frowns.

He takes a bite, pointing the half eaten piece at her. "Tomorrow."

A promise. An acceptance. 

"But I have some ground rules," he assures. "Really, just one. You cannot run off. I have never felt such a pressure in the pit of my stomach. I will not have that again. So, you will stay by me. Fair enough?"

She nods. 

"Good." He finishes off the piece and sits back again. "You'll be the death of me, sweet girl. Go on."

She excuses herself quietly, journeying across the dining table to kiss his cheek goodnight then going to ready herself for bed.

Cregan leans back in the chair until he's slumped with his eyes on the ceiling. "But what a blissful death," he softly remarks. 

..........................................................

Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995

[entitled-fangirl]

Krampuslauf.

Cregan Stark x pregnant wife!reader

Summary: Cregan is excited to take his family to the Krampus Festival this year. But with Rickon so young, you worry about scaring him.

A/n: I don't know ANYTHING about Krampus, so if anything is too inaccurate, I apologize! It was me and google against the world.

Masterlist

...........................................................................

Though the great Lord Stark didn't particularly celebrate the winter time (mostly because he saw it all the time), he did enjoy one part of it.

The dark side of the Yule tide season.

The end of the Winter Solstice made Cregan giddy like a child again, though he kept it covered with his usual stone expression.

"I worry that he is not old enough to understand," you reason as your husband helps pin your cloak.

He forces your chin back up so he can work. "Why would he not be?" 

"It could be frightening, Cregan. I would never want him t—"

"Frightening?" He cuts you off, confused. You watch as his brows pull together though his attention never lifts from your pin. "I'm afraid I'm not following."

You grab his wrists to get his full attention. His stormy eyes meet yours in a serious manner as he picks up on your anxiety.

"He'll be safe," Cregan says in a serious tone now to ease you. "He knows that."

"You swear?"

He sighs softly, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. His thumbs rub over your cheekbones. "I swear," he insists. "I'll hold Rickon myself the entire time."

It eases you enough. 

With your nod of approval, he smiles brightly. He looks you over once, then twice. You can see in his eyes that he's contemplating something mischievous. "You're not scared of Krampus." It's more a question, but he doesn't give you time to answer; probably because your face says enough. His laugh rings through the room. "Oh, my sweet girl. I can keep you safe as well." His hand roams over your swollen stomach. "All of you."

He kisses you gently, an almost tease. You chase after his lips, making his teasing smirk grow all the more. But he knows better than to keep you wanting. 

…

Rickon is as giddy as your husband. It's best the two of them are together today. They're identical. That dark hair, shaggy but taken care of. They both share that and that smile that makes your heart grow. 

Part of you wanted this next child to be like you— a girl, so you have someone on your side. But that other part of you wanted to make as many perfect Stark boys as you could, all resembling their father's pure heart. 

Cregan's free hand wraps around your waist, guiding you in front of him. He wanted to enjoy the festival. But more than that, he wanted to know his family is safe. 

This festival was tradition, kept by the original Torrhen Stark himself. The infamous Krampuslauf.

You made an absolute fool of yourself the first year of your marriage. The Krampus that year wanted to tease his new Lady of the North. Cregan didn't warned you about any of it, leading you to shriek when you were swatted across your shins. Cregan had laughed about it the entire way back to Winterfell that year.

But timing had been in your favor after that. For you had Rickon not much later. And you wanted to stay with him in Winterfell during those times every year. Until now. It was a good three years without being chased by a man in a goat-demon costume.

Every person you spoke to commented on how happy they were to see their Lady out this year, despite the cold and your condition.

Rickon just loved getting out. He was much like Cregan in that regard; the two hated to be cooped inside. The great outdoors called to them. Damn wolves. 

"He's almost here," your husband spoke softly to Rickon. For such a force of nature, Cregan was so soft with his family. His smile grew as Rickon giggled with excitement. 

But you stiffened. Cregan noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything. His hand rubbed at your shoulder, grounding you. Reminding you. I'm here. 

You spoke to many more people, forgetting about the literal demon that was supposed to appear. Shared smiles and holiday glee flooded you, almost making you forget why you didn't like this festival.

But it was bound to happen.

Some laughing shrieks erupted from further down the road. It caught the attention of everyone around. 

Cregan gently shook your son in excitement. "There he is, Rickon. I hope you've been good."

Rickon didn't register his teasing or why that would matter. "I was good," your young son reasoned. But you could see his brain work the same way Cregan's did, problem solving and drawing conclusions. "Does he know that?"

"Of course he does," Cregan says, layering his voice with that storytelling tone you so rarely hear. "You know who the Krampus is, Rickon?"

"Cregan, don't scare him," you warn.

"'S alright. He should know." 

"Really. I don't think we should be—"

You're cut off by one of the northerners teasing Rickon. Usually, you'd enjoy the banter but now was not the time.

He grabs one of Rickon's dangling feet playfully. "The Krampus would just eat this up, he would! Lord Stark better hide you well. Boys like you don't behave, and those kinds are his favorite!"

You can see Rickon begin to process things. And not for the better.

Before you can comfort him, the Krampus breaks through the crowd.

Right for the Lady and Lord Stark. 

Tradition calls for it. 

The festival-goers watch excitedly to see their Lord and Lady interact with the costumed-demon.

It's an intricate costume, with hours spent making each part. But the mask makes you uneasy. Maybe that was its whole job.

His head tilts as he slowly stalks over to you. 

Same damn costume as your first year. Same actor, you're sure.

The chains around him jingle as he nears. The birch branches in his hand catch your attention. 

When he gets close enough, he does a deep bow, almost mockingly. His mask eyes are set on you. 

And when he takes another step forward, you know what is coming soon.

Rickon squirms and panics in Cregan's arms, not expecting such a frightening being to set its attention on his mother. 

Cregan sees how quickly this is turning away from his favor. 

Now far too close, the Krampus's mask is inches from your face. You try to not let them see how much it bothers you. But you can't help the way your eyes close.

When they open, you see darkness.

Cregan has stepped in front of you, his back to you.

His eyebrows are tugged down in its usual no nonsense fashion as his head tilts, like a challenge to the person in the costume to really try hitting his pregnant wife.

The look is enough to convey the message. The guy steps back with his hands out in slight surrender, breaking the magic of the story just a bit. He'd rather not piss off the Wolf of the North in the middle of a festival.

Rickon has glued himself to Cregan's chest, clutching at his father's furs tightly like a lifeline. He keeps his head tucked in his father's neck to avoid looking at the demon. But he can't stop himself and peeks, just to see if it's safe yet.

The guy can't help but notice Rickon's curiosity. He barely leans in before Rickon retreats back against Cregan. Both of his father's hands are tight around him.

Cregan's chin juts out once, a warning to find someone else to haunt.

It works.

You don't let out the breath in your lungs until he turns and looks at you. Truly looks at you. "You alright, my love?" Voice soft like he hadn't just threatened a man in a costume. 

"'M fine," you mumble, resting your hands on your stomach naturally.

"Yeah?" He checks, trying to catch your gaze. "Look at me."

You obey, seeing just how concerned he is. 

"Are you alright?" He asks in a sterner tone.

You don't even answer once you see how Rickon shakes in Cregan's hold. You close the distance, resting a hand on your son's back. He recognizes your touch, instantly relaxing. "This was a poor idea," you spit.

"I'm seeing that," Cregan surrenders. He tries to pry his son off of him, just to get a good look at him, but it's no use. "C'mon. Back to Winterfell."

You don't argue.

…

That night, Rickon can't sleep. 

You know this would happen. 

No amount of blankets, candles, bedtime stories, or locked doors could convince him that he was safe from Krampus. 

His watery eyes break your heart. 

So the two of you sit on his bed, trying to help him.

"Winterfell is safe," you say for the fourth time. "There are guards here. And their entire job is to make sure nothing happens to you."

"But Krampus can hide good."

You look to your husband for backup.

"Rickon Stark," he says firmly, "You were named after your grandfather who was so brave. He didn't fear Krampus. And you know something? He didn't behave himself very often. Starks never do."

Rickon's eyes widen. "Did he fight Krampus?"

Cregan is stuck between making a grand lie and telling the truth. "No, Rickon. No, he didn't."

"But you did."

He sighs. "No. I didn't either." He prepares for the tantrum and fear he might cause from his answer.

"You did!" Rickon insists, sitting up in bed.

"Baby," you scold oh so gentle, brushing his hair back and pushing him back down into his blanket.

"He did," he says softer to you, trying to be convincing. "I saw it today."

Understanding consumes the two of you.

"I guess he did," you side.

"Krampus was going to get you, mama! But papa saved you and he scared the bad guy away!"

Cregan giggles, actually giggles at the way your son is so easily impressed. But your stern look makes the laugh drop immediately. "Oh, yes. Krampus is frightened of me, son. I…" he thought for a moment, trying to come up with something. "It's the Stark blood. He knows better than to mess with someone with Dire Wolf Blood."

"Is it poisonous to him?" Your son is suddenly so interested. 

"Mildly allergic," Cregan continues for some reason, cursing himself even as he says it. But your hand finds his thigh, where you squeeze tightly in warning. "I mean… yeah. He is just terrified of those with Stark blood."

"Like you," you rush to cover your husband's lack of imagination. "Krampus is scared of you. Isn't that something?"

Rickon frowns, gears turning in his head. "Is that why he still tried to hurt you, mama?"

"Exactly," Cregan jumps in, more confident this time around. "But she doesn't have to be scared of him. You know why, Rickon?"

He shakes his head.

"Because, son." He smiles and pokes at him. "She has me. And I promised to protect her."

"And me! She has me, too!" Rickon's eyes gleam as he tries hard to prove himself. "I can do it. I can protect mama. And the baby."

"I know you can, boy," Cregan says, kissing his cheek and running a large hand over the boy's forehead. "You'll have plenty of time to prove yourself when you're older. But tonight, you can sleep knowing I'll protect you. That alright?"

Rickon seems satisfied with that, finally giving in to the yawn that had been tempting him for the last half hour. 

…

"Sorry for the mess I've made today, my love." His arms wrap around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder, nose tucked against your hair. 

You all but melt into him. "We all learned something today, Lord Stark."

"Yeah?" You can feel his grin against your neck. "And what did my beautiful wife learn today?"

"You have a terrible imagination."

He's immediately off of you in false hurt, leaving you to giggle. "You think this is funny?" He gawks, letting his amusement set in. "Insulting your husband is funny, my girl?"

You can't catch your breath and answer before his arms are back around you, spinning you around to look him in the eye. He holds you in front of him until you calm.

"I'm a warrior," he says, suddenly more serious. "My imagination was long taken from me the day my sword found blood." He bends slightly to be on your level. "But you? Your mind is the greatest wonder I've been allowed to witness. And if our boy has even half the imagination of his mother, he'll be blessed by the gods beyond measure. And I won't let it be soiled." 

You can't find words for him after that. You only stare, hoping to convey all your thoughts to those stormy irises of his. But even the thoughts are jumbled. 

"I love you, my girl. You must know that."

You embrace him, unable to convey just how much your heart adores the man in front of you and the family he's given you.

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Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995, @raven-dor, @oohzkdlins, @lunaritychuwolf, @nlnny@silverlightsaber, @t958580, @fangirling-jess, @shesneverreallythere, @sw0rdmaiden

[entitled-fangirl]

Targaryen Holiday.

A/N: Merry Christmas if you celebrate!!! Here's a holiday drabble to get you through!

Cregan Stark x Targaryen wife!reader

Masterlist

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"Oh, Cregan. Please don't forget the gift for Joffrey. It is in our room," you frantically call out. Your dark headed babe lays in your arms as you travel down to the main entrance of the castle.

As per tradition of the last two years, your Targaryen family would join you in Winterfell for part of the holiday. It was a well needed rest from Dragonstone, and they grew a love for the snow that only your northern home had. 

The mighty wooden doors were opened for you. Your family was dismounting their dragons out further from the sturdy walls around the castle. 

Your elder brother was first to greet you, running from his dragon the moment he spotted you nearing. 

He hugged you as tightly as he could without squishing the babbling child in your arms. "Sweet sister," he smiles against your hair. "How the North suits you."

But as quickly as he could, he took the babe from you, grinning widely as he looked over his young niece and cooed at her.

The rest of the family soon joined, your mother with Viserys in her arms, Joffrey trailing close behind.

Daemon spoke to Luke as they walked together, young Aegon in his own arms. Baela and Rhaena have their arms locked as they step through the snow.

Rhaenyra's eyes softened at the very sight of you. The day you were taken to the North to be with Cregan was one of the worst she's ever lived. But seeing how you blossomed so sweetly in the cold made her heart warm.

 "Mother," you greet cooly, bowing slightly in reverence. 

She set Viserys down, an elegance to her as she stood back up and looked over you. Dissecting you. Analyzing you. Then finally— "My, how you've grown."

Once the naive princess of Dragonstone, turned the regal Lady Stark of Winterfell. Motherhood and marriage can change someone so.

"I trust your journey was smooth," you reply, your eyes darting occasionally to your child in Jace's arms. 

Your mother's features soften. Then, like something breaks, she rushes forward and takes you in her arms. Her cheek leans against the top of your head, like you remember from your childhood so many times before.

And the two of you sit there for a while.

Cregan's arrival is what breaks you two apart. 

The sturdy northman loved when the Targaryens ventured to Winterfell. He took pride in their joy at what the North has. 

"So, you've all arrived in one piece," he chuckles, arms outstretched to welcome them as he comes to your side. His head bows politely to your mother. But the moment the pleasantries are done, he's moving over to Jace. 

The two had such a brotherly bond that you couldn't blame him.

You faintly hear them giggling like young boys over your child— something along the lines of: "Are you sure my sister birthed her? This one's too northern."

Your mother takes your hands. "I was so worried about the birth. When you said there may be complications… I contemplated coming to the North myself."

"I understand why you couldn't," you soothe. "But it doesn't matter now. You and Daemon are here for the festivities. That is all I could wish for."

She smiles, a hand coming up to cup your cheek sweetly.

"Seems a bit empty around here," Daemon observes, his head on a swivel. "Where were the servants that were to take our things?"

Your face flushes. "Did no one take them? I sent a few of them t—"

"A few, yes. But there weren't many. And there's none in the courtyard." There's a bite to Daemon's voice that you don't appreciate.

Before you can answer, Cregan does. His chest gently brushes against your back, his hand resting on your waist in reassurance. "That would be my doing. Servants have families like the rest of us. The ones that wished to were given leave for the festivities. They'll return. The ones here now stay of their own accord. You'll treat them well, for they could be spending their time elsewhere."

It was a decision the two of you made this year. It felt right. Your small family didn't need all the servants for a few days. You'd manage just fine. 

But you were thankful Cregan was taking the heat for it to Daemon.

He snorts in response, no doubt annoying your mother. 

…

Supper was set, a fine roasted boar setting on the large dining table. 

Your family chatted and giggled, bonding to their hearts' content as they always did when there were quiet moments like this.

Your daughter, Arya, only 4 months old, sits in your lap. One of your hands holds her steady while the other has your fork. You try to take bites when you can. 

Jace was enthusiastically retelling the story of helping Cregan butcher the boar. The two of them went hunting the day before. "I swear, I've never had to outrun something like that in my life! I'm quite bad on a horse."

Cregan chuckled. "Not all of us can master dragon riding, my prince."

"But horse riding is entirely different when being chased by a wild boar!"

The table erupted in laughs, the volume increasing to a new high.

Arya shifted on your lap in a way you knew all too well. You gently bounced her, trying to keep a tantrum from coming.

But your soothing voice wasn't enough, and Arya soon lets out a cry.

Your face flushes as the attention gets drawn to you. You pick her up and try to adjust her, uttering soft words to soothe her. But the cries continue.

The judgmental look from Daemon sets you on edge, even making you ignore your mother's assurance that it's alright.

"P-Please, excuse me," You stand, your plate abandoned and your pride a bit wounded. You keep Arya close to your chest.

As you pass the head of the table, Cregan's arm shoots out and stops you. His eyes are set on yours. Not in any annoyance, only contentment. "Give me our girl. You haven't eaten."

"I ate earlier," you lie easily, a nervousness to your words.

Cregan stands, his stature well above your own. His hand rests on the small of your back as he moves you back to your chair. He takes Arya from you, keeping her in one hand. And with the other, he pulls out your chair.

It's not until he knows you're settled that he sits back down himself.

It's a bit comedic, seeing the large, burly northern with the young babe on his lap. But in all ways, they're far too similar. 

Arya began teething not long ago, and her attitude surely shows for it.

But ever the observant and calm man that Cregan is, feasts with one hand, his other cupping Arya's head. His fingers wrap around her cheek, one in her mouth as she chews on it for comfort.

He's content, as is she. Two identical beings in entirely different forms. Cregan continues his story like nothing happened. Like fathering is just so easy for him.

It is.

You simply stare at him for a while, impressed and more attracted to him now than ever.

A second child might not be so bad.

His eyes flicker to yours, a silent question of what is wrong. But you pull your gaze away with a reassuring shake of your head before focusing on finally eating.

When your head raises, you catch your mother's eye. She's smirking, knowing every thing that's in your head. Of course she would, she's been through the same thing. 

…

When supper finishes, Baela takes Arya to play, letting you catch up with Jace in Cregan's solar.

"When are you marrying Baela?" Cregan asks in a tease, his hand resting on your thigh. His thumb rubs light patterns over your skirt.

Jace laughs, his attention focused on the cup in his hand. "Can't say for sure. Soon, I hope. Now that all this war is over, I want to focus on her. She deserves nothing less."

"And Luke? When shall he and Rhaena—"

"He'd marry her tomorrow if he could."

Cregan laughs at that. "Can't say I can blame him." He looks at you, softness swimming in those stormy eyes. "I married you as soon as could, did I not?"

You lean into him, taking the shared cup of apple cider Cregan offered. While he loved hard cider, he chose the safe option out of solidarity for you while you were breastfeeding Arya. 

Jace, on the other hand, was starting to enjoy the affects of the hard cider in his cup. 

The drink warmed you inside, Cregan's proximity warmed you outside. 

…

With Arya safely tucked in and the rest of the family retired, you were all but dragging Cregan into your shared room, eager to get your hands on him.

"Cregan," you gasp between kisses. "Make love to me tonight."

He smiles against your lips. His hands roam over you slowly. He's a man of patience. "Alright, my girl. Let's get you safely in bed first."

"Could do it here," you pant. "I don't mind. Anywhere."

He has to pull you away this time. "I love you too much for that. You are still recovering. I'll take you to bed and please you there. Hm?"

You're nodding quickly. He picks you up, careful not to shake you too much. 

"I love you, Cregan," you whisper against his neck. 

"I love you, too, my sweet, sweet wife," he answers back, like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

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Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995, @raven-dor, @oohzkdlins, @lunaritychuwolf, @nlnny@silverlightsaber, @t958580, @fangirling-jess, @shesneverreallythere, @sw0rdmaiden

[entitled-fangirl]

Unsure.

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!wife!reader

Summary: Blood and Cheese (Stark edition)

Warnings: ummm if you had a hard time with Blood and Cheese then maybe skip this one. It's not as graphic and I skipped the really harsh parts but still

Masterlist

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Strong arms wrap around her waist, a steadfast reminder of that burly husband of hers. His face leans down towards the crook of her neck, his voice rumbling lowly in her ear. "How are you, my girl?"

Something satisfying stirs in her gut at his words. She brings his hand up and over her swollen stomach. "Divine."

"Divine?" He chuckles lowly. "Just yesterday, you were retching over a basin."

"Yes, well, today is better," she huffs.

He accepts that, gently kissing her jaw before leaning out. He runs a hand down her back and steps away. "You know," he begins, throwing on a tunic lazily to begin the day, "you should be resting more. Restlessness is bad for the pup."

She rolls her eyes to herself, keeping her gaze out at the balcony. "Tell that to your child that keeps me up at all hours."

He hums, reaching for his doublet. "Wasn't this bad with Arya."

"No, she was rather tame." A smirk pulls at her lips. "Seems it is only the Stark males that are uncontrollable."

He chuckles, "You think a boy?"

She shrugs, finally turning to him. "I surely hope so. I don't know how many times I can go through with this restlessness. So you had better pray it's a son, or your litter will be nothing but girls."

"Aye, nothing wrong with a few girls," he grins widely, coming back around to kiss her.

His large hand cups her cheek, a hungry look in his eye as he leans in. Almost as if he's imagining that litter of Stark pups.

The door crashes open with the voice that they know far too well. "Papa!"

Cregan keeps a hand around his wife, his attention shifting to the door Arya now runs through, straight for him.

He chuckles, barely leaning down to pick her up with one arm like it's hardly a chore. "There is my little hunter."

She holds up doll in her hand, carved by Cregan before her birth. "I had a dream that I had a dragon that could spin in the air! It was blue and purple, and it could breathe fire, Papa!"

He chuckles, bouncing her a few times. "Is that so? Well, we had better keep the sheep far away if this dragon comes near, ey?"

"It was a nice dragon. It wouldn't do that."

Cregan looks back to his wife, exchanging a knowing look before giving his attention back to the dark headed child. "That's good then. We need more kind dragons in the world."

She kicks her feet until he gets the message to put her down. She jumps a few times, entertaining herself in the way only children can, before leaving as if nothing happened. Her handmaiden runs after her with an apologetic look.

Cregan's thumb rubs a soothing circle on his wife's lower back. "Think a boy will have as much energy?"

"That and more, Cregan Stark."

…

One of Cregan's favorite parts of pregnancy was when his wife's brain would go fuzzy, forgetting  things or looking a bit lost. It made him feel important, another way to care for her.

And it came in odd ways.

"Darling?" Cregan questions as he watches her look around suddenly. He sits up in bed, his head tilting. "You alright?"

She looked up from her vanity, as if forgetting her focus entirely. "Hm? Oh, yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look a bit lost. Are you looking for something?" He asks carefully.

"Looking for something? No."

He nods, not accepting the answer at all but letting her believe he has. 

It grows quiet as he watches her. 

She looks back into the vanity, reaching up to fumble with her hair again. She pauses, beginning to look around as she had before.

Cregan stands this time. "What are you looking for, love? I can help you if you let me."

"My brush. It's gone." 

"It's not gone," he eases, using his most calming voice. "Let me help you."

He reaches over her calmly, picking up the brush that laid on the wooden vanity in front of her. He held it up. "This one?"

Her eyes widened. "I… I looked there."

"I know, my love. How about I brush your hair, then?"

With a confirming nod, Cregan begins to gently run their brush through the soft white locks. "Your father has written to me."

She perks up at that. "My father?"

Daemon Targaryen knew of the brewing war between the black and the greens. And although Jace had come only a few moons ago to plead for the North's help, Daemon wrote consistently to Cregan. The letters varied on topic: war plans, well wishes, hopes for his daughter. 

It was on odd love, but he did truly love his daughter. 

"He was asking about your progression. He is worried I'll have to leave you before you've given birth."

"And?"

The brushing paused, his hand stilled. "I won't leave you while you are in this state. I have given them my graybeards. I'll march with others when the time is right."

"The time is never right for war."

He sighed deeply. "I know."

The silence settles as he begins to brush her hair again. The steady motion calms him, keeps him grounded. He can't help but admire his girl. She's a pretty thing, after all.

"Have you eaten?"

She blinks a few times. "Yes."

"Mm. What did you have?" It wasn't accusatory, but rather curious. He wanted to hear more of her voice.

"I had…" her voice trails off. "I had… something. Let me think."

"Take your time."

"It was… it was bread. With the red… sauce that I like so much?"

He chuckled softly. "The jam?"

She lights up in the mirror. "Yes. Jam. Thank you."

He hums. "And what tea have you had today?"

"The chamomile. Although…"

He stops. "Yes?"

"I have really been wishing for tea that has lemon in it. Do we have that?"

He chews on his bottom lip. "I'm unsure. But I can make sure you have it if you wish."

"Is that greedy of me?"

He laughs, setting the brush down and kissing the crown of her head lovingly. "There's nothing greedy about you, my girl."

…

Arya held the bow tight in her hand, the string drawn back far, the arrow clipped in.

Cregan was knelt behind her, gently adjusting her stance and giving her proper encouragement. 

The arrow flew through the air, missing the target completely. Arya visibly deflated. 

"'S alright," her father defended, reaching for another arrow. "You can only get better. Try again."

She pouts. "'S hard," her accent enunciates. 

"I know. But we'll do it again," he says, holding out the arrow.

She takes it reluctantly. 

When it's notched, Cregan gets closer. "You're too tense." His hands rest on her little shoulders, and she relaxes. "Let go on the exhales, when you breathe out."

She gains some confidence, shoulders straightening and a deep breathe—

"MY LORD!" A yell runs over the courtyard. 

Cregan shoots up in concern, his body shielding Arya naturally. 

"Lady Stark," the servant pants. "She's begun her labors. The midwives are readying her to—"

In a steady motion, Cregan scoops up Arya, bow and arrow long abandoned and begins running up towards the castle doors. 

He speaks lowly to her. "You will be with your handmaiden while I care for your mother. And when it's all done, I'll fetch you to meet your new brother. Alright?" When he doesn't get an answer, he holds her further out. "Alright?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Good girl," he breathes, leaving a heavy kiss to her forehead before setting her down outside her room. "I love you."

"I love you, papa."

"Good. Play with your dolls and I'll get you soon."

…

Cregan's hands apply steady pressure to her hips as she leans over the bed. It's been over six hours of labor with only slight progression. 

Her hands claw at the sheets when a new contraction hits.

The midwives all coo at her whine. "Lord Stark, perhaps if we adjust her."

He blinks a bit before nodding, "right, right." He leans in, whispering softly into his wife's ear. "A new position might feel better, eh? Get you up on the bed?"

"'M not ready," she cries, cheek resting on the cool bed.

He runs a hand over her forehead, pulling back sweaty white strands. Even like this, she looks ethereal. "Don't have to be ready to give birth, love. We're only moving. No one will make you do anything you are not ready to do."

She nods, letting Cregan help her stand. His hands prove steady and strong, a rest haven for her tired body. 

Slowly, he helps her up onto the bed. She sits on her knees, her shaky arms doing little to keep her balance. 

The midwife nearest helps her begin exercises to help ease the ache in her pelvis.

He takes a moment to rest and watch his most beloved treasure.

Her pain is his own, and a part of him regrets ever asking for another child. 

This will be the last, he tells himself.

His thoughts are ruined by a heavy whimper escaping her throat. His fists clench as he moves back to her. "What's happening?"

The maester finally speaks up. "I believe it is time to push. Perhaps my Lord would feel more comfortable waiting outside?"

"No," he answers immediately. "My place is with my wife."

The maester nods, knowing there's no arguing with the Wolf.

…

A beautiful white haired boy.

Cregan had shed a few tears in happiness.

But the recovery of his wife was far from swift. She was often bedridden with a constant need for help to do the things she used to do so easily.

He stayed by her side as often as possible. But somedays, it was just impossible for the North needed him too.

With a swift kiss to his wife— who already had the needy infant at her breast when he woke— he set out to finally go hunting.

He had sworn up and down that he didn't need a break from his family, but his wife insisted.

So here Cregan was, out in the woods on his horse, following the tracks of a large boar. 

He hated to admit that he needed the fresh air. 

He dismounted his horse, leaning down to the fresh tracks. "Headed east, the burly thing."

"Aye," one of his guards agreed, "heard tale of a few herds further that way."

"Then that's where we go," he stands, straightening his cloak. 

Little did he know of what would transpire in Winterfell while he was away.

…

She had finally made it up for the day, able to walk in a steady pattern despite the constant handmaiden or guard waiting for her on hand or foot.

She held the babe close to her chest, gently swaying him to soothe his full stomach after a feeding.

Her hand ran over his soft forehead, the Targaryen hair of their little boy easing an ache in her weary heart. 

Her sweet Rickon.

She knew her father would hate it. The name was too northern for a boy like this. But she didn't care. He was the heir to Winterfell. May he reflect that.

The babe hiccuped lightly, leaning in closer to the comfort of his mother.

She laid a soft kiss to his cheek before laying him in his crib (which Cregan had insisted on building himself). 

She turned to see her sweet Arya standing in the doorway. "Hello, my love," she smiled, bending down to the girl with open arms.

Arya quickly ran to her, clutching to her tightly. 

"Everything alright, darling?" She reached up to Arya's cheeks, gently forcing her head up to look her in the eye. 

Arya was crying.

"Oh, what could ever worry my girl like this? Tell me."

With sniffles and whimpers, Arya choked out a few words. "M…men in… in my room."

Her head tilted. "There are men in your room? Your guard? Ser Armend?"

She shook her head quickly, more tears coming.

"What is this, love?" She asked, reaching down to grab her daughter's hands.

Which she now realized are covered in blood.

Her mouth dries. "Arya? W-What is this?"

Before Arya can answer, a shadow overtakes the doorway.

The Lady Stark stands, albeit with a bit of trouble from her condition. She pushes Arya behind her. "Ser? May I help you?"

The shadow shifts before stepping inside. The man is large, as large as Cregan. But he seeps the warmth out of the air in a way Cregan never could even if he tried. 

"Please, leave," she tries again. 

The sunlight from the sunrise catches the man's face. Scarred and frightening.

The man continues to move into the room, pushing the woman and child further in, with them against the crib.

And he only says one word. 

"Move."

It's deep and rumbles through the room. 

The Lady shakes her head, a bit of determination to protect her children.

He sneers, reaching up and grabbing her by the throat. "I said move," he growls in her ear before throwing her to the ground.

Arya runs to her mother's side, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. 

What was supposed to be a peaceful morning for the Starks turned to ruin.

…

Cregan returned home to sound of crying.

He dropped everything in his hands, running to the nursery despite the guards and servants that tried to speak to him.

He ran up the stairs, his body moving on autopilot to get to his wife and children. 

But something made him pause.

A handmaiden. Frantically wiping up the blood from the stone floor of his children's corridor.

"Lord Stark," she stood, bowing her head. The red cloth in her hand drips down onto the floor.

For the first time in his life, Cregan felt cold.

His eyes began to sting with tears unshed in his waterline. His bottom lip trembled. 

And he felt frozen.

"Where is my wife?" His voice barely whispered. "Where is she?"

"She's with the maester, my lord. S-She and the girl…"

"She and…" his voice trailed off, his eyes wandering back down to the blood on the floor. He didn't have to question whose blood it was. "But my son…"

The handmaiden bowed her head and excused herself, leaving him to mourn. 

Cregan dropped to his knees before the blood stains. His boy. His sweet son. 

What did he do to deserve such a harsh fate?

A guard stepped into the corridor, metal armor clashing with each step. "My lord," his deep voice echoed. 

Cregan barely turned his head in acknowledgment of the man behind him.

"Lady Stark and the Lady Arya are with the maester. They are… they are alive. But the guards stationed outside of their doors were found dead. We are unsure of the culprit—"

"Unsure?" He growled. "Who do you think would do a thing like this? To me, to my wife? And to my children?" He stood with a new anger. "I want the Green's heads on spikes," his teeth clenched, a tear slipping down. "And I shall present them to my wife as a gift."

…

Not long after, Cregan dares to go to the maester's quarters. 

There's a part of him that can't look his wife in the eye. But another part of him needs to.

Just to see that she's alive.

He rounds the corner slowly, giving a curt nod to the guards that stand at the entrance before going in.

The maester looks immediately. "Lord Stark!"

His wife's head finally snaps up. She's sat on the table, Arya asleep in her lap. Her arms are tight around the girl, afraid to let her go. Her cheeks are still red and puffy, eyes somehow still watery. 

He wastes no time, moving to his wife and daughter and hugging them tightly. 

She cries softly against his chest as Arya clings to him. "I know," he soothes. "I know, my girls." With a fresh cry of his wife, his heart shattered. He held her closer. "I know, I know, I know. Forgive me. Gods, forgive me, please."

And there, the hardened man softens with his wife and child in his arms. He doesn't cry. He can't bring himself to do it. Not in front of them. He can do it later. He can do it another time. But he was the strong one. The fortress. The Warden. And he was failing. 

…

Once his family cried themselves to sleep, he had them taken to his chamber he shared with his wife. Four guards stood outside the doors, vigilant. He couldn't let this happen again. 

But Cregan? 

…

The Lords spoke over each other, one louder than the next. They all fought and argued on what to do, who to trust. 

Cregan entered the room, and none noticed, each too bothered to see their Warden walk in. 

His eye twitched in irritation. He moved to his seat, standing behind the intimidating carved wooden seat. 

And still nothing from his most trusted lords. 

"MY SON IS DEAD."

Silence. 

He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath. HIs tone quieted. "My son… is dead. And you sit here and argue like children."

Lord Bolton was the first to speak up, "My Lord, if I may—"

"You may not," he interrupted. "You expect me to sit and listen to you? To any of you? While traitors run through my halls as thieves and murderers? Quiet."

The silence continued. And when Cregan sat down, they all slowly found their seats as well.

"Write to the King Consort," he orders one of the men. "Tell him of what has happened. Of what my girl, his daughter, has become."

Lord Mormont nods, moving to get up and do his Warden's bidding.

"I wasn't finished," Cregan says lowly. "And I want you to write to the Greens."

Bolton squirmed in his seat. "My Lord, that could be dangerous. We're still not sure if it was one of them who orchestrated the m—"

"My family was attacked and my child dead. I'm not sure of many things, but I am sure of this. Write the damn letter," he growled.

"What shall I say, sir?"

Cregan took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling before he spoke. "Tell them 'Winter is Coming.'"

…

A few weeks later, Criston Cole held the letter in his hand, his jaw twitching with concern.

"I'm not sure what to make of this, your grace," he spoke up, eyes flickering to Aegon.

Aegon's face was frozen in worry. "Well- W-What can we do? Why has he so quickly turned to her side?" He turned to Aemond, who sat at the end of the table. "Have they begun their march already?"

For once, even Aemond looked confused and a bit frightened. "We must plan for anything, brother."

Alicent stayed quiet, not telling them of the visit from Lord Larys Strong the night before— when he'd admitted what he'd done to the Starks, the men he'd paid to ruin them. She couldn't tell her sons of it. Not without exposing the trade between her and the Lord Strong.

So, she stayed quiet, picking at her fingers even as the blood ran down her nails. 

.........................................................

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[sugurugetos]

THE PITT — S02E13 7:00PM

[timothyolyphant]

Jack "What the fuck am I doing here" Abbot THE PITT S02E13

[davidpetey]

THE PITT

02.09 | 3:00 PM