#udo x reader

One of the first things that makes you fall for him is seeing him teach Dark Fey children how to fly.

He’s endlessly patient, guiding them gently and encouraging them.

When he notices you watching, he gives you a small, knowing smile.

Eventually, he invites you to help, and that’s how you become part of his world.

Udo’s love builds slowly, but it’s deep and unwavering.

He doesn’t rush feelings, he lets them grow naturally between shared moments.

His affection shows through lingering glances, soft-spoken conversations and quietly choosing to stand beside you.

Udo is protective, but not in an aggressive way like Borra.

His protection is calm and intentional: guiding you out of danger, shielding you with his wings if needed and placing himself between you and harm without panic.

Even in danger, his voice remains steady: “Stay close. You’re safe.”

Udo is incredibly in tune with emotions, both his own and yours.

If you’re upset, he notices immediately, even if you say nothing.

He doesn’t push you to talk, he simply stays with you until you’re ready.

Sometimes, that quiet presence is exactly what you need.

His touches are always gentle.

He'll brush your hand lightly, rest his forehead against yours, and wrap his wings around you like a soft shield.

His body runs slightly cool (he's a Tundra Fey, after all), but it becomes comforting rather than cold.

As a human in the Moors, you represent something important: unity.

Udo deeply values that. You’re proof that peace between humans and Fey is possible.

He often walks with you through both worlds, quietly observing how they’re changing.

You and Udo connect most through your shared compassion.

You both prioritize protecting others, especially the innocent.

He admires your kindness toward the Fey, and you admire his kindness toward everyone, even humans who once hunted his kind.

When Udo finally admits his feelings, it’s simple and heartfelt: “You bring warmth to places I thought would always remain cold.”

No grand gestures, just honesty.

After the union of Ulstead and the Moors, you and Udo help build a new, peaceful future.

You often assist him with the children, teaching, guiding, and caring for them together.

You startled. Dropping your brush, you made sure your dressing gown was closed over your nightdress – it was one thing to sit around thinking about him, another entirely to sit in your bedroom, practically bare, when he was a guest in your home.

“I am so sorry,” you began, standing from the bench you’d set before your dressing-table.

The corners of his lips quirked, but did not fully upturn. “You did not hear me?”

“No.” And you should not have gone about dressing for bed until he’d left. What kind of a fool were you? “I should’ve. I don’t know why I’d forgotten you were here—”

“Guinevere,” he cut you off gently, “you are allowed to be comfortable in your own home.”

No, you admitted by way of breathing out rather harshly, you were not. There were standards – rules of propriety, let alone laws of etiquette that you’d miraculously failed to adhere to. A small handful of months under new reign, peace and prosperity and political alliances with entirely new races of fey and you’d forgotten a lifetime of court lessons (many of which had been engrained in shame under Queen Ingrith’s perpetual disapproval). You were not allowed to undress while a male acquaintance resided in your home unless you were chaperoned, which you were most certainly not. Never mind entertain thoughts of courtship with said male acquaintance. Not in the position you were in.

“Aspen and Rojan decided to stay in Arthur’s room. Violet, Dawn and Aya will sleep in your mother’s.” It was only fair, as six children could hardly be asked to share one bed.

You nodded, though the result of that conclusion did not strike you fully until Udo opened the door a bit more as if to enter.

The children occupied every other bed in your home. Which left him with nowhere else to sleep but in your room, with you.

There were alternatives, of course. You could politely relinquish your bed and go sleep with the girls, if there was room. He was your guest; courtesy dictated that you would sleep on the floor if that was what you must do in order to make your guests comfortable, regardless of whether or not said guest understood or acknowledged the social rules that had been engrained into you since childhood.

“Is the front door bolted?” you asked, though the smallness of your voice betrayed you. A moment’s extra time would not buy you much in the way of thought, but—

“It is,” he replied.

Damn. Maybe he knew more than you gave him credit for.

Maybe you shouldn’t have had that thought, lest you start entertaining the idea that the children were filling up every bed in the house and Udo knew what sharing a bed with you would mean to an observant, human outsider. Like your mother, if she returned from the palace earlier tomorrow than she said she would.

“The candles are extinguished,” he left the door open, though, which you could not bring yourself to protest. If the children needed you, it was the easiest way for them to reach you, but it also afforded some sense of lacking privacy – some persistent reminder that you were not hiding away in a love-nest somewhere, and you could be walked in upon at any time, so there was no reason to entertain the idea of being held by him while you slept. Caressing the length of one of his long feathers to see if they were really as soft as they looked. No, you absolutely could not do that.

“Except yours.”

The blue of his eyes was as clear and bright as the winter’s midday sky. . It was not the first time they’d caused you to lose your train of thought (nor the softness in his angular features or the grace in his approach). He joined you, only a pace away from the wool blankets that still lingered atop your bed for those cold, late-spring nights.

What would it feel like to be pressed against him under them?

“My what?”

His bright eyes glimmered. Surely, your voice must’ve betrayed you.

Your face warmed. You had to resist the impulse to pull your sleeves lower so you could fuss with the loose thread on your inner sleeve – it was not ladylike to pull at your clothing, or divert your gaze when someone spoke to you.

“Your candle.” His wing extended as though he gestured with the patterned end of his long feathers.

Yes. That would make sense. If he had truly put everyone to bed and extinguished the other candles – even checked the door to ensure your safety – your candle would be the last one to remain lit, would it not?

“Oh.” Very eloquent. You could almost feel the sting of a silver teaspoon across your knuckles.

“Are you ready to sleep?” He lowered his head ever so slightly toward you. Though some part of you knew that he would be searching your eyes for a response (or, perhaps because of it), yours lifted to the points of his horns, as though expecting them to lower near enough to touch the top of your own head. Never mind that they were another head above the advantage in height he already had.

“I suppose.” You tore your eyes away. Fetched your brush off the dressing table and placed it, bristles-down, in one of the topmost drawers of your chest-of-drawers. Tomorrow’s gown awaited you on the back of your dressing screen, and though it did not necessarily please you to imagine waking early to ensure you had time enough to dress before he joined you, you supposed it was only one morning. Perhaps, after sleeping, tomorrow would not be as awkward as it seemed tonight.

Udo gestured for you to take to your bed. He must’ve wanted you to do as you always did, though he must’ve known you deliberately would not; the opposite side of the bed was your usual sleeping-area, and you made sure to remain as near to the edge as comfortably possible lest he not have enough room for himself and his wings. (Surely, he wouldn’t, but you could no more control that than you could control the lack of adequate sleeping space for two adults and six children in a house meant for three.)

He extinguished the candle with a soft breath.

Yet, even in the darkness of a house at night, you saw the whiteness of his robes. The brightness of his hair. You watched him unwind his topmost layer from around his wings, and relieve himself of it in a folded square like the cloak of a formal coat. It was placed gingerly upon your dressing-table, as though he was uncertain as to whether or not it would be allowed there.

You had the nagging feeling he knew you could still see him.

His underclothes fit to his body more closely than you imagined they might.

You had no business thinking about his underclothes. Even if they were not underclothes in the sense you knew underclothes to be. Clothes under a coat. That kind of underclothes, not….Lord in Heaven, do not lie there wondering if he wears underclothes beneath what he already has on.

He drew his wings close to him before he lay down. He did not draw back the wool blanket that you had crawled beneath, and you did not realize he might see the flicker of unwarranted hurt that crossed your face.

“Would you like a blanket of your own?” you murmured.

“No.” He settled atop his wings, flexing them only a bit, and interlaced his hands carefully atop his stomach. “Thank you. This is a much warmer climate than my own.”

Oh. Of course.

Everything was perfectly reasonable, in the end. You shared a bed because there was no other reasonable alternative. Your children were friends, nothing more, and you often participated in such awkward exchanges because you were still culturally uncertain with one another, nothing more.

You had to force yourself to turn away. “Goodnight, Udo.”

You could only hide so much from someone who lay beside you. Udo watched the tension in your shoulders ease. Listened to your breath begin to deepen. Nervous as you were, the weight of his body beside yours did not disrupt your peace. In fact, he waited until he believed you were past the cusp of sleep to murmur, as if he believed you would not hear, “Goodnight, Guinevere.”

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