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[impactvisualsolutions]

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[heedeungism]

say yes to heaven (say yes to me). | teaser

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⭒ ice prince!sunghoon x fire princess!reader 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⭒ the crown prince of the ice kingdom is not known for having objects of affection. perhaps the fiery princess of the fire kingdom is all that is needed to thaw his frozen heart. (route 1 of the eternal flame saga) 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ⭒ alcohol, cursing, the beginnings of a panic attack, dwagons 𝐄𝐒𝐓. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⭒ 10k> (teaser is 1k) 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ⭒ this is only a small snippet of a longform fic i’ve been working on since house of the dragon started up again, so obviously it’s inspired by that. however i did need to fix the whole incest = dragons so i made up this whole concept that, while obviously inspired by hotd, is incest free! i have other fics in this same universe outlined(hence the ‘route 1 of the eternal flame saga’), but i will be focusing most of my attention on this fic until it’s done!

masterlist. rules. request.

The House of Frost’s sigil is arguably one of the more simple of the Great Houses. A banner of pale blue, a white emblem of stark beauty, a dragon. Next to sigils of the other Kingdom’s, it appears as icy as one would imagine.

The Houses of Earth and Wind fly flags of more neutral colors, ivories and browns. The Water Dragon Kingdom’s a royal blue and Sky Dragon's a pale pink, but none so beautifully bright as his.

Yet, you see no sign of it as you sit at the head of the dining hall beside your brother.

Tourney’s you’ve attended usually start with a dinner the first day, then a melee or joust the second and third, a tour, maybe even a hunt if so desired by the king, or Prince Regent in this case. Your brother seems keen on being exceptionally annoying, booking your schedule for the week with barely enough time to bathe let alone avoid the eyes of the realm.

So, now, you sit at the large dinner, and realize you have yet to see the sigil you were so expecting.

Riki leans down at his station standing close behind you, “I imagine the Northern Sea is rather backed up this time of year.”

His jest does not impress you, “He could arrive on dragonback if he so cared.” As you finish your childish claim, the doors open.

“Prince Sunghoon of the House of Frost. Heir to his throne.”

Your sworn knight nearly snorts, as a tall male arrives. He has no company, only the sword at his hip as he prowls toward the table you sit.

Ten years had changed a lot. No longer did he have the sickly look about him, his skin even and his shoulders fuller with what you can only assume is muscle. He carries himself with a confidence you could never compare to princes like Yeonjun of the Earth Territories, who holds his head too high and carries too cocky of a smile for you to respect him outright, or Sunoo of the Sky Archipelagos in the west who’s bashful countenance somewhat underwhelmed you considering the story attached to his crowning.

Prince Sunghoon is sure of himself, you can see it in the slight sway of his shoulders and his wide gait, but he doesn’t carry that confidence with the arrogance you expected of the Prince of Crystal Snow.

He’s beautiful. Fuck.

“It appears he does care, your highness.”

Riki snickers as you quickly bite back, “Shut up.”

“Prince Sunghoon, I thought we were to expect your family on the morrow?” Your brother muses, and the prince bows at his waist in greeting.

“My mother, the queen, fell ill. I come alone.” He said, his voice is much deeper as well, though that’s to be expected.

“I wish her good health, then.” The Prince Regent wishes a genuine prayer. The ice prince bows his head, his gaze only moves to you when you speak.

“And your knight?”

Your brother kicks your foot under the table at your tone, yet the prince only offers a gentle smirk with another honest bow, “Ser Jaeyun arrives tomorrow. He found a ride on dragonback to be…unpleasant.”

Riki coughs, and you fight the tug at the corner of your mouth with a sip of wine, “Pity.”

“Is Ser Jaeyun to participate in tomorrow's celebrations?” Your brother asks, the joust, and the prince shakes his head.

“I would prefer, Your Grace, myself to participate,” His gaze flicks to yours, and an unyielding warmth plants its roots at the bottom of your spine, creeping up the longer his eyes keep you in their sights, “If you would allow it.”

Your brother seems all too pleased at the news, “I see no reason to object. What of you, Princess?”

Sipping the wine in your cups does nothing to ease the nerves of your heart, “By all means.”

He bows once again before a servant guides him to his table, where a visibly excited Prince Sunoo waves him over. The other princes gather at that table, mingling and laughing together.

While you sit at the grand dining table sipping from your cups like it’s life’s water, the dress you were put into squeezing your abdomen uncomfortably.

“I do hope we have enough sheep to keep the dragons fed.” Your brother muses, observing the table of dragonheirs before glancing your way.

“Most of them keep themselves fed,” You dismiss, “We shouldn’t deplete our people’s resources for an event this needless.”

“Your words wound me, sister.” He pouts, quite unbecoming of a Prince Regent.

“Then may you bathe in the salts of Azora.” The bite to your words makes your brother sigh, he startles slightly when you slam your goblet back onto the table beside your plate of picked-at food, “My cup is empty.”

A servant hastens forward to refill it, a shaky apology falling from her lips, which has you regretting your outburst immediately. When she moves to retreat back to her position hovering near the wall so as to not be seen, you grab the pitcher from her hands and say, “I’ll keep this, please.”

The word falling from your lips seems to surprise her, before she panics and bows, “Of course, my princess.”

Riki snickers as the servant hastens away to make herself useful elsewhere, biting his cheek when you hiss, “Shut. Up.”

When you face forward once again, your eyes scanning the room, your gaze is caught in another.

Smoldering flames meet biting frost, and a burning tug travels up your gut and into your throat. It’s pure instinct that tears your gaze away, an attempt to free your body of the dreadful feeling.

It lingers in your chest even as you take a hefty swallow from your cup.

I am dragonfire. You repeat to yourself, a rush in your veins. The wine makes your skin hot, and the corset around your torso only makes catching your breath all the more difficult. The litany does not quell the flames in your chest.

I am dragonfire. I am the flame's heart. I am unburnt and I am the Princess of Eternal Flame.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance Pride Special 2024

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Pride Special 2024

            “Saiki, (L/N), come and help us put up decorations!” said Hairo, pushing boxes into their hands.

            Saiki looked down at his box and found it filled with tiny LGBTQ+ flags representing different identities, all hanging from the same string. (Y/N)’s box contained flyers for a “PK Academy Pride Celebration.”

            “I didn’t know we had one of these,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “We started it this year,” said Hairo. “Teruhashi was talking about how she wished more people were accepted for their different identities, and so, the school decided to put on a party.”

            “The city is having a parade, too,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N) laughed. “Leave it to Kokomi’s influence to rid our society of homophobia and transphobia.”

            Saiki had to admit, it was probably the best aspect of her influence she had ever considered using. “Her fan club will put these up.” He put his box down.

            “You don’t want to help?” said (Y/N).

            Saiki looked at (Y/N). They were always so helpful and kind. It was one of the many reasons he liked them. However, Saiki was selfish. “We planned to go to Café Mami.”

            (Y/N) snapped their fingers. “Right!” They looked at Hairo. “Sorry, Hairo, we’ll come to the event, but we can’t help you set up.” They bowed. “Sorry!”

            Hairo smiled. “Hey, it’s no problem! You already made plans, and you help out in class enough. Have fun.” He easily picked up all the boxes again and ran off to find other people to help him.

            “We’re actually going?” said Saiki.

            “I know you don’t like crowds, but this is to support us and our friends,” said (Y/N).

            “I am comfortable in my identity, and anyone who tries to say anything about mine or anyone else’s will face the consequences,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N) pouted and looked at him. “Please, Kusuo?”

            Saiki avoided their gaze, and (Y/N) moved in front of him with the brightest puppy-dog eyes they could muster.

            “Please?”

            Saiki was pretty sure (Y/N) might have powers of persuasion.

            “I’ll make cupcakes for the party.”

            “…Alright. I’ll go for you.”

            (Y/N) grinned. “Thank you, Kusuo.” They leaned up and kissed his cheek.

            Saiki averted his gaze as he blushed.

l

            Saiki and (Y/N) walked up to the schoolyard of PK Academy that had been decorated with the flags from earlier and had a large “Happy Pride” banner hanging from the building’s second floor windows. Music played, and food had been set up. (Y/N) and Saiki themselves held containers of cupcakes (one or two or three or four had already been eaten by a certain pink-haired sweets lover).

            “Let’s put these down and say hi to everyone,” said (Y/N). Saiki’s expression didn’t change, but (Y/N) had been around him long enough to chuckle. “Don’t give me that look, the aster we say hi to people, the faster we could leave.”

            “Can I have another cupcake?” said Saiki.

            “Of course,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            Saiki picked up another cupcake with rainbow icing and followed (Y/N) to say hi to his bothers (their friends).

            “(L/N), Saiki, you made it,” said Hairo. “Good!” He wore a rainbow pin on his shirt. “I like your pins.”

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N). They had on an ace spectrum and pansexuality pin.

            “You, too, Saiki,” said Hairo.

            Saiki had on an asexuality pin ((Y/N)’s puppy-dog eyes and sweets were very persuasive, scarily so). He nodded in response.

            “Hey, buddy, happy pride!” Nendou grinned at Saiki. “You, too, pinky! Don’t forget to be proud of your favorite colors.”

            “Uh, Nendou, that’s not what this all means,” said Kaidou, groaning.

            “It isn’t?” said Nendou, confused.

            (Y/N) laughed. “It’s about people of different identities and sexualities.”

            “Ohhhhh. Do people normally get weirded out over that?” said Nendou.

            Apparently, his stupidity meant he was the least bigoted person in the world.

            (Y/N) shook their head with a smile, and Saiki looked at them. He may be stuck at a party, but at least (Y/N) was there. He’d always support them, just as much as they supported him. They deserved it.

l

            “Don’t try to tell me you were miserable the whole time,” said (Y/N). “I saw you at the snack table making a pile of cookies on your plate.”

            “People were loud and annoying. But the food was good,” said Saiki.

            “Uhuh, keep saying that was all,” said (Y/N). They linked their pinky finger around his. “But, seriously, I’m glad you came. I know it’s not your thing, but I’m happy you went with me.”

            “I went for you,” said Saiki. “You’re my partner. I support you.”

            (Y/N) beamed, and their cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Kusuo.” As they walked, (Y/N) leaned their head on his shoulder. “And you know I support you. In every aspect of who you are.”

            Saiki smiled softly and held their hand securely. “I know.”

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[apoemaday]

A Brave and Startling Truth

by Maya Angelou

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we learn A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And allow the pure air to cool our palms When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign soil When the rapacious storming of the churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tremble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged can walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Nor the Gardens of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled into delicious color By Western sunsets Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the Rising Sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world When we come to it We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cankerous words Which challenge our very existence Yet out of those same mouths Come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils nor divines When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety Without crippling fear When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world That is when, and only when We come to it.

[casualaruanienjoyer]

How the AOT characters contribute to a surprise birthday party

Hello! Thank you for sending this!!

It's YOUR birthday, how do these Aot characters contribute to a surprise party for you?

Armin: he's the one tasked with distracting you. Has to try his ABSOLUTE best to make sure that you have no idea they are planning anything for your bday. You have your doubts, but this man sure is good at distracting you. You somehow end up going shopping with him and Armin seems to want to buy EVERYTHING today.

Jean: he's telling everyone what to do. Keeping everything in check. He wants this to be perfect for you, but it's chaos and nothing goes as expected. He almost has a complete mental breakdown but remembers that you will appreciate it either way.

Annie, Falco and Gabi. Annie's the person tasked with blowing up all the balloons. She might be small but she has some seriously strong lungs. Falco and Gabi fashion different silly looking animals out of the balloons, and even draw faces on some.

Mikasa and Pieck: these girls are working hard to make sure the cake ends up absolutely amazing. They try their best, with Mikasa being the one to assemble it and Pieck decorating it with her dexterous hands. The cake ends up being super delicious, the highlight of the night!

Connie and Sasha: to keep Sasha away from the cake, they decide to go shopping. They are the ones to grab all the supplies needed such as party hats, confetti, balloons, candles. None of them are right and you end up blowing a candle that says 5, holding ballons that say "Congrats on your graduation" and eating from Shrek themed plates. But it sure is fucking hilarious.

Hange and Levi: they are the ones to put up all the decorations. Hange reaches up to hang flags, lights and a massive HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA banner (again, Connie and Sasha's doing) while Levi sets the table. No cutlery is out of place. He makes sure of it.

Reiner: he's the one to wrap everyone's presents. He's pretty good with his hands and surprisingly dexterous when it comes to folding paper and making bows. All your presents are wrapped super neatly!

Eren: he was tasked with taking photos and videos of everything, but instead he ends up recording his face for 25 minutes. Everyone finds it hilarious.

Zeke and Yelena: they show up at the supermarked dressed as robbers, and they kidnap both you and Armin. It's all staged, but you're still kinda scared. They end up dropping you back to your home and you watch their car disappear into the sunset. At least you and Armin made it back safely.

Onyankopon: this man can SING and so he does! The moment you open the door, he gives the tone and everyone follows, wishing you a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

[darlingdekarios]

shining armor.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,649 content: Ser Criston Cole x f!Stark!reader, reader is a Stark, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, yearning, mentions of animal hunting/death, smut [f receiving oral, unprotected p in v]

Criston Cole is faced with the reality of a life falling for a lone wolf.

Early Winter, 112 A.C., The Crownlands

Due to the warm nature of the southern part of the kingdom of Westeros, it was not a hindrance to hunting parties when the winter months rolled around, the weather staying pleasant enough to set out on exhibitions. It was just after the turn of the new year, and a colder-than-normal winter in the Crownlands offered a unique opportunity for the crown on the youngest of King Viserys I’s youngest son’s name day. As could only be expected of the occasion, houses from across the kingdoms sent forward representatives to partake in the hunt, keen on gaining favor with the crown.

Very few of those present had any real interest in the hunt itself, the only trophies the group holding valuable thrones, crowns and castles.

A day into the festivities after the sun had set behind the trees the sounds of heavy hooves could be heard over the rain through the coverings of tents, signifying the unexpected arrival of two additional guests. Emerging from the tents the king and his company came to face a flag they had long-since seen: the banner of House Stark. Carried by two large black horses, built as such to endure the winters in their native lands, the strangers who wore sturdy armor and various furs emerged from the fog to approach the king. 

“Bennard Stark, son of Lord Benjen Stark and Lady Lysa Locke, accompanied by Ser Grandin Rane, your grace,” the knight on the left spoke, removing his helmet as he spoke. Ser Grandin was an intense man, every bit of what a northerner was expected to look like with long, dark hair and beard, pale from the longer, harsher winters. “You’ll have to excuse Lord Bennard. He has suffered an injury on our long journey to you and finds himself unable to speak, and the current state of his face…well, sadly, it would upset the sensitive among us. We apologize for our late arrival, without the injury we’d have been here on time.”

The King analyzed the image before him in full, at a loss for words at the implications an event like this meant after years of House Stark remaining passive toward the crown. The youngest son of Lord Stark held tall mounted atop the horse, small for a boy from the North, which the king passed off as a probable result of age. To the right of the Lord now stood a massive black animal with fierce reflective golden eyes, the symbol of the house itself – a direwolf. Rumors that the house currently had four of the animals in their possession had been shrugged off as simply that, but taking in the animal before him was a wonder – the king had never spent much time in the colder areas. 

A glance at Otto Hightower, his still-trusted Hand at the time, confirmed the many thoughts racing through his own head were likely shared by everyone present, and yet no one could bring themselves to voice any of them without a private conversation. The knight, noticing the apprehension on the faces before him, jumped from his horse to slide to a knee. 

“As a sign of good faith between the house and the crown,” he bowed his head, which was mirrored by the young lord who remained atop his horse in favor of staying out of the mud. King Viserys nodded and motioned for the knight to rise before gesturing at the large animal. “As much as I am sworn to protect the House Stark, that animal is as well. It will listen to the lord, you needn’t be fearful of it.”

“I am…truly overjoyed to see this day between our houses, Lord Bennard. Many thanks to you, Ser Rane, for escorting the young lord this long way. Please send my regards to the Lord Stark upon your return,” King Viserys spoke, his words careful and as calculated as something on the spot like this could be. “I am afraid we were quite unsuccessful in our hunt this first day, and while we can certainly feed the two of you after this long journey, we do not have the excess to feed such an animal.”

The knight from the north couldn’t prevent the small chuckle that fell from his lips, shaking his head in response as the young Stark made a gesture with a gloved hand, the large wolf immediately bounding off into the forest. The knight’s tone was amused, and yet still respectful to maintain the good spirit of the conversation. “The wolf can feed himself. He will hunt far enough to not affect our excursion, and he will return in the morning to protect the camp as the party sets out. He is of benefit to stay, and the lord will vouch for him. They are as much connected as your grace to dragons.”

The comparison landed and soon the newcomers were welcomed in, put aside in a spare dry area to settle in for the night before the morning, and sent to beds with plates of bread, fruits, and cheeses that remained from the earlier feast. The remainder of the camp had fallen to sleep as the two had changed into warm clothes, hold for those on watch. The night was loud with the rain yet everyone found peace enough to sleep through the night. 

The next day’s events wrought similar results to the first day – while the party had a long day in the forest searching for a worthy beast to kill in honor of the young prince, they returned to the camp as the sun began to set with nothing more than a few wild turkeys. With better weather and worse moods than the night before the party found themselves drunker on this second night, seeking anything to soothe their wounded egos. It was well into the dark night when Ser Criston Cole observed the silhouette of a rider on horseback disappearing into the trees, a large wolf following closely behind. With permission to relieve himself of his duties since the king and his family remained in good company, he gave into the curiosity and pull to follow. 

His own horse was large but lean, and moved silently through the woods after the scarce prints that littered the remaining mud from the rain the day before until he could see the figures once again, now waiting beside a riverbed. Stilling his horse far enough back to seem only as another animal in the woods moving about, the Dornish knight observed as the Stark child removed his helmet. He was met with you instead. 

It had long been a favorite game of yours, to don the clothes of your brothers and come up with an absurd plot with the aid of your sworn knight to do the activities you desired. While initially the schemes only resulted in small adventures in your home, it had since elevated into hunting trips, tours of Castle Black and the Wall, small sailing excursions in the cold waters, and even the occasional wedding. This was your largest and most irresponsible scheme yet, and the fact was thrilling. 

When you removed your helmet for the first time since the early hours of the morning to feel the fresh air against your face, Criston found himself in complete bewilderment as he watched hair come toppling down out of the helmet. The unmistakably feminine features illuminated in the pale moonlight that managed to force its way through the thick trees caused a tightness in his chest, and a confusion in his mind. The sight before him was no son of Benjen Stark. 

It was an impressive sight set before the knight as he quietly followed you through the Crownlands that night – hours spent silently watching as you slid from your horse to observe tracks around you, silently communicating with the wolf beside you who was quick to bound off into the trees at your command. Eventually, Criston watched on as you took down a large moose with an arrow from horseback, smiling a confident and beautiful smile in celebration to yourself. When the wolf returned he held a rabbit in its jaws, which he was instructed to eat. 

He decided then to return to the camp, aware that he had already pushed his luck following you for so long and abandoning his sworn duties to follow a woman through the woods. Fortunately, he still made it back long before a majority of the camp had risen, and so he’d sat by the fire enjoying the last remaining hours of darkness running through what he’d witnessed that night. 

You were a skilled hunter – not just in the sense that you managed to be lethal with a bow, a silent killer, but you were also a capable tracker. Despite communication with your canine companion, he swore he didn’t recall a single sound out of you within the hours that had passed. The more he thought on that fact, the more he wished to know the sound of your voice. The more he wished to hear you speak, the more he found his thoughts lingering on the pieces of the real you he’d gotten to see. 

You were beautiful, with wild hair that you had attempted to tame into a braided hairstyle, though throughout the night it became more and more disheveled and he found himself, often, wanting to run his fingers through it. You’d taken the gauntlets off of your hands and forearms in order to properly wield your bow, showcasing soft hands that would undoubtedly feel like bliss against his skin. His thoughts focused most on a pair lips that begged to be kissed. Suffice to say, his mind suffered more consequences from his excursion than could have been anticipated.

After some time others began to emerge from tents, already dressed for the day in armor to begin a third day of hunting. Though he knew a successful kill was on its way back to the camp, he kept the information to himself – including the information of who was truly beneath the youngest Stark child’s helmet; the middle child, a daughter.

When the sun began to rise and warm the camp for the day is when you made your grand re-entry, leading your horse on foot as he dragged the massive kill you’d made back to camp, your brother’s helmet once again on your head and his identity assumed. Your wolf, the animal you could vouch for better than most people, trailed behind you with a happy step this morning, fully satiated from his time in the woods. He stopped next to the tent that belonged to you where it was noticed that he also carried several turkeys on his back. It was here that Ser Grandin joined you once again. 

It was obvious from body language that you were being scolded by your sworn protector and Criston had to sympathize with the man, though he wondered if you held a mischievous smile at the chastising. Soon enough you had halted in front of the awaiting King Viserys, dropping to your knees slowly and gesturing behind yourself at the animal dragged by your horse. 

“Lord Bennard would like to present his prize to the one true king in a show of good faith between House Stark and the crown,” Ser Grandin spoke clearly for you, and Criston had to wonder how often he fell into these schemes with you. In a way, it was admirable that he was so committed to his vow to you that he partook in these games, clearly, to ensure there were no slip-ups and your safety was secure. Admirable of your obvious insistence to live life your way, he still had to admit a scolding was technically deserved – putting yourself in danger by going out alone, wolf or not, was irresponsible. 

“Rise, my boy,” the king spoke after momentary contemplation, walking forward to put a hand against the cheek of the helmet. “The camp is indebted to you for this. You handled this feat alone?”

“Himself and the wolf, your grace,” the knight responded, coming forward to stand beside you. “The young lord often finds himself in the woods late at night hunting, much to my behest. Nevertheless…he is a successful hunter, to be certain.”

You must have felt touched by his pride toward you as Criston noticed your head turn for you to glance at him before quickly bowing again out of respect. The king smiled – a seemingly rare thing these days – and nodded before stepping back to speak louder in addressing the camp. 

“This young hunter from the North is the reason we will eat well today, my friends,” the king announced, resting a hand on your armored shoulder to turn you to face the awaiting company. “And instead of glory for being the best among us, he wishes to gift the impressive kill to me in honor of my son.”

Everyone knew when the king wanted an applause, and sensing that now was one of these times when he wanted to give credit where it was due everyone gave a polite applause. Everyone present was careful not to carry on too loudly or too long in order for the king to be heard again when he wishes. 

Criston found himself drifting closer to you throughout the day, hanging around you close enough in the hope that he’d hear even a single word from your lips or be offered another look under the helmet. Unfortunately, Ser Grandin, the king, and the queen did not leave you alone very often for the remainder of the day, leaving the Dornish knight no opportunity at being alone together. 

Later that night when the company found their way back into their beds, you and your sworn protector left under the cover of the darkness, the long road back to Winterfell beginning.Ser Criston Cole would not see you again for many weeks thereafter, but not a single day would pass that you did not enter his mind.

Ten Months Later , Winterfell

A bellowing roar signified the visit of a creature that had long avoided the North, and as those sitting within comfortable castle rooms made their way to confirm what they already knew to be true, the gates opened to present a small company of knights, accompanied by Ser Criston Cole. Outside of the castle and a safe distance away, the princess Rhaenyra landed her dragon before walking the remaining distance through the gates. Ser Criston was alight with excitement as he waited for what he could feel in his heart to come, and his teetering patience was beautifully rewarded once he saw you make your way down a set of stairs behind your father. 

Wearing your brother’s armor had done no favors to your appearance, but this elegant, shimmering silver gown that cascaded in a sheer train behind you clung onto every part of you he now wanted to grab. Atop your shoulders wrapped a fine fur, smooth and from what looked like a silver fox. Your hair was much better tamed today than he’d last seen it – recently washed, braided intricately, but enough of it let down that immediately made him imagine running his fingers through it. 

Criston had never found himself to dwell on the beauty of a woman long, his sense of responsibility taking over his thoughts before they could stray for long. It would be a lie to state that he hadn’t thought of you, and often, throughout the last 10 months without seeing you. He often wondered about the subtle colors to your features if he had the chance to get closer, and while he was soaking in what he could from this distance, being this close to the real you only made him want to be closer. He found himself scrambling to remove his helmet, unhappy with the slightly difference it made to his vision. He needed to see as much of you as you offered, and it needed to be unobstructed. 

When you reached the bottom of the stairs behind your father you bowed your head, eyes staying toward the ground in politeness. Criston saw the princess’ eyes linger on you before landing once more on your father, a light smile crossing on her features. 

“Lord Stark, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne and future Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and First Men,” Criston found his voice to introduce the woman who should have his full attention, though he still hadn’t pulled his eyes away from you. Your father made a show of respect by kneeling, but before you could follow Rhaenyra held up a hand with a light smile. 

“Please, don’t soil yourself in mud and snow on my behalf,” the princess spoke to you, ever one to respect a woman before a man. Your father stood at the instruction, bowing his head as yours raised to smile the most tantalizing smile in their direction. Criston was glad he had found himself capable of speaking when he was needed, because he was certain it was an impossibility now. “My family was appreciative of the gesture for my youngest brother’s name day this past Winter. Your youngest son is quite the adequate hunter. We wished to repay the gesture with a gesture of our own.”

Criston noticed the way Lord Stark’s eyebrows furrowed together and the subtle glance he threw your way, and how you avoided the gaze with unphased intent. He had to wonder if your father knew the kind of trouble you liked to get into, but if the older man was mentally wondering about the situation, his voice didn’t waver. Criston had not broken your secret to anyone in the time since he’d discovered it.

“An unnecessary gesture, Princess. It is the head of a House’s responsibility to ensure good relations with the Crown, not the other way around,” your father’s deep voice spoke, his eyes taking in the people before him and the dragon in the distance. “It is my hope we can be good hosts to you for however long you wish to stay in the cold North. My sons return in the morning from a long journey to the Iron Islands.”

“We have brought food, and money in exchange for any livestock potentially used to feed Syrax, my dragon, before she flies back to the warmer climate in my stay,” Rhaenyra was getting better and better at speaking diplomatically. “After a long journey for my escort, I am certain we would be happy with a meal prepared in your kitchen and the company of you, your Lady, and your daughter for the evening. Tomorrow we shall feast in honor of our houses.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward to approach your father and so Criston followed, his brown eyes returning to you once more due to the irresistible draw. This close he could see the blush on your cheeks and nose from the cold, and the small flecks of color that scattered in your eyes. Whatever words were spoken between the princess and your father went unheard by him as he found himself transfixed on you, completely bewitched by you. 

“My escort, Ser Criston Cole, a knight of the Kingsgurad,” he heard Rhaenyra speak, his name snapping him from his trance. He hadn’t even realized you were returning his gaze. “You’ll excuse his manners, he is from Dorne and this may be his first snow.”

The Princess’ words were teasing, Criston quickly moving his gaze back to your father with a nod. “I am afraid I’m used to quite a bit more heat.”

“In our hall there is a large fireplace, it would be my honor to escort the future Queen and the good Ser to somewhere far warmer.”

Your voice pierced through him like an ice dagger straight through his heart, his eyes finding you again as the perfect sound finally filled his ears after months of yearning to know it. It was better than anything his mind could have imagined for it, and he was glad the armor covering his body hid the goosebumps on his arms from view. 

Rhaenyra smiled and agreed, of course, offering an arm to the Stark daughter in a friendly gesture, much warmer than Criston had seen her in years in the snow of Winterfell, of all places. Your father excused himself to see to the preparation of a meal and the feeding of the dragon, and thus left you to escort the Knight and Princess yourself. 

As you made your way through the much-more-modest halls of Winterfell you made pleasant conversation with Rhaenyra, and Criston followed closely by clinging to every word. You were effortlessly endearing as you spoke, even pulling laughs from the normally-serious Princess and pulling her into a conversation sparked by your curiosity about dragons in no time. When the trio arrived to the main hall, Criston made a move to stay outside the door, immediately taking up his post to protect the Princess. At that moment a Knight they already knew emerged, his helmet held under one arm. 

“Please join us inside the hall, Ser Criston,” you spoke, turning to face the taller Knight with a smile that warmed him plenty. “My sworn sword knows these halls well and can withstand the cold. Allow him to watch over the Princess in your time here, so you may recover from the journey.”

He found himself simply nodding, the brown pools of his eyes gazing into yours once more as he agreed to whatever you propositioned to him, knowing he’d never be able to refuse you. He missed the knowing smile that crossed Rhaenyra’s features as the three of you made your way to waiting fur-covered chairs before the fire. A small table sat to the side, holding glasses and an offering of mead, plus a plate of cheese, meats and breads. The North could be hospitable with the right people seeing to it.

“Help yourselves to refreshments and the fire. I will have a word with Ser Grandin and rejoin you.”

You excused yourself to the hall again, entering into a hushed conversation with the other person on the planet that Criston knew also held your secret with certainty. Before his thoughts could be swallowed by you again, Rhaenyra broke him from the trance with a playful tone as she handed him a tankard of mead. “You must stop staring at the Stark girl, no matter how beautiful she is, Ser Criston. Perhaps stories of witches in the North have some truth to them.”

The remainder of the evening would pass by in a flash, a hearty meal settling into the company’s stomachs with thankful welcome. Despite the many differences a family of the North faced, the Starks were hospitable and pleasant company to keep, and it was only safe to assume the sons would be the same when they returned. After a large meal and a hot bath Rhaenyra retired for the night, Ser Grandin taking his position for the time being outside of her door while Criston was meant to be settling into bed as well. Instead, he had donned his armor once again and wrapped himself in furs provided by the kind Lord, making his way throughout Winterfell to familiarize himself with the map of his surroundings. 

When he made his way to an outdoor walkway he heard the unmistakable noises of a horse making its way toward the front gate slowly, attempting to be as quiet as possible. Rushing to find his own horse he climbed on swiftly, steering his horse through piles of snow to mask the sound of hooves following behind. Once you’d passed through the gate on horseback you stopped, and Criston pulled to a slow stop behind, wondering where you were going and why you insisted on doing these reckless things alone. 

“Would you care to join me, Ser Criston?” your voice rang clear in the silent night though it was quiet, the only ears around for it to fall on being the horses and the named man himself as everyone sheltered from the cold. His breath caught in his chest as he realized he’d been caught, and not only caught but confronted. 

“I am sorry, m’lady,” he breathed, urging his horse forward to join you at your side. When he came to a stop again he turned his head to face you, meeting your gaze and feeling the nerves lift from his chest at the sight of your smile. No one angry at him for following could smile at him so sweetly. “I thought since Ser Grandin protects the Princess, I might take his place. It will help me learn the area.”

Your smile widened and brightened your face, your eyes lightening as a small laugh fell from your lips. Once again he found breathing an impossible labor at the sound, and the playfulness your tone took only encouraged him. “You think me safer with you than alone, Ser Criston? Do Dornish even know how to walk in the snow?”

Your teasing pulled a quiet, short laugh from his chest as he shook his head, wondering where all of the politeness you displayed for him before your father and the Princess before had gone. “Perhaps not. But I’d like to learn.”

You smiled again and turned your horse back through the gate, heading back to the stables and motioning him to follow. “The first lesson is: your horse is far too small for the terrain we’re going, and isn’t used to the cold. You can borrow my brother’s horse, Titus. He is the gentlest of giants and will take good care of you.”

He followed behind immediately, mentally admitting he could feel his horse struggling in this new environment. Before long he was mounted on a considerably larger animal, white and easy to spot in the night, which you insisted was important going into the woods with you. As the two of you set off into the darkness again your wolf joined by your side again, the same black one that had supposedly belonged to your brother. He supposed you got away with things like this because few visited the North – but still, it was reckless. 

“Your wolves are impressive animals, m’lady,” he complimented in a soft voice from beside you as you set off on a trail you knew well. “I remember Ser Grandin describing the bond between them as similar to dragons and their riders. Is this true?”

He caught the smile you offered his curiosity and the curt nod you provided before speaking, your tone and body language more relaxed now that you were beyond the walls. The leather pants you wore clung to your legs in a way he wasn’t used to seeing a woman dress, fur covering the majority of your torso with a hooded cloak. He was glad the cold wasn’t so bitter you had to cover your face, preferring you weren’t hidden from him. 

“It is true, in many ways,” you explained, turning your gaze to him as you trusted your horse to continue down the path it had taken many times before. “While the direwolf can live a longer life than that of a normal dog, we certainly don’t share cribs with the animals and then grow old with them. But while Man Eater is alive, he will be my closest companion. He is only two-years-old and already I can’t imagine life without him.”

“You named the beast Man Eater?” he pondered aloud, an amused tone slipping through his words.

“As the middle-born daughter of the Northern Lord, I will never know any real power,” you started, feeling comfortable with his eager and genuine questions. “I have figured the next best thing is to see the fear on men’s faces when they see such a large animal named so fearfully. He enjoys scratches behind his ears and the occasional fruit.”

A genuine, loud laugh came from the Knight and you couldn’t help but join him, the sound of you two laughing tomorrow forming a beautiful chorus in the night. It was immensely validating for him to know the woman he’d spent 10 months pondering was worth every thought he’d given you, as you were turning out to be just as interesting as his mind had hoped you to be. 

The conversation remained playful between the two of you as you made your way down the trail, Criston quickly coming to the conclusion that this excursion wasn’t for you to hunt, but instead simply enjoy the night. It had been a long time for Criston to be able to speak with such honesty with someone, and he found the casual conversation resulted in his hard exterior melting away to expose the man he was inside. 

You were every bit as enamored in the man, enjoying his questions about your home and living in the North, hanging onto every word he offered about his own home when prompted. He grew to open enough to enter a comfortable banter with you, and soon the conversation was so casual and natural between the two of you, he was certain he could ride to Kings Landing and back before he grew tired of your company. 

After several miles you announced it was time for the two of you to walk (if he felt like he could handle the snow, as if he could say no) the rest of the way, and he found himself hurrying to dismount his horse so he could reach for your waist to help you down. The brief feeling of your hips in his hands made him want to pull you in closer but he resisted, maintaining the gentleman’s mask and returning the smile you offered as he let you go. The flush to your cheeks at his firm touch did not go unnoticed. 

As you tied the horses to a tree to secure them you instructed the large wolf to keep watch, throwing him the leg bone of a cow that you’d attached to your horse in offering. Before long the two of you were maneuvering on foot through thicker trees before you reached a frozen waterfall, turning to smile at him happily. “This was my favorite place to come when I wanted to get away as a child.”

The intimacy of what you were sharing with him sank in and he felt the smile that came to his face, glad he’d somewhat gotten the snow-walking down so he could keep up with you at a better pace as you made your way toward the frozen water. You reached a thin ledge next to one of the massive sheets of rock and began shimmying across it, making it only a couple of steps before he grabbed your arm, halting your movements. 

“My lady,” he breathed out in a rushed tone, grasping onto you like you would slip away from him at any moment. “Have you always insisted on putting yourself in harm’s way, or is this a new hobby?”

“I have done this hundreds of times, Ser Criston,” you taunted, reaching across with your free hand to rest your leather-gloved hand against his. “I’d think that you would know that I can handle myself after you saw me hunt the moose at the young Prince’s name day just this year.”

His hand dropped from your arm as he cleared his throat in awkwardness, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find a way to proceed, unable to form appropriate thoughts as every thought in his mind wondered how long you’d known. All he could bring himself to do was watch as you made your way across the ledge, disappearing behind the waterfall. Unwilling still to leave you alone, he hurried to follow after you, being just careful enough not to fall. Before long he had joined you in a small, icy cave where some furs and old books lay about. It was clear this was a place entirely your own.

“You said nothing about my presence for hours that night,” Criston finally pondered aloud when he joined you, only to be greeted in response with a small laugh. 

“I had no clue what could even be said. I thought you were going to turn me in to the Crown…and today when I heard the dragon, I thought it was certain that you had finally confessed what you saw. I was, for a moment, afraid of what consequences I was to face. Of the shame I’d caused my house.” You were admitting deep feelings to him with no real understanding as to why it was so easy to do so. All he could do was watch you in wonder, brown eyes fixated on yours as he listened. “But Princess Rhaenyra doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told a soul.”

“I haven’t told a soul. It is a secret I hold to myself.”

“Why? Why do you do that?”

You stepped further into the caves to coax him in with you, away from anything in the woods that could possibly hear the two of you and be disturbed. Your questioning did not come from a place of anger, he noted, and instead you sounded almost affectionate. It was easy to tell you the truth, no matter how shameful it was. 

“I’m afraid I do not have an answer for you, m’lady,” he began, drawing in a deep breath. “I can’t begin to explain anything you’ve done to me since I saw you remove that helmet, or take down that moose with a single arrow from your bow, or walk down the stairs in that gown. I -”

His would-be passionate monologue was cut short as he attempted to step nearer, straying from your path and hitting an icy patch. His foot began to slip beneath him and as you stepped forward his hands reached out, grasping your hips and holding onto you tightly to steady himself, pulling you flush against him. Despite the thick furs and leathers you wore you could feel the cool of the metal from his armor, and it sent a chill down your spine, no matter how badly you wanted to be this close to him. 

Your hands grasped at his armored shoulders, thankful for the thick gloves against the metal, in an attempt to steady him further. You smiled at his clear attempt to get closer to you, tilting your head back to look into his face. 

“It must have been hard for you in the Dornish Marches since you’re so horrid in the snow. Isn’t it quite cold in the Red Mountains?”

This close, you found yourself unable to resist thinking about what his golden skin would feel like against yours, finding it near impossible to resist reaching forward to run your fingers through what looked like incredibly soft waves. A quiet laugh fell from his lips at your subtle accusation, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he stood back to his full height. 

“You’ll forgive me, m’lady. I couldn’t resist an excuse for time alone with you,” he conceded, silently admitting what you already knew in your heart. Over your clothes you could feel his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips, and whether he was aware he was doing it or not, you certainly made note of it. “I thought the Targaryens were interesting when I first met them, but they’re really all the same. You…are truly one-of-a-kind, if I may say so.”

Your cheeks burned despite the increased cold in the dark, icy cave – a near-impossible invitation for him to remove his gauntlets and reach out to touch them. He wondered if you would be cool or warm to the touch…he wondered if your lips would feel the same against his, about how soft they could possibly feel. Before he could give into a temptation there was no coming back from he withdrew, releasing a deep breath from his chest as you looked at him with a flustered look. 

“It grows colder, m’lady. I should return you to the warmth of the castle before we both freeze where we stand.”

You didn’t fight with his logic, embarrassed by the moment you’d caught yourself in with the man. Withdrawing from him entirely you made your way back out of the cave, placing your hood back over your head as you awaited him to join you in the journey back to the castle. The awkwardness of the fleeting moment soon passed and the two of you found yourselves in a comfortable conversation once more as you made your way back to Winterfell. Every moment that passed with you he learned something new that made him wish he had connected his lips to yours, and yet, a small dutiful voice in  the back of his mind insisted on reminding him of his vows. 

He learned of how you’d learned to hunt and exist with the wolves, and how despite your slightly-older twin brother’s skill – you were undoubtedly the best in the family. While your brother had been wed for a couple of years now, one child already running free beneath his legs, you remained uncoupled. 

“My betrothed was killed. In the Stepstones,” you explained, no sadness truly found in your voice. “It was years before we were meant to marry, but there have been no…suitable matches offered since. He was the future Lord Bolton, and my father…you met him. He is quite the intense man.”

“It is a shame to the realm if you do not find a suitable husband, m’lady, though I am inclined to agree with your father. Perhaps no man in Westeros deserves you.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his continued playfulness, the serious moments between the two of you never lasting terribly long. As with most passage of time, the return to your home passed entirely too quickly, and all too soon it would be time for the two of you to part. It was only just before sunrise by the time you two made it back within the gates, taking advantage of the remaining darkness to place horses in their rightful places. You went your separate ways once inside, wishing one another a good night before retreating to a solitude that seemed much lonelier than it ever had before. 

The following night, after you had slept most of the day away, gone for a brief hunt with Man Eater, and enjoyed a hot dinner standing in the kitchen alone, and relaxed in a hot bath, you found yourself wandering the halls of the castle in a light dressing gown, a long, elegant robe wrapped around you. The third time you’d entered the hall closest to the room he was staying in he was waiting there for you, full armor minus the helmet as per usual. Tonight, however, he wore a new wrap across his broad shoulders – the pelt of a red wolf. The view of the color set against his skin did nothing to satiate the thoughts you were harboring toward him. 

You were not alone in your struggle. Your hair had dried as it naturally did after your hot bath, no braids hiding the locks from his full view. Your dressing gown and robe were black, making it perfect for holding in heat, and yet the sheer fabric left very little out of his sight. It was potentially disastrous of him to show you the appreciation he felt you deserved, and yet he was no longer certain of his normally unwavering self-control. 

“I thought I might join you as I take a final look around the castle,” he explained, his eyes meeting yours in a hopeful gaze that was impossible for you to deny. Your lips curled into that beautiful smile once again, a nod of your head giving into him. He joined you at your side as the voice he’d missed across mere hours filled his ears once again. 

“You may escort me back to my chambers, Ser Criston.” The smile on his face was unmistakable, a hopeful bubble rolling in his stomach at the mere thought of what you were intending by so clearly seeking him out. Still, he set a casual pace as the two of you walked, falling into your normal ease once again. “That is a fine fur you’ve been gifted with, Ser.”

“From your twin, m’lady,” he smiled, his head turning to meet your gaze momentarily. “While beautiful, I must admit a fox is a less impressive trophy than a large moose.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his flattery, his willingness to build your confidence, his acceptance of how you chose to live your life. While he expressed his unease and worry for your safety and future several times, he never seemed to push, seeming to understand your sense of adventure and that you could, certainly, control yourself. While the conversation flowed easily between the two of you like had become the norm between you, there was still a tension in the air – the tension of a kiss that didn’t happen. You took the longest route possible to return to your room, and once outside the familiar door, the conversation took a serious turn. 

“The Princess received a raven this morning and we must begin our return to Kings Landing tomorrow,” he explained, the disappointment evident behind his voice and gaze. The frown that formed on your features immediately pulled at his heart, hating the feeling of being your source of disappointment. “But…she would like to invite you to be a guest of the crown this Spring, when the snow has lifted from Winterfell. Will you join us there for a tournament? I will partake and I would enjoy your favor.”

You blushed again and found a bashful giggle passing your lips, biting at your bottom lip lightly as you nodded in agreement. You turned your gaze to meet his, finding the excitement lightening his normal seriousness behind then, and you felt another moment of bravery, a moment you’d wished you’d had the night before. Reaching behind you you opened the door to your chamber, happy to immediately feel the heat from a recently-lit fireplace radiating from the room. 

Stepping inside you beckoned him in, glad to see it didn’t require much convincing as he glanced around himself once more before following, closing the door quietly behind him. He was soon standing before you in front of the fireplace, the glow of the flames illuminating him in the most beautiful fashion.

"The Princess has requested my presence in the Spring..." you began, stepping closer to him as fixing your gaze on his once again. "But what of you, Ser Criston? Do you request my presence in the Spring?"

"I would request it sooner, m'lady," he explained quietly, giving into the feelings he was experiencing around you now that you were behind a closed door. His affectionate reply faltered your normally playful confidence and he found himself stepping forward to close the distance between the two of you. As he spoke next, you were already reaching for him before even being invited. "All the more reason for me to see you tonight."

Gently removing a gauntlet from his right hand, your eyes met his once again, dropping the heavy metal on the fur rug beneath your feet. The soft, cold skin of your hand greeted his in warmth as it soaked in the heat from his own skin, your fingers lacing between the two of you as he fought himself mentally, mind spinning with the possible consequences he could face if he gave into the desires you presented him with. Sensing his apprehension you rose on your toes to reach him, your lips covering his in an encouraging and earnest kiss. All rational thought melted at the softness of your lips against his. 

He pulled his other gauntlet off himself then, desperate to cup your rosy cheeks between his hands as he returned your kiss, holding you to him as he fulfilled a waking dream that had clouded his mind for months. A happy sigh released from your chest and onto his lips as you felt him hold you close, the warmth radiating between the two of you as your hands found their way to the back of his head. Once they’d reached their destination your fingers laced into his slightly-curled locks, giving a light tug which you were rewarded for with a quiet, barely audible groan.

It was then he felt a bit too much of his remaining self-control falter, his hands sliding from your cheeks to slide under the thin robe covering your body, landing on your hips. The sheer material did very little to cover you from him and the warmth radiated from his hands against your cool skin, his fingertips digging in deeper as his tongue slipped into your mouth. The deepening kiss was too much for either of you to handle and in perfect synchronization you sank to your knees, following his lead as he pulled you to straddle his lap.

Ser Criston was not always talkative, and now was one of those moments as he focused his attention on enjoying this moment, on savoring what he'd craved since first seeing you all those months ago. Sliding his hands to push your night gown up your legs ever-so-slowly he took in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips, pulling back for a deep breath. As you took advantage of the moment to breathe he recovered quickly, immediately beginning to trail kisses down your neck.

The small whimpers that left your mouth put his mind in a fog, covering any voice within him that may had argued at the moment. Finding himself unable to resist curiosity again he leaned his head back to yours to reclaim your lips, slowly pushing your underwear to the side and running a finger along your slick folds, finding where all of the heat in your body remained. A groan left his lips again at the confirmation of how wet you were for him before he slipped that same finger into you experimentally, enjoying how you gasped against his lips but did not break the kiss.

All-too-soon he removed the singular digit, pulling away from your kiss to slide the finger into his mouth. A deep moan, combined perhaps with a growl, broke free of his chest as his eyes fluttered closed, savoring every drop you'd offered him. You were irresistible, almost as a forbidden fruit — he knew within his logical mind he could not have you and yet, he found it was the only thing he could yearn for. His mind flooded with scolding thoughts about his behavior, and yet he couldn't help but feel the action was worth it - no matter how badly it made him want more.

"You will be the end of me, m'lady," he cooed, leaning upward to press a kiss to your forehead before helping you back to your feet with him, making an obvious attempt to steady your breathing. As he escorted you to your bed he placed gentle kisses against your lips, desperately attempting to bury the thoughts that were begging to burst through again. "I will see you in just a few months' time, m'lady. Until the next."

With his absence, you immediately got to work rebuilding the emotional walls you usually fortified around yourself, unwilling to feel the emptiness and disappointment of him leaving in the morning. You would see Ser Criston again in the Spring.

Spring, 113 A.C., King's Landing

The half-a-year that passed before the Spring tournament in Kings Landing was excruciating, each day bringing a previously unimaginable level of longing forth in two people with weeks between them.

Ser Criston Cole was dutiful, as always, and fulfilled his vow to protect the crown day in and day out, but his duty was no longer the primary occupation of his mind. There was always the thought of you – always a reminder of your radiant smile, the whisper of your voice on the wind, the occasional mention of your House. Often, he wondered if thinking of you so often was his punishment for his temptation for you, because often it was akin to torture to have every moment so full of you, and yet so empty. 

You’d never noticed how cold Winterfell truly was until Criston had left, taking with him what seemed like every bit of warmth. It went unnoticed by your family how frozen over you became, blatant and longer excursions into the forest becoming a pattern they were forced to adapt to. Time passed differently in the thick, lonesome darkness of the forest, and not knowing how long it had been since he had kissed you was often preferable. You were often desperate to forget how long you had to wait still to see him again. 

It was the sweetest relief you had ever felt when Ser Grandin had announced the pair of you would set off for the journey to King's Landing in three days' time. When the raven arrived in the capital to announce that the young Lady of House Stark had embarked and was eager to join the Princess, Criston was present to hear the news. It was the most peaceful sleep he had been graced with in months to know you would be within his reach again soon enough.

It did anger him initially when the Princess flew on Syrax to a mid-way point to check-in with you and your Knight escort, because all his mind could focus on was the jealousy that filled him. When Rhaenyra returned to the castle and reported you were in good health and had bid her to tell him “Hello,” anger was the last thing on his mind. All he could think about from that day forward was the day he could return your greeting. The day you arrived is the day he knew his life was never going to return to what it had been before the young Prince’s name day.

It was the early hours of the morning when the call came to assemble in the throne room. Knowing what day had finally come made Criston rush through putting on his armor, wishing to get to his position as quickly as possible, unwilling to risk even a moment of missing you. 

When your arrival was announced by Ser Grandin, your stomach was bubbling with excitement on the other side of the door, knowing you were about to see him again. When the door swung open for you and you stepped your way into the throne room, you were overjoyed to see that only a small assembly awaited you – with Criston within your sight immediately. It didn’t matter that he was covered by his helmet – it was him, you could run to him in seconds, and that was enough.

He could never forget how beautiful you were but seeing you again now it hit him all over again, the only image of you living in his memory. The familiar tightness in his chest returned as he took in everything about you, thankful his wandering eye was hidden from anyone who may be looking his way. You’d done the best you could in wearing your lightest gown, though your gowns had thus far been reserved exclusively for wear in the North, so even your lightest was too heavy. It trailed behind you, long and black, with your usual silver fox fur wrapped lightly around your shoulders, and your hair freshly washed and un-styled thanks to your travel with only a man. Criston preferred it this way and hoped it would remain such long enough for him to get you alone and run his fingers through it – though he knew it was doubtful.

You managed to resist averting your gaze to the one man you wanted to as you walked closer, ultimately sinking to a knee and bowing your head before the King with a light smile on your face. It made sense that your first smile would be for the King, but the jealous twist of Criston’s stomach was difficult for him to ignore – it should have been for him. When the King instructed you to rise Rhaenyra stepped forward, extending her arms to you for a light embrace. Being a Targaryen and being able to have and do exactly what you wanted was something Criston was finally growing to understand the envy of.

“Ser Criston,” came the familiar low grumble of Ser Grandin beside him, an impressively quiet arrival for such a large man. His voice remained quiet, reserved only for the member of the Kingsguard. “My Lady bids you good morning and wishes you well in the events today.”

Criston, once again glad for his helmet, smiled in content, reminded that no matter how important the people you currently held conversation with were, to you the best thing about being here was being close to him again. Absent-mindedly he took a step forward toward you before remembering himself, stepping back beside the Northern Knight. Instead, he settled on a quiet voice, taking what he could from what was presented to him.  “Did she travel well, Ser Grandin?”

A barely-there laugh sounded in the other man, his tone mockingly annoyed. “She traveled well and eager. I could hardly get her to take a day of rest. Without me, she’d have arrived a week ago.”

He wouldn’t get a moment alone with you before the day began, but he was thankful for at least a moment with Rhaenyra, who had expressed that he should request your favor for the tournament. She had insisted on the matter, in fact, stating that it would be an excellent sign of friendship between the Crown and the North. When Ser Criston rode the first round of the tournament and won (naturally), he brought his horse around to where you now sat next to the Princess. 

Helmet removed as he approached, he could now look you straight in the eye for the first time in half-a-year, and the simple action knocked the wind from him more than any lance could. A small smile played on his lips as he held your gaze, if only for a moment too long. 

“My Lady,” he greeted, bowing his head slightly. The heat had created a layer of sweat over his skin, his hair slickening under his helmet, and the sight caused a blush to creep over your face. “It would be my honor to fight in your name today.”

The blush across your face deepened, a smile spreading just as quickly as you rose to your feet, walking to stand before the railing that separated you from him. Over the crowd, your verbal response was heard only from him. “If you are to fight in my name, Ser, then I should hope you win it all. I would hate for a loss to soil my name.”

The amused smile that spread across his features reached his eyes, a mischievous glimmer playing in the pools there. A stiff nod accompanied his words. “Yes, m’lady. I would not dream of tarnishing your good name with failure.”

As you reached for the longer of the two chains that hung around your neck, the contents at the end of the chain tucked within your dress, your eyes stayed locked with his in silent communication. There were no words to explain the happiness of seeing him once again, of feeling his gaze on you. You pulled the often-hidden necklace from your neck and handed it slowly to him, Criston immediately taking in the large tooth that was attached at the end.

“From my first kill,” was the simple explanation, the four words carrying enough weight for him to understand. This was important to you, and it was a much better token of your favor than any fine piece of fabric could be. Placing it around his own neck he tucked it under his armor, an appreciative smile falling on his features again. 

“I will not disappoint, m’lady,” he promised, the glimmer in his eye growing with each second he looked at you. With a final smile he replaced his helmet, riding back to await his next round. 

Losing was not an option for Ser Criston Cole during the day’s events. One could make a compelling argument that the man regularly went overboard on his opponents, none of them standing any real chance. The final round showed Ser Criston Cole facing the current Lord Bolton and remembering your former betrothed had belonged to that family, Criston took extra care to embarrass the man. The words he’d spoken to you rang through once more, his point proven – none of them were worthy of you. 

Following the excitement was to be a celebratory feast in the castle with you as the guest of honor to the Crown and Ser Criston the winner of the day. As you made your way through the halls of the castle again beside your own escort again, you were soon in front of the door to your borrowed chambers for your time in the Capital. In front of your chambers, however, awaited the winner himself. 

“I will take place at the end of the hall, my Lady,” Ser Grandin spoke, immediately turning to walk back to the end of the hall for a moment’s privacy between you and the Knight. As you rushed to close the distance between the two of you his helmet was removed, dropped to the floor with little care of the noise it would create as he welcomed you back into his arms. 

The armor that separated him from you fully was an extreme annoyance but feeling held by him would have to be good enough, even if it was against metal. His forehead lowered to meet with yours in a tender gesture, both of you closing your eyes as a moment of peace finally passed over you. 

“I have missed you, m’lady. You have haunted my every thought and dream since the moment I left you,” he whispered only for you, his hands sliding to your lower back to pull you closer.

“Each day was a week, and each week an eternity,” came the sweetest reply from you he could have imagined, his lips pressing to yours in a kiss while a quiet hum rang in his throat. 

“The pain grew by the day,” he whispered, his lips moving against your skin as he found himself completely unwilling to pull away. 

“I did not know a moment of true peace until I saw you this morning,” you admitted, finding sharing emotions with him came as naturally as breathing. Your own lips pressed against his nose gently, the soft action sending his senses alight. He stood there like that with you for so much longer than he should have, holding you and enjoying the mere fact of having you in his grasp again. 

Eventually the light kisses to your forehead weren’t enough and he lowered his head to press his lips to yours softly in a chaste kiss, his hands sliding to hold the sides of your head gently. You returned his kiss happily, hands reaching to hold his wrists as a blissful sigh passed through your lips. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you closer momentarily before withdrawing, kissing your forehead once again as he went. 

“If the Crown asks me what I would like for my win today, I will name you as my prize, m’lady,” he spoke, masking the honesty and yearning in his words with a lining of humor. “The Treasure of the North, all for myself.”

The laugh that fell from your lips was award enough for his efforts today, the light reaching your eyes as you stood on your toes to kiss him once more. You sank to your knees slowly and quietly, eyes never leaving his as your hand reached to grab the helmet he’d discarded to the ground before standing back up, placing the helmet back in his hand. “I will see you at the feast, Ser Criston.”

With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he fully released you, turning to exit down the hall as you stood in momentary silence before entering your borrowed chambers. After another cool bath to tame your body temperature you were joined by various handmaidens who all doted on perfuming and styling your hair, manicuring your fingernails, and helping you dress in a gown that had been sent by the Princess herself. Once the dress was secured and you were left alone to look at the results, you had to wonder if Rhaenyra had a plot of her own this evening. 

The gown was so light and fine it seemed to flow about you almost as a liquid, the white fabric shimmering like snow with every movement you made. The arms and high collar were made up of a separate lace, sewn together by someone with care. Finally, a true sign of your house draped across your shoulders and upper back, the fur of a wolf shielding more of you from eyes that would pry. 

“My Lady, the Crown will not thank you if you are late,” Ser Grandin’s rough voice greeted from behind you, his masked face waiting for you as you turned around. With a smile you clasped your hands together in front of you, eyes still shining with their normal mischief. 

“Let us walk then, Ser,” you teased, your formal words pulling a laugh from your sworn protector’s chest as he held open the door for you. Once the two of you were well on your way to the gathering outdoors, he opted to voice his concerns with caution. 

“You must be careful, my Lady,” he spoke plainly, knowing you would tell him to do so if he had asked permission. You turned your head upward to glance at him before carrying forward, waiting for him to continue. “That boy isn’t a nobody squire running around the halls of Winterfell, with only your father’s wrath to face. He’s a member of the Kingsguard, and Targaryens are not known for their forgiving nature.”

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth your eyes glanced over to him, taking a deep breath to contemplate your words. “There’s no need to worry yourself. He is just nice company to keep, Ser Grandin.”

“Oh, he seems wonderful, my Lady,” he teased, leading you around the next corner. “The echoing sounds of your kissing in the hall behind me indicate he is very nice company indeed.”

A stifled giggle sounded from your lips as you shot him a pointed look which was met with nothing but the smallest smile as he walked through massive double doors to introduce you to those who had already assembled. When you followed behind you offered a small smile to the royal family, taking a knee and bowing your head slightly. With a delighted smile Rhaenyra invited you to rise and take the seat with her, and thus the feast could properly begin. It wasn’t long before the newest member of the Kingsguard removed his helmet, eyes meeting yours from across the room with a smile.

The feasts in Winterfell were never as lavish as anything the Red Keep could offer, and it was easy to indulge in the food and drink they had to offer to the point where when the dancing started, you were hardly sure if you could join. Rhaenyra insisted, of course, and as she was the heir to the throne it would not be wise to turn her down. Throughout the night you stole several looks at Criston whenever your eyes could find him, only to be pleased to find his eyes sought yours just the same. The stolen glances did not remain unnoticed, though the eyes that saw them did not care. 

It was when he noticed the elder Lannister brother ask you for a dance that his fingers curled, hands balling into a fist as he watched you politely oblige the wealthy Lord – the wealthy Lord who could give you gowns, and castles, and children. Feeling the distaste that covered his face he placed his helmet back on, seething into the hot metal and unaware of the Princess as she joined at his side. 

“The Lannisters may be wealthy, but they are certainly not graceful,” she joked, her eyes glancing upward toward the taller man. “You have no need to worry, Ser Criston. She seems quite taken with you, as well, I am certain your affections are returned.” 

His helmeted eyes turned toward, his head facing her to communicate his seriousness. “I don’t have affections, Princess,” he responded coolly, turning his head forward again to watch your movements in secret. The Princess smiled, shaking her head slightly at his foolishness before facing forward herself. 

“You should not lie to the Princess, Ser Criston. I must be able to trust you, after all,” she continued to joke, enjoying the subtle huff that sounded through the metal. The sound pulled a small laugh from her, the mischief glowing in her eyes as she pressed on. “You could just admit it, you know. I am someone who understands that cruelties of obligation.”

He did want to admit it. In his heart and mind, he knew that you were the answer to a question he’d long been asking, the tightening in his chest every time he thought of you confirming you were the woman meant for him. He had fallen for you in just over a year since he’d met you, your simple existence haunting his dreams and tormenting every waking moment of his life with the sheer reminder of you, just out of reach. And here now he wanted to admit it more – to stand on a table and proclaim his love for you; to grasp you away from the Lannister who was stalking around you like prey; to announce to the world that you were his. The woman to his side just served as a reminder as to why he could not. 

“It is an honor to serve the Crown, Princess,” he attempted to bury it all again, only managing to pull his eyes away from you for a moment. The longer he dwelled on you, the more his mind strayed to the fact that for the first time since being chosen for his position he wanted to break the most important vow he’d ever made. 

“It is a shame, then,” she started, finishing her drink as the Lannister placed his hands on your shoulders in an affectionate gesture. “There is a large bear in the Crownlands that must be handled. I had hoped to send you to address the task…with the assistance of our guests from the North. They are used to animals of its size, and her wolf could prove a worthy hunting companion.”

He was thankful once again for his facial coverings, knowing his mouth fell open slightly as he turned to look at the Princess, who was already facing forward again with that same playful smile on her lips. There was nothing to mask the surprise in his voice. “You would send me away with her and her knight to hunt a bear?”

“Oh, Gods no, Ser Criston,” she replied, the appalled tone to her voice obviously false. “I would hope that he will stay behind and the two of you can handle the beast yourselves. He’d just slow you down.” A proper response evaded him, instead removing his helmet once more so she could see the emotions behind his expressive eyes, silently questioning and thanking simultaneously. “I will take that as a yes. You will leave tomorrow before I can change my mind.”

With that the Princess left his side, removing you from the Lannister’s grasp with the request of joining her for a walk in the gardens with your wolf before turning in for the night. The Lannister was clearly disappointed but bowed his head respectfully to both of you before departing. To Criston’s joy, he caught the way your lips moved in a simple “thank you” to the Princess, presumably for taking you away from the golden-haired man. Criston watched as Ser Grandin joined the two of you from behind and resigned to finishing the events in the hall, content with having his thoughts to himself for a moment. The moments passed quickly with you burned into his mind, and before long his feet had once again carried him to the door of your borrowed bedchamber, the older knight excusing himself at his arrival. 

A light knock startled you from where you sat brushing your hair, but assuming something was needed from you from your knight you pulled the thin robe around yourself before walking to the door. Criston’s handsome face was a much more pleasant surprise, and you felt the smile spread across your face immediately. His head bowed slightly in respect, a light smile playing on his lips as his gaze found yours as soon as it could. “M’lady, forgive me for the intrusion so late.”

“Ser Criston, have you come to claim your prize from your win today?” Your playful question was enough to draw him closer to you, his cock beginning to strain slightly under pants and armor at the mere insinuation of your words. His hand found your hip as his eyes glanced the length of the hall again before he leaned forward, placing a small kiss to your lips. 

“I have come to ask for your company on a hunt in the Crownlands,” he began, certain he needed to get the question out before the logical side of his mind could take over his decision-making process. “Princess Rhaenyra says there is a large bear that is becoming troublesome, and it is her opinion that you would be valuable to take along…as you are used to large bears in the North.”

The smile on your face softened a bit, your nose brushing against his as you stood on your toes to ensure your closeness to him. He took some of the strain off of you by wrapping an arm around your waist tightly, holding you up and against him as gently as he could. He was certain the expression in your eyes mirrored his own, and somehow the fact made everything significantly harder. “When would you be whisking me away, Ser?”

“It would be nice to leave the city before the sun rises, m’lady,” he started, his free hand sliding to cup your face and hold you closer. “It is my preference that the city is still asleep when we ride through it. I would worry myself sick about you if it were awake.”

A soft kiss from you silenced his anxiety, your gentle lips coaxing him back to calm as he returned it tenderly. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him, so you spoke your answer against his lips quietly. “I will go with you, Criston. I cannot worry myself over you getting eaten by a bear in your absence.”

Only hours would pass before you would be awoken by Grandin, the disapproval clear in his voice as he told you to get dressed and quietly join him in the hall. As the two of you walked through the castle together, he felt it was his duty to try to persuade you back into reason before he accepted your mind was made up, instead choosing to focus his time on giving you additional hunting pointers. The walk was leisurely in the early morning, and as Criston waited to be reunited with you, he waited in agony. These hours passing without you served as a taste of how it would be when you were taken back to the North, away from him again, and the thought was already plaguing him. 

He’d almost convinced himself that you weren’t coming, imagining foolish scenarios where your other suitor from the evening had made his way into your chambers. It was a relief when you approached in the dark, a long and hooded cloak covering your body to conceal who was sneaking about the Red Keep at this hour. It made his stomach warm to think that you’d gone to all the trouble for him.

“Good morning, m’lady,” he greeted softly with a smile, his expression doing nothing to hide how happy he was to see you. Shrouded by the darkness and the stable walls he walked forward to claim your face in his hands, placing a much-needed kiss to your lips while his thumbs brushed over your cheeks. “You’re confident you still want to join me?”

His lips were still so close to yours they brushed yours as he spoke, and he could feel the smile that formed at his questioning. “Yes, Ser Criston. You’re not getting rid of me now.”

“I should hope not,” he relented, reaching to press his lips to your forehead. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks still, and you hoped that soon you’d be alone once more and able to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

“Grandin left with Man Eater hours ago. They will meet us at the tree line, and he’ll return to the castle to guard my door for a few days…I am terribly ill and should not be disturbed, after all. The Southern heat getting to my delicate Northern self,” you explained, pressing your lips to his nose gently before pulling away. Climbing onto the horse waiting for you, already saddled and loaded with gear thanks to the man before you, you adjusted your hood to cover more of your face and waited for him to join.

The two of you set off before the sun had painted the sky, intent on making your way through the city before its inhabitants began bustling for the day. You were quiet while in the city, silently passing bread, fruits and cheeses back and forth along with your stolen glances. Once free from the clutter of the city and prying eyes, you were able to lower your hood and turn your head to meet his gaze fully with a smile.

“I am relieved to be alone with you again, m’lady,” he admitted, the seriousness that normally laced his tone still present but lighter now that he was removed from his responsibilities. You pulled the horse you sat atop to a slow stop, waiting for him to mimic the action. As he stopped and turned to face you, he was greeted with you removing the thick cloak, revealing the plain white blouse that you’d surely stolen from a brother and tight riding pants that hugged your waist. While the lack of armor showed more of a risk than he was comfortable with when it came to you, he was appreciative to see you how you were the most comfortable in the golden light of the morning sun. 

Once you’d met with your trusted protector and reunited with your closest companion, Ser Grandin excused himself back toward the city as the new trio made their way into the trees, disappearing from prying eyes for however long you could get away with. The two of you rode that way for hours, side by side as you discussed your childhoods, your passions, your hatred. Criston found that these conversations only made him fall for you even more, the person hiding far beneath the surface deserving of much more than the world could offer you. 

And for you, Criston represented everything you had dreamt of for your life. He had seen so much in his time in combat, already seen far more of Westeros than you probably ever would, and now held the opportunity to live a comfortable life alongside the Crown. He was charming, and consistently attentive to you as you spoke, his eyes giving away how entranced he was by your stories and his smile confirming his growing affection. You were the new center of his world, and he was unsure if he was willing to allow it to be off-balance ever again – he needed you to ground him. 

The conversation was effortless as always and it seemed like no time at all before the sky began to redden, the sun beginning to set. As you dismounted your horse to set up camp with Criston in a small clearing you sent Man Eater out to hunt, keen on having him return to camp before it got terribly late. As Criston set in on the tent assembly you excused yourself to hunt for dinner, managing to bring three rabbits and some berries back to the camp in what seemed like no time at all. To your surprise, only one tent was raised – though you didn’t mention it. After nurturing a fire together and finishing a perfectly roasted dinner the two of you sat leaned against a large rock, a thick fur beneath you for comfort as you soaked in the warmth from the fire and one another. Eventually you leaned against him, soothed by the crackling of flames and warmth, only to be pushed away gently. 

“I’ll…remove my armor, m’lady,” he stated, his words soft and gentle as his eyes met yours. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you shook your head slightly, your hands slowly reaching forward to remove one of his gauntlets as it had already done so many months ago. His eyes stayed transfixed on yours as you began to work the armor free from his body, eventually leaving him clad in only a loose white shirt and black pants. 

It was a test of his will to not claim your lips in his once again as those tender moments passed. Your soft hands lingered in too many places he wanted them to stay longer, his mind alight with the possibilities of being alone with you, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to silence his mind forever in this setting. 

But it was your eyes – so soft and sincere and content to drink in every new inch of him that was exposed by the discarding of armor – that made him lean down to press a kiss to your lips. With no one else around to hear his words, he whispered against your lips the confession that had tormented him for so many months. “M’lady,” he began, the slight shake to his voice already showing itself despite his best efforts. “I must admit that you have plagued my thoughts all of these many months since we first met. It is causing me much grief; despite the happiness you bring me. I have never before questioned my vow the way I do now with you.”

Your hands found their way to either side of his face, the stubble growing there scratching against your thumbs as you ran them across the expanses of his cheeks. A sympathetic nod encouraged him to continue, his nerves faltering at your gentle demeanor. He swallowed noticeably, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever spoken about his emotions like this with someone before. “I think of you every waking moment, and as if that is not enough torment itself, you also walk through my very dreams every night. Meeting you so many months ago…it has set my heart and soul on a path I fear I can never stray from.”

The smile that grew on your lips and reached your eyes was enough to comfort his busy mind, and when you leaned forward to press your forehead to his in his favorite intimate gesture, any resolve he had left melted away for whatever time the two of you would be allowed to share during the hunt. Tipping his head slightly his nose bumped against yours, eliciting a small laugh from your lips that could soothe even the wildest of dragons. Your voice was all cool and collected, a contrast to the burning fire felt in his chest at the closeness to you, at his untamed desire for you.

“I have heard it said often that one should not travel alone,” you began, choosing your words carefully as his lips gravitated toward yours ever-so-slowly. He was so close that when you spoke next, your lips lightly brushed against his – only coaxing him closer and closer to collapse. “Perhaps it is a good thing I have started down this path with you, as well, Ser Criston.”

It almost pulled a whine from his chest, the tenderness you displayed for him – the continued proving of his suspicion that he was brought into existence to love you. The curve of your lips in a smile was felt against his, your eyes gazing into his and sparkling like something forbidden. He spoke barely above a sigh, his mind more focused on other tasks for his mouth than talking. “You are a temptress, m’lady…”

His lips claimed yours then, swallowing the soft sound of approval that passed in the brief moment before you returned his heated kiss. His hands finally claimed your hips, pulling you against him firmly as goosebumps raised over his arms, the quiet whine now releasing from his lips at the feeling of you against him. Noticing your strain to reach him, he sank back to the ground, pulling you with him until you were straddled in his lap comfortably. 

This was the first kiss that had been allowed to grow to this intensity between the two of you and was perhaps the first kiss in your life to leave you as breathless as this with a pounding heart. Sensing your need for air he released your lips, opening his eyes to appreciate the red hue to your cheeks before he began to lower his head, trailing gentle kisses down the soft skin of your neck. One of his hands hesitantly slid to start at the laces of your shirt and when you didn’t stop him, he continued until they had been worked free. His slow movements were soon mirrored by you and eventually snowballed until the only clothing that remained were thin undergarments, most of your skin barred to the cool night air. 

He leaned you backward then, taking place between your thighs as he desperately sought your lips again, his tongue taking advantage of the quiet moan that left your lips to slip into your mouth. The heat pooling at your core so intensely it was making you desperate for friction, a sentiment echoed by him. Experimentally he ground his hips down into yours, his throbbing erection growing impossibly harder at just the feeling of rubbing against you. A newfound impatience overtaking him he thrust the black hose you still wore down your legs with one hand, seeking to reconnect his hand with your core immediately. He was encouraged by the soft moan the fell from your lips, your eyes opening to soak in the enamored look he gave you. 

Running a thick finger through your drenched folds he ran his tongue over his lips, eyes transfixed on your face as he dipped the same finger into your awaiting hole just slightly. A quiet whimper and the gentle bucking of your hips into his hand encouraged the finger to sink in deeper, the solitary digit welcomed by warm, tight walls that were so sensitive they clenched around him tighter and tighter. When there was nothing more for him to add he curled the finger slightly, seeking to rub against the sensitive patch within you he knew was there from prior experience with women – all while he lowered his head to press gentle kisses across the expanse of your chest. 

When he sucked the first of your nipples into his mouth the tip of his finger brushed against the spot, and his name passed through your lips in a reverent moan, a tone that would replay in his mind forever. Suckling the sensitive bud into his mouth he began to pump his finger into you, eyes flickering up to ensure your face displayed no hesitancy still, only to be met with your head thrown back in bliss. He knew, though, that he could do better – that he could bring you to the depths of pleasure that you deserved. 

Releasing the hardened nipple from his mouth and moving to place a gentle kiss to the other, his kisses found the perfect trail down your soft skin by way of your stomach before he reached your hips, pressing a light kiss to each of them as well. With one last glance to your face, he lowered his head, almost hesitantly running his flattened tongue through your folds and to your clit and waiting for you to respond. The response he earned by the simple motion was almost a scream, your hands immediately grasping at the back of his head and fingers entangling in his curls. He couldn’t hold back the smile that formed on his face briefly before he continued in his chosen task, removing his finger to carry on how he wanted.

Running his tongue back through your folds he prodded at your tight entrance, licking around the hole to savor every bit of your honey-sweet nectar that had dripped from you for him. His hand slid higher to connect his thumb to your swollen clit, rubbing a gentle circle on the sensitive nub as his tongue fucked into you desperately, no taste of you enough to satiate his hunger. Your moans were readily soaked in by his ears, his quiet groans against you in response sending vibrations to your body that had your walls clenching around his tongue faster than anticipated. 

Your thighs came in closer to his head, holding him where you needed him most as they began to shake on either side of him, your fingers clutching his hair tighter. As your breaths shortened and became laced – each one of them – with quiet moans at the end he knew his tongue was bringing you to ecstasy and his cock continued to grow harder in his underpants. His thumb rubbed more intense circles around your clit as his free hand reached to push the restraints down, moaning against you at his throbbing cock finally being free. 

Pulling back slightly and reaching to suck your clit into his lips gently he began to jerk his cock hard, uncaring about the act itself and only focused on being able to reach euphoria with you. A whimper from your lips communicated your disappointment and his resolve nearly melted before he spoke. “I…want to finish with you, my love. Please…just hold on for another moment for me.”

Despite the frustration of remaining with one foot off the cliff and wanting to complete the dive, you did your best to hold on for him, fixating your eyes on his and silently communicating all of the thoughts you wished you could speak aloud. He connected his mouth with you again when he felt himself approaching the edge, rubbing your clit once again as his tongue fucked into you, desperate to drink whatever you would offer him for his efforts. 

“Criston…I…I can’t…I have to…” you panted, your nails digging into his scalp slightly as you fought hard to remain composure so you could fulfill his desires. He nodded the slightest confirmation he could, glad once again to be alone with you as your moan echoed through the trees for him. Your thighs shaking again, your walls clenched around his tongue as he began to spill his seed into the furs, unbothered by the mess he was creating as he drank every bit of your orgasm from you. 

When both of you had finished and exchanged several bashful glances and kisses, an unspoken adoration passing between the two of you, he rose to his feet with you in his arms to carry you toward the tent. It was at that moment Man Eater emerged from the shadows to tuck himself outside of the tent for the night, the sight a comfort as Criston laid you atop the elaborate arrangement of furs he’d laid before you. As you continued to fight for a steady breath, he laid behind you, pulling you back against him and nestling your body into the curve of his. As he had always suspected, your bodies fit together like art, and soon the most peaceful sleep of your memories passed over you both as a final kiss was pressed to your shoulder. 

It came as no surprise when it only took a day to be successful in the hunt, the three of you becoming the perfect hunting team and taking down a particularly large and nasty bear with seeming ease. Both of you elected to camp again for the night, using the excuse that it was unsafe to ride through the night – though the truth was soon revealed as the activities from the night before repeated themselves, only changing to include you accepting as much of his cock into your throat as you could take. At that point he already held no doubt that he could never be without you again, but when you’d elected to swallow his seed – holding him to you with your hands on the backs of his thighs – he decided you were with whatever turmoil was going to come his way due to his actions. 

The following morning the two of you had set out once again, returning to the Red Keep under the cover of darkness with the bear’s head and pelt carried by your horses, a vibrant glow on both of you covered by armor and cloaks again. Returned to his duties he immediately began to wish he could have prolonged the hunt with you, because from the moment Princess Rhaenyra heard you returned to the castle, he could not get a moment alone with you – and such was the trend for days. The tension began to build in the air around the two of you soon, and you knew that Rhaenyra had to have taken notice of the stolen glances when she would choose to ask you once again if anything interesting had happened on the hunting trip. 

“It is treason to lie to the heir to the throne, you know,” she joked one evening over a private dinner with you, her eyes flashing with knowing mischief that matched her smile. With a quiet sigh and a giggle, you shook your head, taking another drink of the rich Southern wine in front of you as you met her gaze.

“I have often heard it said it rude to share ones’ personal…happenings with others, your Grace,” you replied coolly, your eyes meeting hers and communicating your shared playfulness. She raised an eyebrow knowingly and smiled, raising her glass slightly before leaning back in her seat. The words would remain unspoken, and whatever assumption the Princess made may have been wrong – but ultimately, any exaggeration would not remain untrue for long. 

When she excused herself to her bedchamber for the evening, she requested for your sworn protector to join her, stating she had begun to feel comfort around the man. Not one to refuse the Crown or a friend you gave in immediately, and though you were believed to set off for your own bedchamber – Rhaenyra called over her shoulder before her exit the directions to get you to your true desired location. Without so much as a second thought you found yourself rushing to Criston’s door, eager to reunite with him privately again. 

The light knock against his door pulled him from his bed with a groan, expecting to be forced to return to his duty far sooner than intended and with far less sleep than needed. Bare feet carried him to the door as he pulled a shirt over his head, fingers adjusting his hair into a more presentable state before he swung the door open. Rather than a handmaiden or knight, he was greeted with the face of the one person his chest swelled to see. 

Your hair was completely untamed, wild around you in a way that indicated you’d attempted to sleep as well, only to be met with unease. The long gown you’d been gifted to sleep in was more like something from your own home in color – silver – but it was so light and thin it was almost like there wasn’t anything there at all. Seeing your wide, wondrous eyes staring up at him with desire just outside of his door was the final spark needed for the flame that had been forming for over a year now to engulf him. 

His hands reached for you before he could give himself the chance to be talked out of it, pulling you into his chambers and against his chest as he connected his lips to yours. Wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you against him he smiled into the kiss as he reached his free hand to lock the door. Your voice was already breathless and light, quiet and unsure in a way he hadn’t heard from you before. 

“I couldn’t stay away,” you confessed on his lips, leaning your head back as he began to trail his kisses to your jaw, breathing in the combined smells of florals and furs that was so entirely you.

“I didn’t want you to, m’lady,” he confirmed, sitting on the bed when it hit the backs of his knees and lifting you to sit in his lap. Straddling his thick thighs required the gown to slide up your body, baring your thighs to him once again which were quickly claimed by his hands with a firm squeeze. His hands trailed up, sliding until they cupped your breasts eagerly. “What can I do for you, my treasure? What brings you here at this hour?”

As his thumbs lightly feathered over your hardening nipples you gasped, your eyes wide and dark with lust as they met his gaze again. He brought his lips to yours in a soft kiss, encouraging a response from you, needing to hear the confirmation of your desires. Your voice was already little more than a whimper, the intensity of his gaze alone enough to melt you. “Your tongue is better suited to occupations other than speaking, Ser Criston.”

Your gentle teasing pulled a laugh from him, the words you’d chosen enough. Desperate to be reunited with the taste of you he grasped your hips, lifting you once again to push you down onto the bed on your back, pulling you so your lower half was barely on the soft fabric. He stood for a moment still, pulling his shirt back over his head and tossing it to the side with little regard as to where it landed. Your gown would have to be removed eventually, but for now he was content to roll it up to your waist as he sank to his knees on the hard ground. 

Suddenly shy again you kept your legs together, a quiet gasp falling from your lips as he leaned forward to run his warm lips up your right leg, his left hand following suit on the other. When he reached your knee, he gave a light nudge to push them open as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, silently begging for access. When your legs fell open at his bequest he inhaled, running his lips up your thigh as he sought out your already-dripping cunt. Keeping his right hand on its hold at your hip, his left found your core first, his index finger sliding against your folds tenderly to gather up the slick that had begun to pool between your legs.

“All this for me?” he pondered, trailing his kisses higher and higher as his finger barely dipped into you. A quiet moan slipped from your lips at the slight entry, a broken plea spoken into the night. You felt his lips curve into a smile as he placed another kiss tenderly against your thigh before turning his head to flick his tongue across your swollen clit as he buried the remainder of his finger in you. 

His name fell from your lips again, louder this time, and was thanked with a groan of his own as he connected his lips around your clit, sucking gently on the sensitive nub as his finger curled within you. His new driving force found in hearing you come undone for him, he set out on his task with insatiable enthusiasm. Adding a second finger to you slowly elicited another gasp from you, his thick fingers beginning to work you open as his lips sucked against your clit gently, his tongue flicking in perfect sync with the movement of his fingers. You’d missed his mouth on you and it took no time with the combination of his fingers to make your thighs begin to shake, your breaths coming breathy as you approached an orgasm.

“C-Criston, please…” you whined, your eyes rolling into your head as he removed his fingers, making your upset at the loss of him known. He moved his hands quickly to flip you over, adjusting your position so you stayed up on your hands and knees while he pushed a pillow under your face. 

“Bite, my love,” he instructed, brushing the hair out of your face and ensuring you’d still be able to breathe. “We can’t wake the castle while I drink everything I can from you.” 

Any negativity you’d felt at the loss of his fingers was soon buried as he dipped his head again, licking a thick stripe against your folds before fucking his hot tongue into your leaking cunt. His fingers that were still slickened with your arousal reached around to rub your clit as he groaned into you, savoring how sweet you were for him and falling impossibly harder for you knowing that seeing you like this was a privilege all to himself. With his objective in sight, he wasted no time tipping you over the edge, grasping at your thigh as you gave him exactly what he wanted yet again.

His tongue eagerly swept up every bit of your nectar that he could find before he sucked against your clit once more, his eyes seeking to connect with yours as he flipped you over again. Instead of being met by your gaze he was gifted with the look on your face as you glowed with pleasure for him, your eyes closed in euphoria as your chest fought to catch breath. A gently placed trail of kisses to your lips gave you the time you needed, and by the time he reached your lips he was desperate. Your hand reached to find the laces of his pants and instead found his hands already there, untying and working to free himself of the restraints.

As you began to remove yourself from under him, intent on crawling down his body to wrap your lips around him once again, one of his hands reached to still your movements, pushing against your chest lightly to keep you lying back against the bed. His voice was barely above a growl as he gave into the desires he had vowed not to. “It’s not enough.”

Biting at your bottom lip as he stood from the bed to remove his pants your eyes found his again, the gentle affection blossoming in them enough to reaffirm the decision he’d made. Crawling onto the bed and back between your legs he pressed several gentle kisses to your lips as one of his hands cradled the side of your face. 

“I would have never taken my vow had I known you were in the world,” he breathed, his forehead leaning against yours in the intimate gesture that was becoming a repeated motion for the two of you. As both of your eyes fluttered closed, he reached to rub the head of his cock against your folds, gathering up enough slick to well lubricate himself.

“Whether you take me or not,” you began, your voice laced with a quiet whine as he continued to rub his cock around your entrance, his breaths becoming heavier as his mind became fogged by you. “I am yours, Criston.”

The vow that fell from your lips shattered any promise he’d made before you, slipping into you without another thought with a quiet groan as his lips connected with yours. You returned his kiss the best you could as you gasped, feeling him stretch your walls as he exercised just a bit more patience to claim each inch of you slowly. Stretching your walls inch by inch he soothed you with soft kisses, quietly muttering praises as he worked his way into your impossibly tight cunt. 

“All mine,” he finally confirmed as he bottomed out within you, moving to press his lips to your forehead as he stopped his movements to give you any time you needed to adjust. As one of his hands found your hip the other slid up your body until it rested at the side of your neck, holding you close as he finally fulfilled what he most desired. 

It took a moment, but finally your body gave into him and relaxed, one of your legs moving to wrap around your waist to encourage him in just slightly deeper. The simple action brought forth a groan from his chest as he ground his waist against yours, desperate for movement between the two of you. His lips lowered to yours again as he slowly dragged his cock out of you to the head before tenderly sliding back into your wet heat. As his tongue dove into your mouth, he swallowed the moan that came from your chest, his hand on your hip grasping tighter and he repeated the motion again. 

After several slow, rhythmic thrusts the head of his cock found the extra sensitive, spongy patch deep within you that elicited his name from your lips. Finding the spot several more times caused your walls to tighten around him slightly, his control faltering as he pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath as he stilled for a moment. His voice was low and breathless as he slowly circled his hips again, grinding down into you rhythmically. 

“No one will keep you from me,” he promised, his new vow spoken into the night and followed by a groan as he increased his pace into your dripping cunt again. Sliding the hand that rested on your neck up further and into your hair he pulled you into another kiss, a breathy groan covering your lips as your walls tightened around him again. “Fucking…exquisite,” he breathed out, his other hand sliding to raise one of your legs over his shoulder. The deeper angle pulled a deeper, more primal groan from his chest as he seemed to push in impossibly deeper. “Oh, gods, I could bury myself in you every day…”

You found yourself unable to respond to his praise with adequate words, instead thanking his kindness and showing your appreciation of the new angle by moaning his name and nodding in agreement. Tightening his hold on your ankle and burying his face in your neck he began to thrust into you again, releasing a wanton groan into your neck as his lips curved into a small against your skin. A shaking hand belonging to you raised to push his chin up, claiming his lips in a kiss again before your fingers slid back into his hair. The heat of your kiss melted his smile and was returned with immediate passion, as would every kiss you offered him from there forward. 

As your thighs began to shake around him again and your walls squeezed him slightly tighter, your breaths becoming more desperate, he knew the end was approaching for you just as it was for him. As he removed his lips from your kiss to lean his forehead against yours once again, he was greeted with the ethereal sight of you glowing for him, your mouth falling open in bliss as he slid a hand to connect a thumb to your clit and rub leisurely circles.

“Criston…I…”

“Yes, my love,” he moaned, picking his pace up again as he nodded, breathing out heavy onto your lips. His thumb began to work faster circles on your swollen clit as he positioned his cock to slide against the sweet patch within you, pressing gentle kisses to your lips as he coaxed another orgasm from you. He knew it was wrong, completely so, and yet he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering toward a future of possibilities, of the possible consequences of his broken vow; of watching you swell with his child. As your walls clenched him impossibly tighter your orgasm washed over you, your combined moans were swallowed by his kiss as he spilled himself within you, unable to hold himself back. 

When he’d finished painting your quivering walls he leaned his forehead down against your shoulder, holding himself up so he didn’t crush you but clearly unwilling to pull away from you. His mind wandered to the possibility of soon seeing you swell with what would be his bastard child, and he immediately felt guilty knowing that you deserved far better than the life of a woman with a bastard child. Even still, he couldn’t deny the truth that was that he wanted to see you birth his child – a thought that had him leaning to press repeated kisses against your lips in adoration. 

Though he still fought for completely normal breath, his new vow was spoken with purpose and taken as gospel by the one person he could truly ever devote himself to.

“I will find a way for us to truly be together, my love. I swear it.”

masterlist.

[nebulousbrainsoup]

Insurrection

Chapter 1: Catalyst

⛧ SUMMARY: One choice, made to fan the flames of love, may be the spark to start a war. ⛧PAIRING: vampire!kang yeosang x hunter!reader ⛧GENRE: fantasy, angst (so much angst), smut ⛧AU/TROPE INFO: fantasy au, vampire au, forbidden lovers, hurt no comfort ⛧WORD COUNT: 4.8k ⛧TAGS/WARNINGS: major character death (i'm so sorry), blood, violence, lots of emotion, mental breakdowns, pet names ([my] love, darling, love, Sangie), protective!yunho and protective!yeosang, treating vampires as unseelie fae, not beta'd ⛧RATING: mature ⛧A/N: for @a1sh1teruu; happy christmas from your secret santa! very sorry i'm a few days late; life has been interesting lately and this baby got away from me! i hope i didn't go too hard on the angst you asked for, but i did ask for your hard limits and, uh... i'm an angst writer first and foremost. (if i did go overboard, please please let me know, and i will whip you up something warmer and fluffier.) this did begin as a standalone, but the lovely @kwanisms convinced me to make it a series, so here we are! there will be a few more installments; a prologue and at least one sequel. even if no one else does, zerda, i hope you enjoy this. much love, orion <3 ⛧ smut tags under the cut ; banner by momther ki (kwanisms) ⛧masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

⛧ SMUT TAGS/WARNINGS: sex as a distraction/coping mechanism, yeo has vampire speed and strength (don't look too close i didn't logic), sensitive pointy ears, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (boo), multiple orgasms (fem), pet names (Yeosangie, Sangie, baby, darling, love, my pretty girl ), mentions of exhibitionism & sharing if you squint, lack of aftercare bc they're both exhausted

In hindsight, perhaps you should have seen the signs. You had never seen Yeosang eat, no matter how many cafés you frequented together. He had been known throughout the village for his strange attire, the reverse of the seasons; he was covered from chin to fingertip to toe in the summers, while the dark winters found him showing a bit more skin. His pale complexion or the way he could throw you around in the bedroom without breaking a sweat may have given him away to you if you had paid closer attention. You hadn’t, though, and now you paid the price.

Your elders stood in a semicircle in front of you, stony faced, and your blood ran cold. Gideon glowered at you over the top of his steepled fingers, jaw tight.

“Kill or be killed, Y/N,” he spat, “the decision is yours. Kang Yeosang will not be able to protect you from us.”

It took every fiber of your being to hold back the shiver that threatened to tear down your spine. Your mind swirled as you bowed your head respectfully, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Something churned in your gut as you met his eye; whether or not his words would ring true was still to be determined, but you knew he and the rest of the council would try their absolute hardest.

“I understand, Elder Lewis. I will begin my preparations immediately,” you agreed, turning on your heel to see yourself out of the room. Three of the five sat straighter at your promise, one smiling proudly. You sighed in relief; so long as most of them believed you, you would survive the night. You could warn him and, if you were lucky, run.

For most, Yeosang and the rest of his coven were nearly impossible to find; he had told you some story ages ago, but now the secrecy made sense. Few were trusted with a map to their home, and you were thankful tonight to be one of those elites. Strategically placed vines guided you through the trees like flags, their leaves blending into the color of the evergreens’ needles to the untrained eye. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you hurried through the snow, fists clenched at your sides. The path was familiar and though time seemed to drag on in a blur, it felt like you arrived in seconds. The trees parted to a familiar, comforting sight; three cabins and a grand hall circled around a small clearing, and you beelined for Yeosang’s front door. 

It was his roommate, Yunho, who opened the door and tried to greet you but you pushed past him, body and mind set on your comfort. You practically collapsed into Yeosang’s arms, a small, pained sound leaving you as he bundled you into his embrace. His quiet questions and murmured comforts were lost on you. Your mind was running at a thousand miles a minute, a million questions running through your mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were vampires?” The first inquiry fell from your lips thoughtlessly, and you felt the air disappear from the room. Yunho’s footsteps halted where they were parting to allow you privacy, and you could feel the tension spike. The silence rang louder than any scream. “And don’t try to deny it; I’ve seen the evidence.”

“Who… how did you find this out, sweetheart?” 

You scoffed, shoving him away from you and taking a step back. Behind you, you heard Yunho shift to his friend’s defense, but a sharp glare from Yeosang seemed to halt him. “I’m a hunter, Yeosang. You’ve known this; don’t play dumb. My elders showed me your files today,” you paused, turning over your shoulder to glance at Yunho. “All of ATEEZ’s files.”

You watched as the elder coiled like a spring, ready to strike, still pinned in place only by your boyfriend’s scathing stare. Silence once again stretched for what seemed like an eternity, heavy across your shoulders. Finally, Yeosang broke it.

“Leave us, Yunho.”

“Absolutely not.” The reply was immediate, the taller boy standing straighter, his chin high. “I’m not leaving you alone with a hunter.”

You scowled, hearing your boyfriend growl a warning. You knew his expression must match your own. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my girlfriend alone.”

Yunho opened his mouth to speak again but this time, you were the one to silence him. “I understand your worry and I appreciate your drive to protect your coven. I am not here to hurt Yeosang; I am here to… to ask for help,” you admitted, turning back to glance at your lover. “I forgot to even grab my knife before I left, if I’m being honest.” Yeosang let out a strangled noise of protest, worry painting his face, and you held up a hand to keep him quiet. “The elders… Gideon gave me a choice today. Kill or be killed. And I… I don’t want to do either.”

You could see Yeosang’s heart breaking, the corner of his lips curling down and his brow furrowing. “Yunho, please,” he murmured, “let us figure this out.” He gave no response, but a moment later, you heard the front door click shut, and Yeosang was bundling you back up into his arms. 

The moment you were alone, you shattered into pieces. You grasped his shirt in fists as tears flowed like waterfalls down your cheeks, his grip around you tightening like a vice. Sobs wracked your body violently, and you thanked the gods for Yeosang’s strength as, despite your knees buckling under you, you remained upright. He muttered quiet reassurances into your hair, hands running soothingly up and down your back. 

When you calmed, he gently guided you back, eyes soft and open as he cupped your cheeks and wiped the tears from them. You screwed your eyes shut and gripped onto his wrists like a lifeline, willing a fresh wave of emotion back. 

“It will be alright, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out together. You can stay here for as long as you like, and we’ll protect you like our own.”

You whined in protest, eyes blinking open slowly. Sniffling, you shook your head. “I can’t ask that of you. If I’m tracked down, they’ll kill you all too. Hongjoong wouldn’t be willing to take that risk for a simple little mortal, much less one who has trained her entire life to hunt and kill him. He would be crazy.”

Yeosang giggled quietly, smiling gently. “I think you’ll find he is a little crazy when the situation calls for it. He trusts you like one of us already; he allowed me to show you the path here. You will be welcome.”

Hesitantly, you nodded, resigned to accepting your lover’s offer. There was little else you could do. “I will need a few things from the stronghold. I can go back to gather them tonight, and return tomorrow.” 

Peeking over your head and out the window, Yeosang frowned. It had been nearing nightfall when you had arrived, and the thought of you unarmed and stumbling through the dark forest unnerved him. He pulled you against his chest, carding a hand into your hair to scratch at your scalp. 

“Stay with me tonight, love. Let this be the first night of our new lives together. Let me protect you.” You felt your shoulders relax with every word he spoke, a soft smile playing at your lips. He had already convinced you but he continued, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Let me distract you.” 

You let your tongue flick out over your lips, drawing his attention back to them as you grinned. Hands slipping up his chest, you pressed closer to him. “What better way to spend our first night together?”

Yeosang grinned, tugging you in to crash your lips together. You hummed happily as you melted against him, one arm draping over his shoulder while the other carded into the hair at his nape. He held you to him tightly still, sighing against your mouth as you melted against him. 

“Take me to bed, Yeosangie,” you muttered when you parted for breath, and he was more than happy to oblige. Strong arms braced under your thighs and lifted you in one fluid motion. Before you had time to think, you were in his room with your back pressed to the mattress, and you let out a squeak of surprise. Your lover was grinning at you when you pulled away. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I assume you’ll be using all of your fancy vampire powers at every turn, hm?” 

“Maybe not all of them,” he teased, pressing kisses up your jaw. “I’ll only bite if you ask nicely,” he purred into your ear, his silky baritone sending a shudder down your spine.

You whined, tugging him back up by his hair to lock your lips, legs wrapping around his middle to pull him impossibly closer. He groaned, low and broken, as you ground against him, losing himself for a moment before he pinned your hips down to the bed. 

“Tonight is all about you, my love,” he hummed, hands running down your thighs as he sat back on his knees. You pouted up at him and he couldn’t help but grin, kneading at the soft flesh under his fingers. “I’m going to take my time with you and savor this. No more quick nights at the tavern, hm?” 

You shuddered under his touch, eyes flickering to the door. “What about Yunho?”

The grin on Yeosang’s face was purely wicked and heat ran through your body. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure the whole coven can hear you.” 

Despite his promise to take his time, Yeosang stripped you down quickly, tugging your shirt off and trousers down to leave you in only your undergarments. The moment he could, he leaned down, nipping at your inner thigh and grinning triumphantly at the sound it pulled from you. His lips quickly found their way to your throat as he let your legs fall in favor of slotting himself between them, lips attaching themselves to your throat. The drag of his teeth over your pulse had you whining into his ear, breath ghosting over the subtly pointed tip. It was Yeosang’s turn to shudder, all of his blood rushing south at the feeling. He sighed, burying his head against your shoulder as he gathered himself.

Or tried to, because a moment later, you were tucking his hair behind his ear, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin, and he was choking back a moan. “C-Careful,” he muttered, reaching up to grab your wrist and halt you. “They’re sensitive.” 

“I don’t see the issue,” you hummed, drawing his gaze back up. You were grinning down at him and it was a pretty sight, but the mischief twinkling in your eyes had Yeosang wanting to wipe it from your face. 

Pinning your wrist to the bed, he slipped down your body at lightning speed, face level with your clothed core. In an instant, his tongue was pressed against you, and you let out a choked shout at the wet warmth that joined your own arousal. Yeosang grinned proudly once more, letting his teeth graze lightly over your heat as he sat back. That particular friction was foreign but pleasant, pulling a pretty little whimper from you.

“Do you still not see the issue with playing with sensitive areas, love, or shall I continue?”

Not one to be upstaged, you huffed a sigh, the corner of your mouth ticking up in a grin. “I don’t think I quite get it.” 

Yeosang chuckled, leaning back to lap a stripe up your thigh. Nipping at your hip, he slowly began a path up your body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You sighed, the sound like music to his ears as you turned to putty beneath his hands. 

Your bra was the next garment to leave your body, tossed carelessly to the side as his mouth descended on your chest, lips quickly closing around your peaked nipple. One hand bracing himself, the other lit a contrastingly cool trail down your torso, coming to rest over your underwear. A quiet squeak left you and you squirmed under him, his icy fingers bringing a delicious new sensation to your warm arousal while his lips worked over your other breast. 

“Sangie,” you gasped out, one hand tangling into his hair and tugging encouragingly. “More, please.”

Chuckling lowly against your skin, he obliged, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side to slide his fingers through your wetness. You whined and writhed under him, hips seeking further stimulation—this wasn’t enough. The pad of his finger circled your clit and you jolted, a pitched whine leaving you that had Yeosang’s control snapping in an instant.

He needed more, and he needed it now. More of you, more of your lovely little sounds, more of your warm body pressed against his cold one. 

Pulling back from your chest with a wet noise, he sat back on his heels, tugging his shirt off and tossing it away from him. Your remaining undergarment was pulled off and discarded as he stood, quickly ridding himself of his final layers, too. He drank you in with a gaze that made you feel like prey, delicate and helpless underneath the ancient power that coursed through his veins. Pride swelled in his chest as he took in your open-mouthed, hungry stare. He chuckled to himself and ran a hand across his broad chest, letting you drink in the sight of him. His grin only spread as he watched you turn away from him, shy. 

“My pretty girl,” he hummed, running his fingers up the insides of your thighs as he settled between them again. 

Your pretty little whine had him preening as he lowered himself to your core, grinning up at you. Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he held eye contact and sighed against you as you shuddered, before his tongue flicked out to tease at your slit. He delighted in the way your hands flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you urged him closer. His sharp, calculated gaze remained on you as he flattened his tongue against you, humming happily at the taste of you. His eyes rolled back in his head, finally slipping shut as he began to lose himself in the ecstasy that was your essence. 

Your sounds only grew as he began to eat you out in earnest and they went straight to his cock; Yeosang found himself rutting into the mattress within minutes, desperate to find any amount of friction. His pride fell to the wayside as he gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, fucking his tongue into you with fervor. He barely came up for air as he buried his face in your pussy, pleasured moans leaving him as he chased both of your peaks. Your tugging on his hair was what brought him back into his mind and, though he shot you a glare, his fingers quickly replaced his mouth. 

You were gasping for breath as he sat upright, grinning proudly while your legs dropped to rest over his elbows. “What’s the matter, love?”

“C-Can’t, g’nna cum,” you gasped, hands coming to rest over his biceps as you melted back into the mattress.

“Oh, well if that’s all,” he hummed, slowly lowering himself back down. You whimpered, hands tangling back into his hair at the warmth of his tongue and the chill of his fingers, but gave no further sounds of protest as he dove back into you. Within seconds, your legs were clamping down around his ears and he was opening his eyes, drinking in the sight of your ecstasy as he worked you over the edge. With one final suck to your clit, he sat back on his heels and drank in the whine that left you, sighing happily.

“Gods above, you taste good,” he murmured, licking his lips hungrily.

“Yeosang,” you whined, hands clawing up his arms to pull him close, “need you baby, please.”

“Need what?” He grinned, shifting up to cage you in completely, his cockhead teasing at your folds. You whine, shifting lower, and he clicked his tongue as one hand came to rest over your throat, stilling your movements.

You whined, blinking up at him with wide, doe eyes, and he had to bite back a growl. “Your cock, Sangie, please.”

He grinned down at you devilishly as he pressed into you, drinking down every whine and moan that spilled from your mouth as he sealed his lips with your own. When he was finally sheathed within your warmth, he sighed happily and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his and he felt secure, safe, as he began a slow and deliberate pace.

“So long as you’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his speed building. “I will protect you. What is mine is the coven’s and what is the coven’s is mine.” You clenched around him, and he groaned lowly, his eyes squeezing shut. “We keep our own safe.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, the air crackling electric between you as you climbed to your second peak at record speed. The way his speed built in tandem with the passion of his words had you squirming, clawing for him. He shuddered, too, as your walls spasmed around him, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He sat up straight and sheathed himself in you fully as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, his hips rolling in tiny circles to prolong it. 

With one last kiss to  your forehead, he pulled himself from you and collapsed to your side. He gave himself to the count of ten to bask in the warmth as he felt himself quickly falling into the meditative state he considered “sleep,” emerging from the brink of it to clean you. You sighed, basking in the attention, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat as he crawled back into bed with you—tired, cuddly, smiling, perfect you. He prayed you were asleep as he whispered into your hair.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hid your grin in his chest and fell asleep in his arms.

When you awoke in a bed that was not your own, the curtains around you pulled shut, you startled. Yeosang was laid next to you reading, and as you stirred, he glanced up from his page. “Good morning, darling.” 

You smiled, turning over to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning when he flushed and turned back to his book. “Good morning, Sangie. What time is it?”

“Just after sunrise.” 

Huffing, you pushed yourself up from the bed. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late. I’ll have to hope no one has a route in this direction today,” you muttered as you went about gathering your clothes, strewn about the room. “And that no one decided to hang around near my room.”

Yeosang set his book aside, frowning. “I’ll come with you.” 

“You will do no such thing, Kang Yeosang,” you protested, continuing on before he could speak. “The moment you are within firing distance of the castle, the elders will see you taken out. Stay here and speak to Hongjoong; I’ll only be gone a few hours.” He frowned deeply, eyes tracking your movements carefully as you tugged back the curtains an inch. “It’s bright out today, anyway. You wouldn’t be very comfortable past the treeline.”

The fight was over before it had really started, logic winning out over Yeosang’s protective nature. You were right; in the full sun of the day, with the snow reflecting it back up at him, he would be weak. Not only would protecting you be a challenge, his presence might hinder the speed of your mission.

“Alright. I’ll speak with Hongjoong. I’ll give you until noon to be back before I start looking for you.” Grinning, you bounced back across the room, leaning down to press a kiss to Yeosang’s lips. He hummed happily as he carded a hand into your hair, gently tugging you back for more. 

With a hand on his shoulder, you kept him at bay, chuckling quietly to yourself. “You had enough of me last night, love. You can have more tonight, but you have to let me go get my belongings.”

The sigh that left him was half-hearted at best, and you huffed another breath of laughter. “Fine. Be safe and hurry back.” 

“I will.”

As the door shut behind you, something unsettling stirred in his gut. For inexplicable reasons, he felt as though you were lying.

“Yunho, you met this girl. Can we trust her?” Hongjoong questioned, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he leaned back in his chair. He looked relaxed, at ease in the safety of his own chambers, only the twitching of his jaw giving away his current inner turmoil. 

The man in question thought for a moment, shrugging and giving a small nod. “I think Yeosang coming back in one piece today is a pretty good sign.”

He nodded slowly, mulling the request over. It was a great risk for the coven to take in a mortal, both to the mortal and the coven. Word had spread on one occasion they did such a thing, and they had been forced to move rather abruptly. Y/N’s upbringing as a monster hunter added another convoluted layer to the whole ordeal; she could be playing them to spy for her order or, if they truly were on the hunt for her, she could end up getting them all killed. But no matter how stoic and strict he may look to outsiders, Hongjoong had an undeniable soft spot for his coven. So, as Yeosang stood there, a determined and pleading look on his face, the elder vampire caved. 

“Fine. But let her know that she will be expected to pull her weight. She can stay with you and Yunho until we figure out other living arrangements,” he conceded, huffing an annoyed sigh that held little weight. “Now go tell the others.” 

Yeosang beamed, practically bouncing toward the door and flinging it open. Wooyoung, who had just started up the front porch steps, startled and fell back against San.

“Y/N is coming to live with us!” He blurted out, and the pair shared a confused look. “It’s a whole long story. Speaking of, have either of you seen her? I can’t wait to tell her.”

Wooyoung recovered before San did, blinking back into himself and sharing a bright smile with his friend. “That’s great! I can’t wait for her to meet everyone else. Sannie, I think you’ll  really like her. I haven’t seen her around today; is she here?”

“She went to gather her things from the hunters’ stronghold. She should be back any minute.” Something unpleasant coiled in Yeosang’s gut, and he frowned. “You didn’t happen to see any hunters on your way back in, did you?”

San and Wooyoung shared a look that had Yeosang’s blood running cold. “We did,” San confirmed. “They were headed away from here, though. We didn’t bother with them.” 

Behind him, someone stirred, and Yeosang spun on his heel, eyes pleading with Hongjoong as he approached. “She said she’d be in danger if she ran into other hunters. We have to look for her.”

Resolutely, Hongjoong nodded, turning back over his shoulder. “Yunho, get Jongho. San, Wooyoung, go get Seonghwa and Mingi. We’ll head toward their stronghold and work outward—stay in pairs, stay out of sight, and do not eng—”

Before the leader could finish his sentence, a sharp scream echoed through the forest, and Yeosang’s eyes widened. He went rigid for a moment, keen ears twitching as they scanned the forest, tracking the echoes until he could pinpoint a near exact location of origin. He was moving before he could think, dashing down the path and into the treeline. Dodging trees and leaping over fallen branches as he tore through the brush, the warning shouts of his coven fell on deaf ears. They would follow, he knew. He only slowed for a moment when he caught the scent of your blood in the air, tripping over his own feet before pushing forward with even more purpose. 

In hindsight, he should have realized that your familiar yell was not one of fear, as he had been so worried about. He should have taken even a moment to breathe. 

You were still upright when he barreled into the clearing, wrestling with another hunter for what looked to be a blade. Your face was twisted in a grimace, desperation and anger marring the features he was so used to seeing alight with joy. He called your name and you turned, the panic-stricken look you sent him sending confusion and hurt lancing through him. He was here to help; shouldn’t you be happy to see him?

In hindsight, he should have realized why your cry was so familiar to his ears. Maybe he would have registered that it had been full of pure, white-hot rage; the same rage you directed at him during your first meeting.

Time slowed, and with the snap of a wire, Yeosang understood. 

The bolt burned as it pierced through his ribs, and his vision went white with the pain as he toppled forward, falling to his hands and knees with a shout of his own. This time, there was pain in your exclamation; he couldn’t quite make out the words, but he heard the break in your voice that he knew, all too well, meant tears were brimming. He tasted iron as he coughed, distantly registering the shadow of black that splattered the snow in front of him. 

It had been a while since he’d seen his own blood.

More shouts echoed as he fell to his knees, vision going black for a moment. When his sight returned, you were in front of him, and Yeosang’s brow furrowed. Humans like you, as far as he knew, couldn’t move that fast. He glanced over your shoulder, gasping—when had the coven gotten here?

Another blink, and he was on his back, staring up at your distressingly heartbroken expression. Your hands cupped his cheeks for a beat, and he melted into the fleeting feeling, grumbling in disapproval as they streaked down his neck to his sides. About halfway to his hips, they stopped, and the pain that sparked through him had him coming back to his senses, a shout choked behind his teeth.

“Leave it,” he hissed, and you made a pained noise. The iron crossbow bolt had embedded itself firmly and, despite his protests, you gave it another tug. This time, Yeosang shouted, bolting upright and batting your hand away from him. “Barbed,” he croaked, falling back to his hands and knees. “You’ll rip me up if you take it out.” 

“And it’ll poison you slowly if I don’t,” you urged, reaching for him. “You can heal the injuries, please.”

Yeosang frowned deeply, eyes squeezing shut as he took stock of his body. “Not… quickly enough.” 

“Please let me try,” you begged, hand settling below his wound. “Please give yourself a chance. Let me give you a chance, Yeosang, please.”

Oh, how weak he was for you. 

Swallowing thickly, he screwed his eyes shut and nodded, rolling once more onto his back with a wince. “If it pleases you.” 

“None of this pleases me,” you shot back, choking on a sob around your words. Your grip solid around the arrow’s shaft, you gave a strong tug, and Yeosang shouted through gritted teeth as it came free. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” you breathed, cupping his face.

“No more… apologies. This is not your fault,” he muttered between coughs. His mouth felt wetter than usual and he turned, dizzy as he watched more black mar the white ground. “Oh.” 

“Stay still, Sangie, please, let your magic work. Don’t make things worse. Just… stay here. It’ll be okay.” 

You didn’t sound sure. Yeosang huffed a laugh, coughed. “I won’t heal… fast enough,” he muttered, rolling once more onto his back. “H’ngjoong s-said… You can stay with us. Make sure he keeps… ‘s word.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. He was so tired all of a sudden. Distantly, he could hear you calling to him, could feel your hands on his cheeks. He smiled, leaning into the warmth of your palms, a stark contrast to the chill surrounding him. The world was turning to white noise; Yeosang sighed. 

One voice, familiar and filled with venom, cut through the roar. He was just used to listening for his Captain, after all, and he heard him clear as day now.

“You have just declared a war.”

Everything went quiet.

TAGLISTS: [open, apply here.]

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[difeisheng]

time, left on ice - 1

Here's a memory for you. A memory that Fang Duobing cradles like a shooting star fallen into his hands; a wish taken bright, crackling form, one to hold onto even if he is burned by its warmth:

He is nine, and the cold of the ice rink seeps through his coat, fingertips growing numb from bracing himself at the edge of the barrier. Fang Duobing doesn't mind, leaning forward as much as his mother will allow him. If he wills it, maybe he'll teleport and be able to glide across the ice himself, spirit on the wind like the skaters circling before his eyes.

The competition has already ended, flowers and stuffed animals and any manner of gifts Fang Duobing can't make out strewn across the ice. His excitement, though, from the moment he sat down squirming in the front row to the last camera flashes at the podium, is no less dead. It is buoyed by every other person sharing this moment, roar of the audience filling the arena. The bass of the announcer's voice becomes half drowned out by a wall of applause, names called out in this aftermath.

He is here for only one.

And so Fang Duobing shouts, along with the crowd. Three syllables, as loud as he can, waving a hand in the air the way he sees others do with banners or flags. Be quiet, his aunt says from the seat behind him, You'll give yourself an asthma attack, it's already cold in here, but what's one more of those compared to what may be his only chance to see him?

The barrier digs into bruises at Fang Duobing's elbows, where he's pushed himself to see over the edge, matching ones at his knees from when he fell two days before. Over and over, too clumsy to land his jumps during practice that afternoon. None of it matters now, the ache or the heavy drag of his next breath at the bottom of his lungs, because in the next instant there is a blur of scarlet and silver at his side of the rink and suddenly, suddenly—

Li Xiangyi is just feet away, standing tall and smiling like he's the sun, clasping the glint of gold hanging around his neck. A loose strand of hair has fallen into his eyes; he shakes his head to brush it away, dark ponytail swishing halfway down his back. Fang Duobing hears a girl two seats to his left make some incoherent noise.

"Li Xiangyi, wo ai ni," another voice in the section screams, and he laughs. All other sound abruptly fades away from Fang Duobing's world to commit it to memory, fixed on Li Xiangyi's smile as it reaches his eyes, shining out with whatever it must feel like to be the happiest person on earth. He sweeps into a bow, the draping sleeves of his costume rippling with the motion. When he rights himself, it is to blow a kiss to the audience.

A hundred hands reach out to pluck it from the air, vying to receive it. So does Fang Duobing, unthinking, trying to hold anything of Li Xiangyi's.

He does not expect it to be his gaze.

Li Xiangyi skates forward, a chasm of one pace and then three, and then he's there, folded against the other side of the barrier. "What's your name, xiao-pengyou?" he asks, voice a warm wind, just loud enough that only Fang Duobing can hear over everyone else. These words are for him alone.

"Fang Duobing. But my family calls me Xiaobao," he tells him.

"Cute." Li Xiangyi braces one hand on the barrier, beside Fang Duobing's. "And do you skate?"

"Yes!" Fang Duobing smiles, and sees a hint of teeth in Li Xiangyi's own at that. "Still learning, but I'm going to become a figure skater too. Just wait," he says, as sure as he can sound.

Li Xiangyi is silent for a beat, looking down. His other hand cradles a few things he picked up from the ice. Fang Duobing waits and the moment stretches, and stretches— did he say something wrong?— but then Li Xiangyi hums, and he places something in Fang Duobing's grasp.

It's a sword, when Fang Duobing turns it over. A small toy one, made of wood, a piece of red ribbon tied to the handle. He knows what it's referencing immediately, with every second of that gala performance two years ago carved into Fang Duobing's mind. Li Xiangyi's flowing sword dance across the ice had made him famous just as much as any medal he'd won by then.

Someone else must have carved this for Li Xiangyi. Fang Duobing looks back up at him, to protest. Shouldn't he have it? But Li Xiangyi pushes his hand away gently, when he holds it out.

"It's yours. I'll see you on the ice one day, Fang Duobing."

As he stares at the sword, Fang Duobing catches the edge of a slight, quick motion, of Li Xiangyi reaching up to his mouth. An empty candy wrapper crumples in his hand a second later.

When he finds Li Xiangyi's eyes for the last time, Fang Duobing sees him wink, finger held to his lips. Their secret to keep.

And then Li Xiangyi is gone, flying off across the ice and out of Fang Duobing's life, empty breeze in his wake. Fang Duobing is left behind, grasping at what Li Xiangyi gave him. The words, and the sword, and the promise they come together to create.

He'll meet Li Xiangyi again, next time without a rink barrier between them.

The competition is over.

The dream is not.

~*~

One year later, the headlines read, 'Figure Skater Li Xiangyi Suffers Freak Accident After Fourth Podium At World Championships'.

Six months later: 'Li Xiangyi Retires From Competitive Skating At 20 Due To Injuries, Ends Start To Flourishing Career'.

Another year later, and the news has no mention of him at all.

~*~

Five years after that, Fang Duobing wins his first medal as a senior skater, on a national level.

Li Xiangyi isn't there.

—————

Yuri!!! On Ice AU, anyone?

(to be continued)

[mahou-mogai]

-magigirl / gendermagigirl

[pt: -magigirl / gendermagigirl /end pt]

A gender system connected to magical girls, being a magical girl, magical girl media, etc. Not exclusive to girls or fem-aligned individuals, just those who strongly identify with/as magical girls.

[flag id: a rectangular pride flag with 13 horizontal stripes. the stripes are mirrored at the center and outward in are: a thin scalloped stripe, a medium width simple lace stripe with hearts, a thin stripe, a thin scalloped stripe, a thin beaded stripe, a thinnes stripe, and the center stripe has a large bow in the center. hanging down from the center stripe is a beaded line with small bows hanging down. /end id]

[banner id: a banner with two sets of red and dark red lace at the bottom with a white outline. to the left is a small Cure Chocolat. in the center it reads "made by Mod Chocolat" /end id]

[impactvisualsolutions]

https://impactvisualsolutions.com.au/product/window-graphics/

[your-local-bookworm]

Forgotten Faults.

PERCY JACKSON × DAUGHTER OF ARES!READER.

Summary: Things get confusing when the son of Poseidon grows an unexplainable liking for a daughter of Ares who seems to be adamant on ignoring him.

Part 2

Warnings: Battle in Camp ?? Reader is hurt. Kampé. I don't know, honestly. Percy is a very confused teenager.

Note: This part is more focused on the battle than Percy and Reader's relationship, because it will only seem realistic as they're not yet very close.

Fourteen year old still, but Percy is preparing for his first real battle. He wonders if it'll be like the ones he watched in movies as a kid or that gory movie he watched with Paul when his mom wasn't home. He hopes it's not the latter.

It was the biggest military operation he'd ever seen at camp. Everyone was at the clearing, dressed in full battle armour, but this time it wasn't for capture the flag. The Hephaestus cabin had set up traps around the entrance to the Labyrinth razor wire, pits filled with pots of Greek fire, rows of sharpened sticks to deflect a charge. Beckendorf was manning two catapults the size of pickup trucks, already primed and aimed at Zeus's Fist. Apollo's and Hermes's cabins were scattered in the woods with bows ready. Many had taken up positions in the trees. Even the dryads were armed with bows, and the satyrs trotted around with wooden cudgels and shields made of rough tree bark. Annabeth went to join her brethren from the Athena cabin, who had set up a command tent and were directing operations. A grey banner with an owl fluttered outside the tent. The security chief, Argus, stood guard at the door. Aphrodite's children were running around, straightening everybody's armour and offering to comb the tangles out of the horsehair plumes. Even Dionysus's kids had found something to do. The god himself was still nowhere to be seen. The Ares cabin was on the front line, drilling in phalanx formation with Clarisse calling orders. He failed to track Y/N, though. Also Grover and ... where's Nico??

It appears all of Percy's friends chosen to disguise themselves. Or not, he spotted Nico exiting the Apollo cabin, followed closely by Y/N. Nico took positioned himself beside the Dionysus kids while she came running up to where Chiron was next to him.

"We're all ready, Chiron." she said, boldness radiating off her like moonlight. It set her aglow. It was a nice thing to remember if he died in this battle. He thought of his mom and Paul, Annabeth and Grover, Tyson, Luke, Clarisse and her. So many lives at risks just because some lousy gods got into a fight with their father... grandfather... whatever.

Y/N took a place beside him. "You alright Jackson?"

"Couldn't be any more prepared for this"

When it began it was unlike anything he'd been in before. But much more like the kid's movies, must be because of the monsters. Paul's movie was only humans and horses. When Kampé attacked the Athena tent, Percy and Annabeth stroke back, but the poison was clouding them both.

"Come on" he shouted "We need help!"

But no help came. Everyone was either down or scared or fighting. And when Kampé took a go at Annabeth, Percy was convinced he'll have to witness his friend die, because Chiron's arrows were too late and so was Percy.

Then a sword sprouted through Kampé and Percy saw your figure emerge from behind. Kampé fell and last of Chiron's arrows hit Y/N instead.

Y/N let out a scream as the arrow bit into her flesh and blood streamed down her arm. Her knees hit the ground splattered with her own blood. Percy's heart plummeted.

"Now" Annabeth shouted, eyes trailing the fallen figure beside her. She rose and almost hit Kampé. Almost. But Kampé was fast and in the next five seconds, Annbeth too rolled onto the ground, crying in pain, with blood pouring from the side of her head

To Percy's great, no, huge .. wait. Provoking every bit of satisfaction in Percy's heart, the next cry he heard was from Kampé as Mrs. O'Leary threw her away like a discarded can of soft drink.

His eyes followed upon Daedalus and Briars the hundred handed one charging into battle

When the chaos deceded and night sky ruled over them, Percy retured to his friends. He was more glad than he can express when he found them all on one piece.

Dinner had no order and class, every demigod sat with their friends and Percy found Annabeth, Grover, Nico, Y/N and a Apollo guy, Will Solace? Will Slice? Will Whatever. Sitting on the Poseidon table. His pride soared but that was before his brain clicked and concluded that the Apollo cabin were treating to everyone and had set up their agenda in the dining space.

He took his short stroll up to Cabin 3's table.

Y/N, Will and Annabeth were indulged in conversation Nico tried to fight of his fatigue while Will bandaged around Y/N's shoulder, the gaping black hole now under protective layers of gauge.

"Not a summer goes by that I don't have to treat your bloody wounds." Will scolded her

"You humour me, Solace. This is only my second summer in camp half-blood."

"And you've got yourself in trouble at least a dozen times. Your arms are all scarred"

"It's because I am a dutiful camper. A born warrior. I wear my scars like badges of honour and braver--."

"You are born clumsy."

"I can still punch you."

"Not with a shoulder like that."

"Hey there everyone?" Percy announced his presence

'He-Hey seaweed brain." Annabeth smiled

"Hello Jackson."

"Hi Percy, now before everything else. You got any injuries I should know about."

"Oh, no i don't " Percy replied, "Could've just taken a shower if I did anyway."

"You know what Will?" Y/N turned to the said boy, "Never thought of it this way, but what if I throw myself in a fire pit and see if it heals my injuries?"

Percy wasn't sure if he's ever seen her joke.

"And what if you don't?" Will replied, tugging the last of gauge around her shoulders. He sat beside Nico.

"You shouldn't, really" Annabeth added, looking genuinely concerned.

"Alright." Y/N shrugged.

"I'll head to my cabin. See you lot later" Annabeth stood up. "Thank you once again Y/N, goodnight. You too Percy."

"Goodnight, Wise girl."

"Goodnight Anne, don't worry about it too much."

Percy turned to Y/N when Annabeth departed, "What were you talking about?"

"Luke."

"Oh" Percy didn't want to think of him now. " Can I ask you something?"

Percy knew he shouldn't. Speaking facts, every bit of conscience that remained inside his head bargained not to. But he did anyway.

"Why do you hate me?" No no no. That came out wrong. He resisted from face palming into the table.

"What?" Y/N stared at him. Similar expressions were to be casted upon the two boys sitting with them.

"You.. you always seem to uh, ignore me." He stumbled upon his words. Not as bad as his heartbeat though.

"The Ares and Poseidon children don't have the best relationship now, do they?"

"It feels more than that."

Y/N remained silent. Engulfed in her thoughts.

"When I first came to camp, last summer. A few week after that, you dropped a wave on me. By the lake."

Memories flooded his brain, that was her?!

"Never apologised." Y/N added.

"I didn't know it was you!!"

"You completely ruined my sketchbook!"

"Unintentionally! I am sorry." Percy was redeemed speechless.

"As you should be."

"I am. Really. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you. But if you're looking for a way to pay me back, could you please bring me a glass of water?"

"Sure"

Moments later when Percy came back with a bottle full of water. Y/N was once again engaged in talking with Will Solace. He handed it to her.

"Thank you."

"Thank you too. For saving our heads back there."

"We're all in this together, Jackson."

"So, peace?" Percy suggested, thrusting his hand forward. Excitement erupted in his chest when she took it.

"For now, Goodnight boys." And she walked of i to the night.

"Goodnight!" Will called back.

'Now that is a win." Percy thought to himself on his way back to Cabin 3.

Well, percy and reader are friends now, i do have plans for a few mort parts to this.

[soporine]

くコ:彡 ; AMORWEAPONiC

a gender connected to weapons and lovecore/cutecore aesthetics. weapon skins with hearts or ribbons or bows, anything 'girly' laced around a flamethrower, chainsaw, gatling gun, etc. – anything works as the bearer desires ♡

some potential examples of this are the heartthrob from call of duty and the heartblade from murder mystery 2 !

🐚 requested by no one / coined by me ♡

while you're here , remember your daily click for palestine , and check out gazafunds.com for places to donate and support families in need !

[PT]: Amorweaponic, a gender connected to weapons and lovecore/cutecore aesthetics. Weapon skins with hearts or ribbons or bows, 'girly' things laced around a flamethrower, chainsaw, gatling gun, etc. – anything works as the bearer desires!

Some potential examples of this are the Heartthrob from Call of Duty and the Heartblade from Murder Mystery 2. [/END PT]

Image IDs are attached to the alt text of each image, including the flags & banners!

[talonabraxas]

Madana Gopala “God of Love” Talon Abraxas

The form of Krishna known as Madanagopala is to be found in the sculptural programme of several Vaishnava temples of the Vijayayanagara era (fourteenth to eighteenth century) in southern India and, in particular, Tamil Nadu.

Madana is sweet enchantment, the seducer of the mind, and Gopala is the youthful herder of cows. In this form, Krishna has absorbed and subsumed the qualities of the god of love and sexual passion, Manmatha or Kama. The heats of lust and infatuation have been transformed into the rich rasa of transcendental love. Madanagopala sweetly sings and plays His flute, calling all to approach this exalted disposition – entering His world of luscious, enlightened duality where manifest form is the scintillating vibration of His eternal love play.

Madanagopala may be ten- or eight-armed and is depicted standing or seated upon a hexagon. As well as His flute, He carries various implements. Starting at the deity’s top right is the solar discus or chakra, the elephant goad/hook (ankusa) and then the flower arrow. From the top left, he holds the sacred conch (sankha), the three corded noose (pasa), and the sugarcane bow (ikshukodanda). The flower bow and arrow are both implements normally carried by Kama and his consort Rati, the goddess of pleasurable sensual enjoyment. Here, however, they are depicted as devotees of the Lord and they offer a garland of wild flowers from all seasons (vanamala). The single arrow held by Madanagopala is representative of Kama’s five powerful arrows of desire, each arrow representing a unique aspect of passion: excitement (unmadana), heat (tapana), drying up (sosana), paralyzing of normal bodily functions (stambhana) and full infatuation (sammohana).

The god of sensual love, Kama, is known by various epithets – Manmatha, Kandarpa, Madana, and Mara. Here He is shown on Krishna’s right. He holds aloft his standard – the makara banner from which Kama gets the additional name of Makaradhvaja, meaning that his flag is marked with the makara. It is symbolic of potent creation and fertility. Kama’s skin colour (nupura) is red, though variant forms are green or golden yellow. His father is Vishnu. The most famous mythological episode involving Kama is his having been burnt to ashes by Siva, whose meditation Kama had sought to disturb. Kama went on to be reborn as Krishna’s son, Pradyumna. He has two consorts, Priti (delight) and Rati (pleasure).

Rati is depicted on Madanagopala’s left. She is the daughter of Daksa Prajapati and her presence is likened to the youthful unfoldment of Vasant (spring) and with it, the longing in all nature for procreation. She is exceedingly attractive and well versed in seductive arts. Her hair is piled up into an elaborate ornamental knot (kesabandha), secured with a golden band decorated with fresh spring leaves and flowers. These impressive south Indian coiffures are to be seen on the figures of queens, princesses and high-ranking temple patrons.

As a pair, Kama and Rati are carved on pillars leading to the garbha griha. Their animal vehicles (vahanas), the goose, swan or parrot, are interchangeable. Lovely forms can be seen in the 17th century marriage hall (kalyana mandapa) in Kanchipuram’s Varadaraja temple. Outstanding even in the superlative world of Vijayanagara sculptural art are the splendid examples in Sri Villiputtar’s Andal temple complex. Here Rati sits astride a goose, admiring her own reflection in a mirror held aloft in her left hand, while the right holds a kohl stick.

Seated in the center at the bottom of the painting is Vishnu’s chief vahana, Garuda. He is shown as per his description in the Vishnu-dharmottara, with a body the color of an emerald, fierce bulging eyes and an eagle beak. There are many variant forms of Garuda – in North India one does not tend to see Garuda associated with Krishna, however, in the south, it is more frequent. In Vaishnava temples, Garuda is installed in a small shrine facing the garba griha (home of the main deity), or on a high pillar within the temple compound, or just outside the main entrance, as in Puri’s celebrated Jagganath temple.

Forming a canopy over Madanagopala’s head is the lush foliage of a Kalpakataru or wish-fulfilling tree. The tree boasts many types of flowers and fruits and is perpetually in bloom. It is a feature of the god’s celestial realms. Nestled within its foliage are several kili (parrots) and a mayil (peacock). Krishna cherishes both types of bird and is said to have several as pets. Midway to Madanagopala’s right is his favorite tree, the kadamba. It bears small, globular orange/yellow flowers with a beautiful perfume. In season, the flowers are much favoured for use as garlands. Growing at the Lord’s feet are a profusion of flowering sacred tulasi, a plant considered an incarnated goddess. Tulasi leaves are used as offerings to all Vaishnava deities and its wood is favoured for use in malas for mantra sadhana.

The two brown decorative panels at the sides of the arch display kinnaras. The term kinnara translates as something like ‘what are these?’ as they are a bizarre and beautiful com-posite of various creatures, animal, human and divine. They are usually shown playing musical instruments – especially, the veena. Kinnaras have intoxicating siren-like voices, but are aus-picious in nature and loving by disposition. They are often carved in light relief on temple pillars.

Lastly, within the orange border are two decorated friezes of the Vaishnava sectarian marking or Namam. The Namam is worn on the forehead and is typically of two forms (of course, there are variants). The form depicted on the upper strip is the Vadagalai which is U-shaped. The one on the lower strip is the Tengalai which is Y or V shaped. The central stripe between the U or V is known as the Tiruchurnam and is traditionally made of a lime and saffron mix or red ocher. The meaning of the Tiruchurnam is the same as that of the bindu: the whole-ness of divinity and the point of utmost potency from which all manifests. The wearing of the Namam is a highly important preparation for all kinds of ritual action or worship within the Vaishnava fold and is considered to be sanctifying for both the wearer and observer.

[justdillydally]

Will You Still Love Me? (Gwayne Hightower x OFC) 2

https://www.tumblr.com/justdillydally/759136953047433216/will-you-still-love-me-gwayne-hightower-x-ofc-1?source=share Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: The tourney commences. Rhaella was reunited with her cousin and her guise as a minstrel was short lived.

Chapter Rating/Trigger Warning for the chapter:  Teen and up audiences, non-graphic description of violence (they're in a tourney)

Note: I finally had a rough draft on how things will go in the story. It’s a slow burn as I mentioned and it looked like I might need to turn it into a trilogy if people still reads this. The first part (WYSLM) will have around eight or so chapters. I try to be fateful to the canon but I have to tweak up some details to make it work in the fic. Thank you for the kudos and reblogs from the previous chapter. I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy this one!

@deniixlovezelda @loverslikeghosts

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Sunlight stretched across the field, once barren but now vibrant with a multitude of tents adorned with colorful banners bearing the coats of arms of the competing knights and noble houses. As the dew evaporated from the grass and the morning birds serenaded the new day, the arena buzzed with life. Spectators filled the stands, the clamor of preparations mingling with the excitement in the air.

Rhaella had hurriedly left the Red Keep as soon as she broke her fast, despite Princess Rhaenyra’s insistence that she stay in bed until the babe arrived. Dressed in a full-length gown of bronze and black, with intricate red embroidery, she made her way to the Royce tent. Her eyes danced over the elaborate designs of the Great Houses' tents, a stark contrast to the simpler attire of the smaller houses. The sounds of clanking metal, neighing horses, hushed conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter created a lively backdrop.

Finding the Royce tent was easy; its bronze fabric with black iron studs and the flag proudly displaying their sigil made it unmistakable. She lifted the flap and stepped inside, her gaze quickly taking in the unfamiliar faces. Two men stood by—one older, and the other around her age—while the only familiar face was that of her cousin, fully armored.

“Willam!” She greeted him with a broad smile, noting the similarity in their dark hair and shared features.

“Rhaella.” His voice was warm, and he welcomed her with an embrace. “You’ve grown up so much since I last saw you.”

She stepped back, her eyes assessing the changes in him. “And you’re a knight now. I’m impressed.”

Willam stood tall with a grin. “You should hear the tales of my exploits, cousin.”

She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. “I can only imagine the heroic stories you’ve accumulated.”

“Where is Ser Qarl?” He gestured to a boy, who promptly fetched chairs from the corner.

“I sent him to wait in the arena. He’s doing his duty well as my protector,” she assured him, wary of whom she could trust in King’s Landing, a place teeming with intrigue.

The boy arranged the chairs, and Willam addressed him. “Make sure my steed is ready, Allard.”

The older man bowed and left, while the boy returned to polishing Willam’s helm.

“How is Runestone?” Rhaella inquired as she took a seat opposite her cousin. Leaving home had been hard, but it comforted her to know it was in capable hands.

“Still standing, my lady. Leowyn is managing things efficiently in your absence.”

Relief washed over her, but concern quickly followed. “And Uncle Gerold? I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Is he aiding Leowyn?”

Willam’s expression grew serious. “He’s been occupied with the Hilltribes near the Gates of the Moon. Last I heard, they were driven back near Kingsroad.”

A worried look crossed Rhaella’s face, but she had a smile to cover it. “I’ll return to Runestone after my name day. I’m eager to help in any way I can. I miss the Vale.”

“You’ve missed the Vale, and not your charming cousin?” Willam’s smirk was playful, aimed at lightening the mood.

Rhaella laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Of course, I miss you too, but King’s Landing is so different from home.”

“We all miss your presence at Runestone. We look forward to your return,” he said earnestly.

The blare of trumpets and the roar of the crowd signaled the start of the tourney. Their conversation halted as they both stood.

Looking up at Willam, Rhaella placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes brimming with pride. “I bid you good fortune in the tourney, Ser Willam.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Willam bowed gracefully.

With a playful smirk, Rhaella added, “Show them what a Royce is made of.”

“I shall do my best not to disappoint,” he replied with a grin.

As Rhaella prepared to leave the tent, she froze. Her heart raced as she caught sight of Ser Gwayne Hightower on his steed, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Instinctively, she ducked back inside the tent, her hand clutching her chest.

Willam’s concerned voice broke her reverie. “Lady Rhaella, is everything alright?”

Turning sharply, she met his worried gaze. Hesitation marked her tone. “It’s—it’s that Hightower knight.”

Willam’s eyes widened slightly as he opened the tent’s flap to scan the field. “Ser Gwayne Hightower? Are you hiding from him?” He closed the flap and returned to her.

Her fingers fidgeted, and she avoided his eyes. “He might have a reason to suspect that I’m a minstrel.”

Willam’s lips twitched in amusement. “Pray tell, dear cousin?”

Rhaella hesitated, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for the right words. Finally, she sighed. “Long story short, I needed money.”

Willam’s snort was barely restrained. “You needed money? And you chose to become a traveling bard?”

“I was training near the Roseroad. Ser Qarl and I needed to eat but had little coin.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she reasoned to him.

Willam’s amusement faded. “Just the two of you in the woods?”

Rhaella straightened, her voice defensive. “In King’s Landing, they don’t train ladies in combat. I use riding as an excuse, and Ser Qarl helps me practice.”

Willam’s tone grew serious. “It’s dangerous, Rhaella. People might start whispering about you and your sworn sword.”

She met his gaze firmly. “We’re not far from King’s Landing, and Ser Qarl is loyal. He’d never act dishonorably. You know that.”

Willam shook his head, sighing. “I’m not questioning either of you, but you’re the heir to Runestone. You need to be cautious.”

Rhaella’s expression softened with understanding. “If I’m to defend and rule Runestone, I need more than just words and courtesy. I’ll be careful, cousin.” She nodded in agreement.

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The stands buzzed with excitement as lords, ladies, and smallfolk alike filled the seats, eager to cheer for their champions. The vibrant colors of the banners fluttered in the breeze, and the noise of anticipation mingled with the occasional burst of laughter. Rhaella, having missed the early matches, finally made her way to the royal box.

King Viserys and Queen Alicent turned to her as she approached. “Where have you been? You nearly missed House Royce’s turn,” the King inquired, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Rhaella replied softly as she took her seat beside Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. “Princess, My Lord” she greeted them with a nod before turning her attention to the arena. The royal box was filled with the royal family, save for the toddlers and Princess Rhaenyra, who was resting as advised by the Maesters. Behind them, the small council lords occupied their seats.

A flutter of anxiety gripped her. What if Ser Gwayne doesn’t recognize me at all? After all, I’m not in my usual attire, and my hair is styled differently. The gods must be merciful if that’s the case.

Down in the arena, Ser Willam Royce charged against a knight from House Bettley. With a resounding clash, Willam’s lance struck his opponent’s helmet, though the opposing knight managed a hit on Willam’s shoulder. Despite the blow, Willam remained steadfast on his stallion, while his competitor was thrown to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Rhaella clapped with enthusiasm. Willam was announced the victor, and the arena cleared for the next match.

Her heart skipped a beat when the announcer declared the next bout would be between Ser Gwayne Hightower and Ser Erren Appleton. Rhaella held her breath, hoping for a distraction or change of fate.

Before the match began, Ser Gwayne Hightower guided his steed toward the royal box, his visor raised and a grin playing on his lips. “For the Lady Rhaella Targaryen,” he called out, his voice carrying across the arena. “Her beauty is an inspiration to minstrels. May I have this favor?” He raised his lance, the sun glinting off its metal.

Rhaella felt the eyes of everyone in the box, especially the Queen, on her. “Ser Gwayne,” she said, her voice steady as she accepted the ribbon and flower. Despite her irritation, she managed a polite smile as she fastened the favor to his lance.

Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. The cheers of the crowd and the scrutiny of the royal box faded into the background. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain composed, even as her lips tightened into a thin line.

As Ser Gwayne resumed his position and lowered his visor, the match commenced. Rhaella watched intently, her eyes tracking his every move. Despite her disdain for the Hightower, she couldn’t deny his skill. His strikes were precise, unhorsing his opponents with apparent ease. Each victory was followed by a growing sense of frustration and begrudging admiration from her something she won’t admit openly.

When the matches paused for an intermission, Rhaella headed toward the edge of the tourney grounds, planning to catch up with her cousin. But fate had other plans. Ser Gwayne appeared, his stride confident and his eyes twinkling with amusement. He approached her with a smirk.

“Lady Targaryen,” he greeted, bowing slightly, though his tone was more teasing than respectful. “I should thank you. Your favor seems to have brought me good fortune.”

Rhaella raised an eyebrow, her voice without warmth “Perhaps you should. I’m sure it was entirely my favor that kept you from falling off your horse.”

Gwayne chuckled, nodding. “It’s possible my skill had something to do with it,” he said, “but your favor certainly didn’t hurt. I must admit, you’ve surprised me, Lady Targaryen. I hadn’t expected a minstrel to secure a place at the royal box.”

“And you were too eager to believe that’s all I am,” Rhaella retorted, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug.

Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re not as discreet as you think, my lady. A lady hiding behind a minstrel’s guise?” He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.

Rhaella stiffened, her discomfort barely concealed. She forced a polite smile, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is it praise you seek, Ser Gwayne? Surely winning a few matches should be sufficient.”

Gwayne’s smile widened, his gaze lingering on her. “Victory is sweeter when noticed by those who appreciate it. You were watching closely, weren’t you?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. Her lips curled into a smile yet her eyes were set ablazed, it reminded Ser Gwayne of Rhaella’s father. “I was watching the tourney, Ser Gwayne, just as everyone else was. You simply happened to be part of it.”

“And yet, you seem to be quite invested in my performance. Perhaps you enjoy the thrill of seeing me unhorse my opponents or is there something more?” Gwayne replied smoothly.

Her nose crinkled in the accusation. “I watch the tourney to appreciate the fine display of skill by knights. Your victories are impressive, but hardly a matter of personal concern to me.”

“You agree, it is impressive?” Gwayne’s grin widened, finding satisfaction with the reaction he was stirring within her. “And yet, you seem to be quite engrossed. It’s as if you are here to support me and not your own House.”

Rhaella never saw a reason to detest the Hightowers until Gwayne. The Queen has been dutiful to the King and despite her aloofness, she was kind to her and let her play with her children.  “Your confidence in yourself is admirable, Ser. You have more rounds to win, after all. It would be a shame if you were to lose.”

“I will certainly do well with the favor you bestow upon me,” he replied. The silence stretched between them as he gave her a slight bow. “Until the next round, then, Lady Targaryen.”

“Ser Gwayne.” She curtsied, her eyes following him as he walked away. Enjoy your victory until you can.

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Back in the royal box, Queen Alicent sat beside King Viserys who was busy conversing with Lord Corlys and the other Lords in the small council. The discussion of their favorite knights from the tourney was the main subject of their chattering.

Queen Alicent caught sight of her brother, and the unmistakable Heir of Runestone. Worry etched on her face, trying to decipher what the two could be talking about. Her fingers tapped the chair, watching Gwayne smiled at Rhaella. How did Gwayne know her? She has not been in Court when he last visited the Capitol, and she was with Gwayne since he arrived yesterday.

[hidekomoon]

And indeed, is there not something holy about a great kitchen? Those vaults of soot-darkened stone far above me, where the hams and strings of onions and bunches of dried herbs dangle, looking somewhat like the regimental banners that unfurl above the aisles of old churches. The cool, echoing flags scrubbed spotless twice a day by votive persons on their knees. The scoured gleam of row upon row of metal vessels dangling from hooks or reposing on their shelves till needed with the air of so many chalices waiting for the celebration of the sacrament of food. And the range like an altar, before which my mother bowed in perpetual homage, a fringe of sweat upon her upper lip and fire glowing in her cheeks.

The Kitchen Child, Angela Carter

[chronosdawn]

don't be shy, you can rewrite the howl's plot while still making the crossover 💞💞 (the feral dynamic between howl reader and wotw scara would be so funny (tired exasperated reader vs jaded simpering brat scara lmao)

In reference to this post.

You get it anon, you get the dynamic I'm going for.

Sadly I don't think I can commit to rewriting the whole plot of the movie because that would be a fairly tremendous undertaking (especially when I already have quite a few WIPs that I'm slowly chipping away at). However, because I really love this concept and as a thank you for being my first ask, I have written a little drabble for you anon. I hope you enjoy it!

I'm also open to taking asks about this AU and may write some more drabbles for it in the future so keep your eyes peeled!

A lone figure stood at the mouth of the alleyway leading to the main square, the dark colors of his outfit at odds with the cheerful banners and fluttering flags adorning the nearby buildings. His countenance too, did not match that of the other parade-goers, for if one were to peer into the shadow cast by his wide-brimmed hat, they would find his features twisted in bitter fury—his eyes trained not on the merry townsfolk, but the two figures soaring high above them, one with their arm wrapped around the other.

The figure sank his teeth into the skin of his lip. Even though he’d been working at pursuing you for some time now, he hadn’t expected you to make a trip into town today, not with all the soldiers and crowds. It had been so long since he’d been this close to you that it’d made him desperate, acting with far too much haste and not enough forethought to keep you from getting away. It hurt more, somehow, to have come so close only to have you slip right through his fingers. 

Again.

A faint noise like that of shifting fabric alerted the figure to a presence behind him and Scaramouche, the Wizard of the Waste, turned to face one of his poor excuses for a servant. 

The creature made of writhing shadows bowed deeply, arm held over its chest where its heart had once been before the wizard had carved it out and replaced it with his own dark magic.

“My apologies, my Lord,” the thing rasped, “the sorcerer has escaped.”

Scaramouche’s expression twisted further in distaste as he hissed through his teeth, “yes, I could see that much.” He turned back to where your retreating figure still hung in the sky, his fingers twitching at his sides as though he might reach out and pluck you from it. “At least tell me you’re still following them.”

“The others are trailing them from the ground, my Lord. Once they descend, we shall inform you of their whereabouts immediately and attempt to seize the sorcerer—”

“No,” Scaramouche interrupted, keeping his gaze trained on you. “By the time you catch up to them, they’ll be long gone. Follow the other one, the peasant looking fellow they have with them. Find out where he lives and report it to me immediately.” 

“As you wish my Lord.” The creature’s form started to disperse, the shadows that made up its body slithering away into the dark nooks and crannies of the crumbling alleyway stonework.

“One last thing before you go.” Scaramouche raised a hand, black-purple smoke curling around his pale fingers. A hiss of pain came from behind him as the magic making up the creature’s body began to constrict, distorting its shape even further from anything that could have once been called human. “I’ll be lenient on this occasion, but the next time you disappoint me, well,” his tone dropped, turning deadly, “I have no need for useless things, do I?”

“No, m—my Lord,” the thing stammered out, the tearing vocal cords in its throat rendering the sound akin to nails being scrapped across a chalkboard. 

“Go on then.” All at once the magic at the wizard’s fingertips vanished, and the creature wasted no time in making its exit, leaving Scaramouche alone in the alleyway.

You were so far away now it was difficult to make out the shape of your form—where you ended and the irksome worm pressed against your side began. He couldn’t stand it, the thought of someone else at your side—a place that used to belong to him. No, a place that still belonged to him, and would continue to, regardless of your feelings on the matter. 

But no matter how irritating it was to see someone else touching you, he’d have been a fool not to see it for the opportunity it was. 

Scaramouche knew you, knew that no matter how much you liked to run and hide away from your problems, there was a kindness in you that you’d never quite managed to truly ignore. If some unfortunate soul, particularly one you’d already shown a hint of favor to, were to turn up at your door, cursed and bereft of other options, you’d surely allow them into your home.  And if that cursed individual just so happened to be carrying a talisman upon their person that contained enough of a wizard's magic to break past the infernal seal you kept on the door of your so-called castle, they would be able to lead said wizard right to you.

How fortunate then, Scaramouche thought, that he now had someone he wanted to curse with every fiber of his being.

And once the fool allowed him access to your residence, all he had to do was find where you were keeping your heart hidden away and take it for himself.