#knights of the blazing sun

[we-are-knight]

Knights of the Blazing Sun / Knight of Bretonnia, by Mihail Gard

[distantdarlings]

NO ONE LIKE YOU // t. riddle

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* (Thank you to @orphicmortala for the request!) After having a very difficult meeting with his followers, Tom decides to take some frustrations out on you. He ends up getting a little too enthusiastic. (Smut, Angst)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (For the first part), piv - no protection, hair pulling, oral - m!receiving, mention of blood, Tom is kind of mean, rough sex, (very slight) pain play, dom!Tom, Reader eventually uses safe word, language, not fully proofread, fem reader (lmk if I missed anything)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Animal - Troye Sivan

- - -

The final light of day flashed through the Head Boy’s dorm room. It cast a honeyed glow around you for only a moment before pitching the whole world into blackness. When the sun disappeared behind the mountains along the edge of Hogwarts, it was always a very quick descent to dark. It wasn’t very gradient, just sudden.

Almost as soon as the light had dissipated, the door flew open, nearly hitting the stone wall behind it. You shot up from the bed you were lounging on. A chilled wind blew in from the hallway, sending wild flickers through the fire in the corner.

“Tom,” you breathed.

The man in question stood in the doorway, fuming silently. His jaw was clenched and ticking, his eyes dark and frenzied. You swallowed thickly at the animalistic energy pouring off of his body. What had happened?

He slammed the door shut behind him, a slight flinch shocking through your body at the loud sound. He stomped across the room, barely paying you any mind. He came to a stop in front of the blazing fireplace. His hands began roughly ripping some papers. You got to your feet.

“Tom?” you called gently, waltzing over to him. Your hands reached out to press a comforting touch to him when he turned abruptly.

“What?” he growled. You stepped back, dropping your hands immediately. He had never looked at you like this before. The fire in his eyes nearly reflected the blaze within the stone in front of you.

“I–I’m sorry, I was just…”

“Darling, I’m sorry,” he sighs, blowing air through his nose. “It’s been a rough day.”

“What happened?” you asked, stepping closer to him again. You wanted to comfort him. A small groan leaves him as he tosses the remains of the shredded papers into the flames. Your eyes flickered to the fiery confetti, wondering what it once had been.

“What was that?” you ask, finally coming to place your hands on his shoulders.

“Nothing, do not worry yourself with matters of the Knights,” he whispered.

“What can I do to help?” you ask, staring up at him with such quiet adoration. His eyes found yours, basking in the innocence pooled within them. He could hardly bear to see you so concerned with him, especially when his anger came from such a vile source. Those pathetic boys tried to impress him by insisting they’d found new information for him and presented it before the whole group. They’d laid out more information of his lowly bringing-up, discussing new details about his mother they may have found.

He’d slammed his fists on the table, demanding to know why they’d been looking into his family history. They had immediately snapped their jaws shut, unsure how to respond. Perhaps they’d thought he’d be happy with them for finding more information on his parents. He couldn’t care any less about his worthless parents. All he cared about was his plans. He thought that had been obvious, but apparently, these boys had thought otherwise. He was in a mind to completely expel them from the group and obliviate them.

“My love,” he whispered, placing a gentle but firm hand beneath her jaw. He’d never loved, and he never would. You knew this well and accepted it for what it was—you and Tom weren’t ‘dating,’ but he was yours, and you were his. It wasn’t necessarily love, but it was in your own way. You couldn’t really explain it, but you both felt it.

“I need you, darling,” he whispered against your ear, placing his lips to the skin there. You felt the electricity humming beneath his flesh. Your lips shuddered a bit in anticipation. You nodded, accepting him into you.

That was all he needed to roughly grab your face and press hot, fast kisses to you. He satiated his every need against your tongue, taking what he wanted. You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shattered you and held you together.

He walked you back to his bed and let you fall down against it. He kept you pinned beneath his weight, his hands hungry and wanting. They gripped and spared you, leaving hard, peppered bruises in their wake. He was always rough with you, fucking and biting and choking. He didn’t make love, and you didn’t want him to. You’d come to him for the dark passion he exuded through his body. If you’d wanted something gentle, you’d have looked around Hufflepuff. That wasn’t an insult to your house, of course. You just knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands came up to rip the front of your shirt open, ignoring the way a button or two flung across the room. He’d get you a new shirt later. A low groan sounded in his throat as his fingers tightened around your breasts, kneading them with his long, deft fingers. He placed his face against your chest, inhaling deeply and pressing painful bruises on you. You whined at the feeling, beckoning him away from your pained skin.

“Shut up. I’ll do what I want,” he growled, continuing to mark you as painfully as before. His sharp teeth seared into your flesh, pulling blood to the surface and occasionally past it. When he finally pulled away, a small drop of bloodied saliva dripped from his lips as if in slow motion. You sighed at the visual, the heat beginning to pool rapidly between your legs.

He crawled up your body, quickly unbuckling and pushing his belt through the loops in his trousers. When it was free, he slid the button through its slit and shoved his pants down to his knees. He dropped his bottoms and released himself against his stomach. The hot skin was reddened and beating with his heart. You gasped at the sight, wanting to feel him within you so desperately.

“You know what to do,” he groaned. He curled fingers into your hair, roughly shoving your face toward him. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, watching as he panted in anticipation. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were parted, a hint of your blood still tattooed over his perfectly white teeth. Fuck, he looked gorgeous.

As your tongue came forth to swipe over his length as slowly as he’d allow you to, you realized you wouldn’t be finishing with him anytime soon. He intended to go as far as you could and then some. The anger built up in his chest was enough for seven men, and he loved nothing more than taking it out on you.

“Ah, you perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as you took him completely into your mouth. Despite his size, you did your best to push him to the very back of your throat, allowing him to caress you in places you’d never been touched before. His hands were tight against your scalp, forcing you to stay completely still as he bucked his hips into you. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but the feeling of being able to please him had you staying planted in place.

“You always take me so well,” he sighed, head angled toward the ceiling. Your thighs pressed so tightly together you thought they might combust. He was so perfect. “No one like you, no one like you, no one like you…” He mumbled endlessly, pushing those words into your brain.

You wanted him so badly—all you could think about was him. All you could see, smell, hear, taste was him. He surrounded you, forcing you to take him in every way you could. Every sense was blinded by him. And that was just how he liked you—drowning in him.

He pulled you from him before he could finish. He wanted to finish within you, just as he always did. You knew him well enough to turn yourself around and ready yourself to accept him. He tended to follow a bit of a pattern when fucking you, one you’d started to catch on to. He never had to ask you for anything anymore; you just did it.

He flipped your skirt over your ass, revealing the lack of bottoms beneath. Another groan left his lips as he placed his fingers over you, working every part of you apart like clockwork. He moved you open, lathering you in your arousal, marking your insides with his claim.

When he removed his hand from you and placed both of them on your hips, you bit your arm, preparing for him to split you down the middle. No matter how often the two of you had sex, you seemed to never adjust to his size. He always had to move as slowly as he could to work you apart gently. Perhaps you were a bit more sensitive down there than others, but he was always patient. Except for today, it seemed.

With little more than a brief hesitation at the start, he slid himself into you all in one go. A strangled gasp left you at the feeling. He wasted no time beginning to pound himself into you. He cared nothing of the pathetic whines and screams coming from your lips. Your hands white-knuckled the sheets as you begged him to slow down, to be gentler, anything. He didn’t fucking care. He wrapped a hand into your hair, using it as a bit of leverage. He was going to take out every bit of pent-up frustration on this tight cunt.

“Fuck, Slytherin!” you shrieked, the tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. He stopped immediately, his hips halting inside you. As if he was in a daze, Tom blinked rapidly and shook his head a bit. It felt as though he had been under a spell, the way he had been fucking into you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gently pulled himself out of you, a pitiful whine leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Hearing him say those words alone was enough to convince him how serious the situation was. Tom didn’t say sorry unless it was to a professor or to generally get someone off of his back. Usually, it was fake. This time, it wasn’t, and it rushed out of his lips before he could stop it.

He gently wrapped himself around you, slowly turning you and laying you back against his pillows. He kicked his pants down the rest of his legs and slipped the both of you beneath his comforter.

The cool green satin pressed softly against your hot skin, softly soothing it. He laid himself down behind you, his soft breath barely tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Hesitantly, his hand slid over your stomach. It seemed as though he wasn’t sure exactly how to comfort you, but was trying his best.

“Darling?” he whispered against your back.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he said. “I’m sorry that I…I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

A soft sigh left you. You’d never had to use your safe word with Tom before—had never even wanted to. Every aspect of the way Tom fucked had always intrigued you. The ways he handled you as if you were nothing to him but an outlet for his pleasure, the way he insisted on doing everything, the way he was genuinely concerned about your pleasure, despite himself. It often left you breathless.

Tonight, however, had been different. You felt less than you usually did when beneath him. Usually it was a nice feeling; like you were smaller, something for him to take care of. But tonight you’d felt pure hatred coursing through his body. You were scared that it was directed toward you.

“It’s not that, Tom,” you sighed. “I was worried that you were angry with me.”

His hands gently wrapped around you and helped you to turn toward him. His eyes watched you sternly. He wanted to put any affection that had built up inside him completely into you.

“I have never been angry with you—I was angry with my worthless fucking followers, always insisting they ruin my life in the most embarrassing ways possible.”

“Why would they do that?” You gasped, shocked that they’d even think of doing such a thing.

“They think that they’re helping or something,” he scoffed, jaw clenching. You could feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, slipping your eyes shut. “I hope I didn’t upset you further—it was just a bit too much, I suppose.”

He nods understandingly, saying nothing more. The quiet and safety you felt when with Tom had you falling into a particularly deep sleep. Though you tried to fight it off, you could feel Tom’s eyes on you, watching as you slowly drifted off.

The last thing you remembered before slipping fully into sleep was Tom’s hand gently against your cheek, his cold thumb caressing a hair away from your face.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt (if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[yourstardarling]

Astrology Observations: Fire Signs🔥

Think of fire placements as the heat bringers. The fire signs are filled with passion and a lot of raw energy. People with these placements can be seen as extroverts even when they themselves don’t identify with that notion. It’s cause they have an inner confidence within themselves that just exudes out.

🐏 I low key consider having an Aries Moon to be a debilitating placement. It’s mainly because Aries Moons had to learn to be emotionally independent and nurture themselves from a very young age. With the Mars influence, there’s often times a lot of conflict faced within family dynamics. A love hate relationship with family, they are the main ones that know how to get under their skin. Also, emotions are often times heightened and felt throughout the entire body. One moment it feels like we feel everything and then the next moment we’re back to normal.

🦁As bright as Leo risings are, they oftentimes carry a lot of inner insecurities. With Scorpio in the 4th house their home life was one of intensity and emotional trauma. Their family background is oftentimes something they rather not talk about, keeping it hidden from the public view. Leo Risings are the reason why I'll always hype up for Leo's to shine, because they have been in the dark for far too long.

🐴Mars In Sagittarius will go far and beyond when it comes to conflict. They're anger can become excessive and they will do the most to prove their point. That's why they'll oftentimes prefer to stay funny and optimistic so that they don't get pushed to their limit.

🐏Aries Placements aren’t always out to fight you. The thing about them is, they are always on guard. Think of them as knights ready to protect their castle from enemies. It’s more defensive than offensive. As soon as they feel like something threatens them, they will immediately address it. Once they’ve analyzed the situation, they can then decide whether to back off or go to war. It’s what separates them from Scorpio who don’t address things immediately, but let it simmer before striking.

🦁 Leo Suns are the most Leo placements, since they are literally the embodiment of the Sun. That is why most Leo Suns rep their sign so hard. They have a lot of pride about being a Leo and will not be afraid to let everyone know that. Also, a lot of them tend to have Lion Tattoos or an obsession with lions. May have loved the Lion king a lot more than other people, that movie was literally made for them. It’s really hard to not see a Leo Sun shine, the spotlight is always on them whether they like it or not. Unless the Sun falls in the 12th.

🐴Sagittarius Risings carry somewhat of a god complex within themselves. The sign is all about faith, so they hold strong beliefs about who they are and what they represent. They benefit a lot by finding a spiritual path that is individualistic to them. Even if they may not believe in God, they will always believe in themselves. This oftentimes works in their favor as I see they get away with things most people could not.

🐏Aries love to win, wherever you have Aries in your chart shows where you like to be a winner. It’s the go getting attitude that this placement brings to strive for victory. They are trailblazers, but if they see the trail not blazing, they are very quick to move on to the next endeavor. It’s cause the energy of Aries is short burst, it’s like an explosion and then it subsides to then explode again.

🦁Leo naturally shows us where we shine in our charts. It’s where we hold a lot of pride in ourselves for being good at something. This is our talents and the thing that makes us stand out. We can oftentimes become egotistical in this area of our lives, thinking we know what’s best. That is why Leo’s oftentimes get that egotistical criticism. However, Leo teaches us that we should be proud of our achievements and not allow others to dim our light. It’s important to have a humble heart, but also knowing your worth at the same time.

🐴Sagittarius is where we have good aim. We are often very lucky in this area of our lives. It is our lightning bolt and what we can often depend on to give us hope. The energy of Sagittarius is very expansive so the possibilities are endless with this sign. However, the Jupiterian nature makes most Sagittarius face the issue of excess. It’s important for them to redirect their aim and figure out where are they even heading. This is the mutable nature of Sag, always having to change the course of direction they are moving to. Sometimes the adventurous nature is not even something they choose to do, but have to in order to not be wandering around for no reason.

Each of the fire signs are really good at bringing attention to themselves. They are master storytellers because we have to remember they sit opposite the air signs. While the air signs tell stories about other people, the fire signs center the stories around themselves:

Aries placements are very open and honest about the hardships in their lives. They will tell you about the battles they have gone through and oftentimes glaze over issues like it wasn’t that serious. It’s because that experience in their lives is already over, so all they can do is move on. Meanwhile your over here looking at them like damn. Stories often involve them being the first to do something and how they triumphed over a situation they had.

Leo placements will reel you in with the theatrics. They will emphasize certain parts of the story to keep you entertained. It can be overly dramatized in order to get positive attention towards them. After all, Leo rules over the theater so these stories they tell about themselves have to be larger than life. As long as they gain positive feedback and make others feel good, they don’t care if they have to tweak some aspects of the story.

Sagitaurius placements will tell you stories about their adventures. Specifically stories involving their misadventures and how they ended up in bad situations. They hilariously look back upon these issues they face and usually it’s so unimaginable that it makes other people laugh. Someway somehow, they always manage to get back on their feet and things work out in their favor in the end. Situations that occur to these folks are always unique to them fr.

—

Also, this just my personal opinion Jesus was an Aries and had an Aries Rising. Hear me out. The whole lamb of God thing he had going on fits the signs association with lambs and rams. Baby lambs are born during the springtime, and Aries season begins the spring equinox. Jesus is the sacrificial lamb. In that sense, Aries is the first sacrifice and the sacrificial lamb that begins the zodiac cycle. All other signs are the followers/disciples of Aries. He’s God’s one and only son, because we only have one Sun. Aries is the exaltation of the Sun meaning that is where it’s at its full power. Don’t crucify me in the comments y'all this is just my speculation. I just don’t see Jesus as a Capricorn. Also, this man had to be real bold in order to tell the Roman’s and Rabbis to their face that their actions were wrong. That boldness just had to come from an Aries.

Anyways that is all.

- your Star Darling

[astroboots]

Kiss Me Again

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: You discover that Marc has a thing for lipstick

Content: Marc blushing -- Oh mai, domestic shenanigans, lotsa yearning, creampie, explicit sex babeh.

Credit: Inspired form Leslie's gorgeous Love Mark series and in particular this beautiful image. Part of the @moonknight-events Bingo scorecard Challenge: Morning After.

Word count: 3.5k

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS’ MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There is something about waking up in the morning to the sight of Marc standing in the kitchen.

The sight of that wide back turned to you. His firm shoulders fill out that t-shirt oh-so-perfectly, and you can make out the rounded curve of his bum practically bursting out of his jeans. The familiar rigid stiffness that is stitched into every nook and cranny of his frame while he's standing in front of the stove cooking you breakfast.

It's Sunday today, which means the familiar warm and breadlike smell of pancakes permeates the attic flat. It also means that Marc has let you sleep in.

God, what time is it?

Judging from the brightness of the sun, blinding your eyes, he must've let you sleep in late.

You glance at your wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting your eyes to make out the time.

Fuck! Eleven Twenty-Seven?!?!

You grumble, dragging yourself out of bed, grabbing the neatly folded clothes next to you and pulling them on haphazardly. "Why didn't you wake me? It's nearly noon."

Marc is unmoved by your accusatory tone. He flips the pan with a flashy move, flinging the pancake into the air before catching it with ease, right back into the pan.

"You were tired from last night."

He doesn't turn around, but you don’t need to catch the expression on his face when you can hear the playful smirk in his voice.

And he's not wrong. Marc did wear you out last night. The soreness between your thighs as you're making your way to him would prove as much. As does the state of the bed and its rumpled sheets.

You're practically hobbling your way to the kitchen when you  finally manage to join him and perch yourself on a stool near the counter.

From the corner of your eye, Marc turns ever so slightly until you finally catch the amused wry quirk of his lips in person.

"What?"

He doesn't answer you. Just slides the pancake onto a plate, pouring in more batter into the pan, before he brings your plate over to you. Then he looks at you with that same amused expression.

"What is it?" you ask again. Have you suddenly grown horns on your head? Why is he looking at you like that.

Your confusion only adds to his amusement. A huff (that is borderline a laugh) escapes him as he looks at you with a fond expression.

"You're a mess."

Wow. Rude.

You shake your head, your boyfriend never was known for his manners... This boyfriend at least. Steven has the manners of an angelic saint.

Scanning the space, you spot your handbag that's conveniently sitting on the counter and reach for the small pocket mirror, flicking it open.

A deranged Alice Cooper impersonator looks back at you. Mascara running halfway down your face.

Shit.

Okay, Marc might have a point. Your hair looks like a runaway freight train blazed through it, mascara has run halfway down your face, and your lipstick is smeared all over, vivid red splotches and smears dotting your chin and cheeks. How did you even manage that?

You grab a wad of face wipes to take care of the worst of it. Then you glance back up at Marc. He is in considerably much better shape than you are. Hair combed back, already dressed in his regular t-shirt, with his grey jacket and fitted jeans like it's his designated uniform.

That's Marc for you. Unfazed. Un-rumpled. Untouchable. 

Your Mr. Tidy, who needs everything to be in its proper place, no matter the time and place. It leaves you craving to achieve the unachievable, to make a mess of him.

Always put together. Always in control. Always has the upper hand on you.

Well… Your eyes drift to his honed cheeks and you can't help but grin at the sight. Almost always.

Today, there's a chink in his tidy armour. A red smear on his throat, matching the ones you just removed from your own face. Unsurprising perhaps, given the way you mauled this throat last night.

"You're a mess too," you counter.

He tilts his head questioningly, and you flip the mirror back at him to let him see the damage. 

You expect him to frown. Expect him to grumble and reach for a wipe or scrub off the offending mess with the back of his hand. 

Marc does none of that. Instead he freezes, eyes growing wide as he just stares into your pocket mirror. 

You don't know how long he just stays like that, frozen in place, and you can practically see the little spinning wheel icon indicating that he brain has stalled out over this new input. It’s fascinating. You have half a mind to just leave him be, curious to see how long it takes his mind to reboot, but then you smell something off in the kitchen. Burnt, like smoke.

"Uhm, Marc? I think... the pancakes are burning."

That snaps him right out of it. 

"Shit!" 

He leaps into action. In a split of a second, Marc is back at the stove, yanking the offending pan off the heat. He seems a bit off kilter, grumbling to himself as he carries the whole thing to the bin and starts scraping the burnt remains of charcoal pancake off. 

The whole scene takes you aback. You don't think you've ever seen Marc just freeze like that. What could have happened?

Was it the mirror? Mirrors serve as a neat conduit for communication between the boys. Perhaps Steven or Jake said something that distracted him? 

You watch as he moves back to the sink without so much as a glance in your direction.  Hoping for some insight you hop off the stool and walk up next to Marc, but he stiffens unexpectedly at your presence, ducking his face towards the sink, and avoiding your gaze.

Something is off with him. Something is definitely wrong... and-- 

You don’t see it at first. His head is tilted down, casting a shadow over his cheeks, but you think you see… 

Wait wait wait. Is Marc... blushing? 

You lean in closer, peering over his shoulder to stare at his face. 

"This is distracting. I'm trying to clean," he mutters, tilting his face away from you.

Oh wow!

He is! 

Marc is blushing! 

Your veins buzz at the revelation. You're so excited by this new development, you don't even connect the dots at first.

He's blushing! Why is he blushing? God knows!

But it’s adorable! You need to know how to make this happen again.

Mirror. You need to get the mirror– Or wait, no. That doesn't make any sense does it? It's not the mirror that made him blush, why would it?

You retrace your step. Not the mirror, must've been something he saw in the mirror. It could have been something Steven or Jake said, but…

You think back to the night before. The way Marc’s dark eyes had gone darker, deep and bottomless, as he watched you get ready to go out. The way his eyes never left your face as you talked, always circling back to… your lips.

Excited to test your new theory, you leave Marc at the sink and head for the corner of the counter where you left your bag, fishing around until you can locate the tube of lipstick. 

Yanking off the cap, you nearly end up mashing the red tip with how hard you press it on your lips. That done, you recap the tube and drop it back into the depths of your handbag, and rejoin Marc at the stove where he’s already poured another round of batter into the newly cleaned pan.

He's not looking up at you, eyes glued to the bubbling forming on the half-cooked pancake with strained concentration. But you bet you can change that now that you know what you know.

You tip-toe forward, reaching up to press your lips square centre on his cheek. You keep the contact soft and brief. Just enough pressure that you can make sure you've marked him in red with the shape of your lips.

Marc freezes again bound in shock. His eyes are so startlingly wide, for a moment you could almost mistake him for Steven.

Bingo.

You're grinning so widely it almost physically hurts. "Sorry, I think I got some lipstick on you."

He doesn't respond. If you didn't know better you'd think you'd turn him into stone with that small kiss. But you can see the way his fingers are wrapped so tight around the handle of the pan, the cast iron could crumble from the pressure. 

Oh my, this is fun.

Leaning up you do it again. Pressing your lips to his cheek again, inches from where you had before, just as soft. Just as brief, and watch the red mark join the other one.

Marc tenses up all over again. Slowly but surely, you see that gorgeous crimson spread across his cheeks. It's a fascinating sight. And god, it makes you want to paint every inch of his skin in lipstick red, like a blank colouring book.

It takes him entirely too long before he gathers himself again. Eyes blinking rapidly like trying to wake himself from a drunken stupor, before shock is replaced by that familiar grumpy scowl.

"I'm–" he pauses to clear his throat, "I’m trying to make breakfast here."

"So do it," you respond cheekily, leaning in to kiss him again, "Don't let me stop you"

You keep pressing little kisses to his skin, leaving red lip prints all over and delighting in the fact that his face gets hotter with each one. More than a little bit smug to see the pink flush deepen and spread over his cheeks and down his throat.

For once, Marc-nothing-can-faze-me-Spector is struggling to keep his cool, and you are taking entirely too much joy in being the cause of that. 

You reach up again, hands cupping his cheeks to tilt him to your mouth and press a kiss against his lips until they are stained bright lipstick red. 

Marc remains still, but you can feel the frustration vibrating off the surface tension of his skin.

This time he lets go of the pan, and it clatters loudly back onto the stove. 

You step back to the sight of that familiar irritated glare in his eyes even as he's blushing an unfamiliar bright barbie pink on his cheeks. His thumb hovering over his lipstick smeared bottom lip. 

At first you think he's going to wipe it away. He doesn't. Instead his thumb just lingers over the mark, hand trembling slightly.

"Stop teasing," he grumbles.

It’s meant to be a warning, you’re sure, but all you feel is excitement of what's to come.

There's a saying isn't there? About not poking a bear with a stick. Except in that scenario it’s because you don't want to anger it and have it maul you, and in the present, that's exactly what you want from Marc. 

You step in close again, tilting your face up to deliver another kiss.

All you can hear is a low growl, and then Marc is moving. His hand comes to the back of your neck and reels you into him, so close you can feel the embarrassed heat radiating from his cheek as if it were your own. 

Then his lips are on yours, and joy and love surge through you, blending in a dizzying concoction that makes your surroundings spin. 

You expect his kiss to be harsh and hungry, but Marc continues where you left off, pressing gentle, nearly chaste kisses to your lips over and over again. 

It could almost be innocent if it weren't for the way he's panting against your lips. The way his strong arm wraps around your waist. The way his fingers dig into your hip as he drags your hips against his, crushing you against him until you can feel him—all of him, the length of him hot and hard against your stomach—even through his jeans. 

His hand slides down over your hip to your thigh, one firm palm gripping and lifting to hook your leg over one side of his wide hips so he can grind against you. It's desperate and frenzied, the bulge of his cock slotting perfectly between your legs. Pressing forward until you’re so close that you can feel it jerking against you with each shuddering roll of his hips.

And through it all, he kisses and kisses and kisses you, gentle presses that grow just a little bit harder with each one. It sparks through your veins like an ember, heady and sweet until you think you could melt from it.

His lips drag against your own until finally, he parts them. The slight edge of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, like he wants to devour you whole. 

And you'd let him. You’d let him bite in and swallow every morsel of you without resistance, but for some unfathomable reason, he… doesn't. 

Instead he stills. Pulls back. Both of you gasping and shaking as you just look at each other.

He doesn't say anything. His gaze drops to your lips, his own parted and trembling.

You're just about to ask him what's wrong, when you realise that nothing is.

You've been together long enough now that you are finally starting to get the hang of hearing the things Marc leaves unspoken. Can read that hesitant look in his eyes and know what he’s thinking.

You know that in this moment all Marc wants is more. That’s what he doesn't know how to say.

Because Marc is still learning to ask for what he wants. And you know that the more he wants something, the less able he is to ask for it. (And the more you want to give it to him.)

And right now, the thing he wants more of is…

"Hang on a tic," you tell him, holding up a single finger. Your voice sounds throaty, but somehow miraculously calm despite the way your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. You reach behind you, scooping up your discarded handbag and plucking your lipstick from it as easy as you please. The small round tube nearly falls into your hand like it's guided by divine inspiration.

Marc's hands tremble on your hips, fingers gripping tight, tighter, tightest until it's almost painful. Somehow that only makes it better.

How many people on this earth can say that they've managed to make Marc Spector tremble?

Somehow your hands are still rock steady. Uncapping the lipstick, you feel his cock jerk hard against your thigh once, and then again as you twist the tube and begin to slick the bright stoplight red onto your lips.

You don't have a mirror. Don't need one. Don’t even have to look to know this is the cleanest application you'll ever manage, for all that your lips were already smeared to hell when you started. Your lipstick is perfect. You can tell by the way Marc is looking at your mouth. Staring at your mouth. Staring at you, like you're a goddess come to life. Every desperate desire he's ever had made flesh, made divine. 

Marc Spector makes you feel divine.

Twisting the lipstick back down, you recap it, barely managing to tuck it away in your bag with hands that are just beginning to shake. Then you reach for him.

Framing his face with trembling hands, you lean forward to press a single, perfect kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"There we go," you manage, before the need for him rises up to swallow you whole and your voice goes ragged, unspooling at the edges.

"Now, Marc. Please, now."

You don't need to say more than that. You watch the muscle in his jaw jump as he grits his teeth.

The ground beneath your feet vanishes in an instant, all you feel is Marc's arms wrapped around your waist as he hoists you up against the nearest kitchen counter. Firm, thick thighs framed against your sides as he presses you down against the hard surface. All you hear is the fumbling and swearing as he struggles to get his tight jeans undone and pushed down because his usually-rock-steady hands are trembling.

You’ve never seen him like this. All of him is shaking, every muscle in his body straining, so worked up he's practically vibrating with need. And you feel it too, his desperation seeping into you like a contagion, until you can barely breathe. Until you feel sick with want for him. 

You reach down to help him with his fly, the material of his jeans sticky against your fingers, his cock jerking under the fabric at your touch.

"Fuck. Baby," his voice is a raw and ragged thing, dragging in his throat like the air from his lungs has been wrenched from him. 

Everything inside you tingles with excitement at his tone. It doesn't matter that you're still sore from last night. That your legs are still wobbly from the pure physical exertion of it. All you want is more. More of this. More of Marc.

Clumsily, you get his zipper down and reach inside. He's hot and hard, the skin velvety smooth and slick, his cock jerking under your touch as you free him.

He shoves a hand between your legs in return, drags the soaked crotch of your knickers to the side, and unceremoniously slides two fingers into you, filling you so perfectly that you gasp at the sensation.

Heat spears through you, your hips bucking forward so hard you nearly fall off the counter, but he's there to hold you down with his weight.

His hips pressing forward. His hand pulls back, knocking yours out of the way so he can grab himself. Line himself up. The slick, fat head of his cock pressing against you. 

It's hurried and frantic. Your head spins from the blood rushing through your head so fast your vision blurs.

Then Marc presses inside. 

His cock is hot. Slipping into you like a fiery brand. Like the missing heart of you coming home. Burning you from the inside out. You both moan, gasping into each other's mouths.

When did you start kissing again?

You don't know. Why did you even stop? You never want to stop.

You can't move. Can’t think. Can't fucking breathe, but it's okay. You don't need to. Don't need anything except this. His cock pressing into you. Lodging itself inside you until it's as deep as it's possible to go.

You gasp again, and your head falls back, breaking the kiss as pleasure spears though you, sharp and blindingly sweet. It’s too much. It’s perfect.

Marc says something as his hips retreat, but you don’t register what it is, barely realise that he’s spoken.

You don’t register he's talking to you, asking you for something, until he stops moving. You whine, clawing at his shoulders because whatever he wants, the answer is, 'yes.'  

"Again," he repeats, and yes, that’s what you want. You want him to fuck you again, but he’s not doing it. Why did he stop?

"Baby," he says, the word scraping its way out of his throat like it's made of broken glass, "Kiss me again."

Oh.

It doesn’t register with you then—not really—the significance of his ask. How unusual it is that Marc is asking you for something that he desperately wants. You’ll remember later. Notice later. But for right now, it doesn't matter, because you want to give him what he wants regardless. You always want to give this man anything and everything he wants.

You lunge forward, his stubble scraping against your lips as you glance off his chin leaving a red smear.

Hot pleasure blooms as he thrusts forward into you.

"Again," he says.

You whine as he pulls back, but you're quicker on the uptake this time. Kissing his throat and get to watch his Adam's apple bob under the red lip print you leave behind, before your vision goes fuzzy with the next overwhelming thrust.

"Again."

You kiss his jaw, and he barely pauses before fucking back into you.

"Again."

His throat, again. and you're rewarded with the hot perfect press of him inside.

"Again."

Everything starts to blur. His words slurring together; your lips barely leaving his skin. The heavy weight of him pushing its way inside you.

You're panting open mouthed against his shoulder, lips sliding and sticking against his skin.

"Again," he demands, even though there's no longer any lull in your movements, 

"Again."  No break in contact of your lips on his skin. 

"Again." No pause in his rhythm.

"Again." No respite from the way the feeling swells. Coils tight, right where his cock is pounding, relentless, into the very centre of you.

"Again."

You can't–

"Again."

Oh god, you’re about to–

"Again. Again. Aga–ngh"

The litany breaks off, words dying, replaced by a strangled groan, when you come hard, your body clamping down, clenching around him. 

Through the waves of overwhelming pleasure, you feel the sting of his blunt fingernails digging in too hard at your hips. Hear the tiny, ragged "Oh. Baby. Fuck." that leaves his lips like it's been punched out of him.

You swear you can feel the heavy weight of him swell inside your still-clenching cunt, and then the reflexive, aborted jerk of his hips, as his cock begins to pulse.

He holds you there, tight against him, or maybe you hold him or both of you hold each other, as you shudder there together for long, endless moments.

When it's finally over, he presses one last, gentle kiss to your lips and pulls back.

You watch, heart so full of love for him that your chest aches, as one side of his red-smeared mouth pulls up in a rare, happy smile.  You trace the corner of it with one mostly-steady finger, and can't help smiling back.

“Well now," you say, once you're certain your voice won't betray you too badly, "I've made quite the mess of you, haven't I?"

Marc's eyes roam over your face. One warm hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch, letting him drag his thumb over your lips. You can feel it sticking slightly on whatever's left of your lipstick, but what does it matter? It's not like he can make it any worse now, is it?

"Yeah," he says. His thumb lingers.  His gaze too. Eyes gone soft and warm the longer he looks at your mouth. "Your mess."

Something constricts in your chest at the words. A deep-rooted, possessive protectiveness that takes hold, then unfurls, spreading everywhere, warm and sweet.  

"Yes," you agree, tightening your arms around his back to pull him closer to you. "All mine."

A/N a sequel to the angsty Love Bites where Marc gets his yearning fulfilled. @thirstworldproblemss and I wrote this ages ago before Christmas but then we felt that there needed to be more ✨ yeaaaaarning✨ Hope you had fun reading.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[cordeliawhohung]

As You Wish

knight!Price x fem!princess!Reader - part of @glitterypirateduck 's october writing challenge!

In order to save your people from a long lasting and brutal war, you are sent to the neighboring kingdom of Draewen to marry their prince. Sir John Price is tasked with ensuring you get there safely, but the forest of the mountain is wild and unpredictable. In a terrible twist of events, you learn the exact difference between the brutality of nature, and the brutality of men.

challenge story elements: Alternative Universe | forest/wooded area | bodyguard/protector | "Look at me."

masterlist

warnings: canon typical violence (brief descriptions of violence/blood), Price only calls reader Princess, attempted kidnapping, non-sexual nudity, a little too much world building, a little cuddling, a dash of hurt/comfort, a drizzle of very slight mutual pining

wc: 8.9k (sorry)

In two months, you would reach the kingdom of Draewen where you would spend the rest of your life as a trophy. It was a land said to be cloaked in vibrant green valleys and rich, winding rivers. When the Draewish messenger arrived in the great kingdom of Venaca to talk with your father, The King, about your marriage to their prince, he had arrived with pressed flowers that grew in the valley that laid right at the mouth of their kingdom. They were beautiful, and perfectly preserved, and it gave you a little hope for the scenery you knew you would be stuck staring at for the rest of your life. 

As the Princess of Venaca, your father bestowed upon you one duty: marry the Draewish Prince so that they would lend their strongest soldiers in the fight against the Neshevian Army. You loved your kingdom. You loved the fresh fruits that grew in the orchards around the basin, and you loved the fresh spring water that ran off from the towering mountains that scared off most intruders. You didn’t want to leave. But if you wanted to save that scenery, save your people, then you would marry that prince. 

You left at the end of spring when the white tips of the mountains that enveloped the basin melted away and the soil was rich with water and greenery. The crisp air of the mountains filled your lungs with a chill, even in the enclosure of your carriage. Golden rays of sun bled through the thick foliage overhead, and you had never heard the birds chirp so loudly in your entire life. 

When night fell, and your caravan would stop to make camp for the night, the height of the mountains brought you so close to the stars you swore you could reach out to kiss them. Your lady-in-waiting, Eilra, would look at the stars with you, and point out vague ideas and shapes of what she could remember of the names of constellations. 

“Zekral,” she said, moving her pointed finger in a circular motion. “God of War. His shield lies here.”

Though she pointed it out so clearly, you could hardly make out the shape, but you nodded anyway. “I wish I could look at the stars all night. I would name every single one of them,” you claimed. 

“You would run out of stars,” Eilra laughed. 

“I would sooner run out of names,” you retorted with a grin. 

“Illasi,” someone interrupted.

Both you and Eilra turned to the new voice that spoke up beside you. The orange blaze of the campfire illuminated the features of a tall man with a sword strapped to his side. His arms were crossed lazily over his broad chest, and his eyes stared up at the sparkling sky just like yours had been. Faint scars littered his arms, but his bearded face remained completely intact despite the ruggedness that was evident throughout his body. 

Sir John Price. He had been The King’s personal guard and military advisor ever since the previous man had been ousted as a traitor five years prior. Your conversations with him back in the kingdom had been short and quick, but you remembered him at the head of the table in the War Room. Stoic, leading, dangerous. Your father trusted him enough to put you in his care as you traveled to Draewen. Every single soldier and servant in the caravan answered to him. 

“Is that a recommendation for a name?” you asked as your eyes carefully studied the man. 

Looking away from the sky, John took a few slow and careful steps towards you. Though his height may have been intimidating to anyone else, you had only ever known the man as an ally. So when he crouched next to you, nearly joining both you and your lady-in-waiting on the log you found yourselves seated on, you weren’t scared. 

“Illasi is the Goddess of Harvest and Blood,” he explained as his eyes looked back up to the stars. After a moment of searching, his hand raised into the air, fingers outstretched towards the vastness that swallowed the sky. “You can see her knife here.” 

You did your best in attempting to follow his guiding hand, but the stars were too thick for you to really make out any solid shape. Really, you weren’t sure how anyone could look up at that void of stars and attempt to wrangle them into silly constellations. John seemed to notice your blank gaze, and he let out something that sounded like a breathy laugh as his hand fell away from the sky. 

“Higher, Princess,” he said. 

His fingers carefully brushed against the underside of your chin as he tilted your head up. Despite the chilly air that swaddled the mountain and her forest, his skin radiated heat. 

“Do you see it? A single sided blade, one used for cutting meat?” he asked.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. You could see the stars lining perfectly to create a knife truly fit for a goddess. A strong point, a deep belly for the blade, and a strong and sturdy handle. This knife was one meant to draw flesh from bone. 

“Looks like a hunting knife,” you noticed while John’s fingers withdrew from your chin. You hummed slightly as you broke your gaze from the sky and turned to him. “I didn’t take you for a stargazer, John.” 

He looked down at you for a split moment before pushing himself back to his feet. For a man who was strong and dangerous enough to protect The King, he had such kind, almost soft, eyes. 

“The earth, seas, and skies are the only thing that unites every human, Your Highness. Their stars included,” he responded simply. He then gave a curt and polite bow of his head while his hand lazily rested on the hilt of his sword. “Goodnight, Princess.” 

You smiled. “Goodnight, John.” 

The crackling of the fire only grew louder as he wandered off into the darkness of the woods, certainly to scout the perimeter or something military-like. You brought your gaze back up to the stars, and you found it odd how your eyes seemed drawn to Illasi’s Knife, like you couldn’t look anywhere else. 

“Princess,” Eilra spoke up. She said the title softly, yet with an odd tone. It was the questioning tone she used with you whenever you confused her. “Why do you call Sir Price by his first name?” 

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you looked at your lady. “Because Sir Price sounds a bit too much like surprise. A fitting name for a knight, perhaps, but not for any man. I believe everyone is human first before their title.”

Eilra repeated his name and title slowly as if she was feeling the exact way her tongue moved, and she grinned. “Is it not rude to ignore his title?” 

“Titles mean nothing,” you defended. “And neither do names, really. I would respect him all the same even if he were called by any other name.” 

It was always difficult for Eilra to hide her disapproval of your ideologies. She was a proper lady through and through, bound to the rules of The Royal Family ever since she became your lady-in-waiting. But she also knew better than to speak too far out of turn; not in fear of your non-existent wrath but in fear of not upholding any lady-like values. 

That night, you fell asleep under the stars next to Eilra, and awoke early the next morning to pack up camp and return along your journey. The days were long as you sat inside your carriage, and attempting to rest as you traversed the uneven trail was impossible. Conversation could only cure your boredom for so long, and you had already finished the two books you had allowed yourself to bring. 

But things only got worse as a second winter hit. 

Not even a full two weeks into traveling, a bitter wind tore through the caravan around midday, and snow followed shortly after. The soldiers and servants muttered amongst themselves when the first flakes hit the soil. Some said they ought to turn back for Venaca while they still could. Others claimed the snow would vanish as quickly as it appeared. 

You tried not to concern yourself too much with the new events. Fighting against nature was a futile battle, and you knew that you would just have to take things in stride. But when the caravan stopped, you couldn’t deny that sinking feeling that settled deep within the darkness of your stomach. 

“Perhaps we are making camp,” Eilra rationalized. “It would be unwise to push forward in these conditions. If we wait out the storm, we can continue when better weather comes.” 

You moved the maroon curtains that obscured the small window on the door and peered outside as best as you could. The warmth of your bodies and breath had fogged the window, and you took the sleeve of your dress to wipe the moisture away. Only an expanse of trees was there to meet your vision, their fresh green branches turned pale with powdery snow. 

It came as sudden as the flapping of a bird's wing and as violent and unstoppable as the water of a raging river. First was the sound of a dull thud, and then a shriek from one of the servants. You tried your best to peer out the window, to press your ear firmly against the wood of the door to make sense of the commotion as it grew louder. Metal clanking together, barking shouts and gurgling yelps, a cacophony of pain that you had never been subjected to previously. 

It wasn’t until a streak of red as rich and dark as the very color of your curtains stained the thin window of your carriage that you fully understood the danger of the situation. Nature wasn’t the only threat in the wilds. Man could kill just as quick and as violent as the earth could, and with a hatred that even the God of Death himself would look away from. 

You didn’t even have time to cower away from the gore or scream in fear before the door opened with such force it nearly broke off its hinges. A strange man in leather armor and a dark blue cloak peered into the carriage with wild eyes, glancing back and forth between you and Eilra. The three of you were frozen as if the mountains had sapped you of all your warmth already. This man - this wild animal of a man - was trying to make a decision. 

Cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist with a grip so stern you couldn’t help but cry out as the man yanked you out of the carriage. Your knees hit the frozen ground with a harsh pop, and your shoulder screamed as the man attempted to force you to your feet by pulling on your arm.

Eilra’s voice was raw when she called your name. Your true name, the name your mother or father would mutter to you in private when they held you in their arms. The name they used before sending you to some distant land. She called you by your name and it was the last word that passed her lips before it was cut off with a sickening gurgle. 

Even if you wanted to, you weren’t able to look back at the carriage before another pair of hands grabbed you. Both men worked together in securing you with harsh rope that dug into your skin and a ragged cloth that obscured your eyes. Your knees sunk further into the fresh snow as you struggled pitifully against those barbarians, but your cries and pleas were drowned out by the chaos that raged around you. 

“Are you sure she’s the princess?” one of the men asked. 

“Who cares. She’s a girl, isn’t she?” the other barked. 

They spoke your tongue but their tone was wrong. There was a certain lilt to their speech, and their words sounded too detached from one another. Neshevian you thought. They were from the very kingdom your people had been warring against since before you were brought into that world. The whole reason you were traveling to Draewen was to unite armies to fight against them, and they had come along to slaughter your caravan in retaliation. 

“So was that one!” one barked. “Yet you ran her through like a pig.”

“This one has a nicer dress,” another retorted.

“If she is not the princess, then we lose our advantage over the Venacians you bastard!” 

They continued their bickering while they bound rope around your wrists and ankles. The harsh wind tore at the skirt of your dress, exposing your stockings which did little to ward off the cold. A violent hand shoved you down, and without the proper use of your hands, your shoulder broke the fall. Snow flung into the neck of your blouse, and your skin tensed as it soaked into the fabric of your dress. 

The men had stopped their arguing and instead began to shout at someone. What they were saying was lost on you. Blood gushed through your body and it felt as cold as riverwater, and was just as deafening. You heard what sounded like more shouting, a single roaring yell, and then nothing but nature. The wind whispering in the woods, a bird calling to a lover, the huff of horses. 

Then there was the sound of footsteps. Thick, heavy footsteps that were accompanied by a metallic clink. You willed your heart to still, your breath to slow, because you refused to show fear in the face of the enemy despite the fact that it coursed through your veins with the warmth and raging fire of the sun. 

Large hands held onto your wrists, still bound behind your back, but they were more gentle than before. You felt the cold metal of a sword or knife brush against your skin, and you cursed yourself for the way you jumped. Not a single drop of blood left your skin as the blade sliced through the rope and the rope alone. 

Though you had free use of your hands, you stayed there on the ground, lying on your side as the ropes around your ankles were cut free. The blindfold remained around your eyes for a painfully long time as someone got on their knees in front of you. Gloved hands gripped your shoulders, urging you to sit up, and you obeyed so quickly you felt your own head spinning. 

“Princess?” It was John. His voice was hushed as if he were trying to hide, but you knew from the overwhelming crescendo of nature that there were no men left alive; friend nor foe. 

With a trembling lip you brought your hands up to your face and slipped your thumbs underneath the blindfold. You pried the cloth away from your eyes only to be blinded by the brightness of the dazzling white snow around you. Those hands remained on your shoulders even as you blinked away the light around you. 

“Look at me,” John spoke. 

His face was the very first thing your eyes were able to focus on. With eyes as rich as the deepest waters of the ocean, and as soft as the grass you used to play on as a child, you almost didn’t notice the blood smeared on his cheekbone. You saw the splatter on his skin, and the way it soaked into the cotton of his shirt. In his travels, he hadn’t worn his armor and yet he was still unharmed. But your eyes began to wander further. Away from him and to the gore that laid behind him.

“Look at me,” John said again with a small shake of his head. His hands moved from your shoulders and came to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. It was a gesture you should have reprimanded him for, something a knight should have never done to someone of your status, yet you said nothing. “Look at me, and only me. Don’t look anywhere else.” 

You swallowed hard, and it felt like there were riverstones stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to look anywhere other than him, but you felt that you needed to; you needed to see the violence. How vibrant blood looked upon freshly fallen snow, what eyes looked like when they lost their light, or what a body looked like slumped on the floor of a carriage. Nature demanded that you looked upon the mess that came with the burden of being a princess. 

Instead, you nodded your head as you kept your eyes on John and nowhere else. His hands fell from your face and took your hands instead as he pulled you to your feet. He led you away from the main road and towards the forest. The path he took was odd and not at all straight, and you pushed the idea out of your mind that he walked so strangely to avoid tripping over bodies. 

John brought you to a towering pine tree only a handful of paces from the road where he told you to stay. He left you briefly to scrounge up as much food and clothing as he could before returning back to you with a loaded horse. He swaddled you in a thick fur cloak like a mother would wrap her child in a blanket before aiding you in sitting on the horse. He settled in behind you, pulling your back snug against his chest before taking off deep into the forest. 

You weren’t sure what he had planned, but you were too defeated to even ask. There was no turning back or pushing forward in weather like that. Perhaps he was trying to find a good place to put the two of you to rest. 

While John’s eyes meticulously scanned the forest for any further sign of danger, yours welled with tears. You wanted to go back for them. For every single soldier and servant that laid slaughtered on the road. At least dig them a grave, no matter how shallow. You’d bury them all and then bury yourself with them. 

“Neshevian,” you finally spoke. It felt like you had been traveling for days, though the sun remained as high in the sky as ever, despite how muted it was with the clouds. “Why were they in our lands?” 

“You already know the answer,” John replied. He didn’t say his answer outright, as if he refused to even entertain the thought of your death or capture. But he was right. Those men had made it all too clear why they were there. 

“They killed Eilra,” you said, voice on the verge between whisper and sob. You wanted to cry, or at least, you felt like you should have. It felt wrong to sit on that horse and wander off into the frosty woods while their bodies turned to frozen statues behind you. But you couldn’t. You drew breath, and they couldn’t, and you still couldn’t cry. “Are we really the only two left?” 

For the first time since you had met the man, John hesitated. “I’m sorry, Princess.” 

You didn’t need him to explain any further. 

As night grew closer and the forest became more dense, the wind and snow picked up with a vengeful fury. It howled from between the tree branches above your head as if letting out the anguish your body refused to let you feel. Flakes of snow nipped at the skin of your nose and cheeks, and you pulled the fur lined cloak over your mouth in an attempt to protect yourself. 

If John was cold, he didn’t show it, but the harsh breaths of the horse proved its exhaustion. There was no caravan, no carriage or bonfire to warm up next to. There was only you, John, a horse, and the wild woods of the mountain. 

“Can we make camp?” you asked, unable to hide the slight chattering of your teeth. 

“We’ll die if we rest here,” John retorted. 

“We’ll die if we continue,” you whined. 

He didn’t bother with an answer, and you didn’t bother with another complaint. A thin layer of snow covered the both of you, clinging to clothing and hair alike, and your legs felt frozen in place on either side of the horse. Perhaps you weren’t far off from sharing a grave with Eilra. 

“There,” John suddenly pointed out. 

You squinted in an attempt to peer through the relentless bombardment of snowflakes. Off in the distance not too far away was a small hut or cottage of sorts. It appeared to be built by the very same wood that covered the area and was hardly any larger than your bedroom back in Venaca. Snow sat in heaps on top of the thatched roof, and it nearly blocked the windows in full. 

“We’ll rest there,” John said, kicking the horse into a gallop. 

Dust and dirt settled heavily over every item inside of that cottage; the small, worn table, the mantle on the fireplace, even the blankets that covered the bed. Whoever the home belonged to had long since abandoned the building. It was warmer in there, but perhaps it only felt that way because you were no longer being ravaged by the stabbing wind. There were no rooms, only one large living area, and the only thing that offered even a slight bit of privacy was a large, wooden divider that stood near the foot of the bed. 

Darkness swallowed the room when John shut the door, and you felt around the room blindly until you found the fireplace. You got on your knees and continued feeling around until you found a pile of old, dry wood that laid in a small heap next to the hearth. 

“There’s wood here,” you breathed as you struggled to grab a log. “Perhaps we can start a fire, lest we freeze to death.” 

“No. No fires tonight,” John said as he gently tossed a small pack onto the floor next to you. “The smoke might attract someone.” 

You ceased your attempt at pulling the logs from their stack and slumped forward with a heavy sigh. Every muscle in your body was tense and numb with cold, and he was denying you a fire? 

“Who would travel through a storm like this over a fire?” you asked, a bit more bite to your words than you intended for there to be. 

The shuffling next to you paused, but only for a short moment before John continued with his blind pursuit of whatever items he attempted to retrieve. “Desperate men hunting down a very important woman.” 

Of course. 

John’s hand brushed against your shoulder, and you jumped at the touch. His hand didn’t retract from you, in fact, it began to trail down your arm until it reached your hand. Even in the stark cold that bound itself to your body you could feel your skin heat up. 

“What are you-?” 

Your question was cut off when you felt his other hand push something into your palm. Once he was sure you had a good grasp of the item, he let go of you as if he had never even touched you in the first place. 

“Dinner,” he said simply along with something that sounded like a chuckle gone sour.

Huffing, you brought the item up to your nose to give it a quick sniff. It was rugged, and smelt of pepper and herbs. Jerky; your people had been packed with plenty of it for your journey. Delicious, yet the thought of eating after everything you endured that day made your stomach turn. 

“I’m not hungry,” you said softly as you lowered the dried meat. 

Even through the darkness you could feel John’s searing stare, and you had never felt so ungrateful in your entire life. This man had saved your life and dragged you through half the mountainside just to protect you. He tried to nurture you, and you denied him all because the guilt was eating too heavily at your stomach for you to fill it. 

“I’ll feed you by my own hand, if I must,” he said, and it sounded dangerously close to a promise. 

You didn’t respond, but the sound of your teeth ripping off a chunk of the meat seemed to satisfy him enough. He continued to dig through the pack before pulling out another item. It was a blanket, you found out, as he wrapped it around your shoulders. The fabric was cold, but between the cloak and the blanket, you would be warm enough for the night. 

John rose to his feet and carefully slid along the wall of the cottage where you heard the faint sound of wood scratching on wood. A chair, you realized. He was dragging a chair from that small dining table you had caught a glimpse of earlier. He placed it not too far away from where you sat on the floor, and it slightly creaked underneath his weight as he sat and finally allowed his body to rest. 

“Get some rest, Princess,” he said softly. “It’s been a long day.” 

At that point, you knew better than to tell him that you couldn’t, so instead you pulled the blanket tighter around your body before laying on the stiff wooden floor. That night, there was no laughter beside a hearty campfire, or Eilra’s giggles. There were no stars to blanket you, or a moon to whisper a lullaby. There was just the steady sound of John’s quiet breathing and the whistling howl of the wind. 

Morning dawned before you knew it, and it felt like you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body screamed at you as you pushed yourself off the floor, knees and arms still sore from being dragged around. You looked around the cottage. Small streams of cold light cut through the air, giving the dull and dusty room an ethereal glow. 

John still sat in that chair next to you, his eyes lazily focused on you as you stirred awake. He wore his cloak and he had folded a blanket to rest over his lap. Even with the cold his hands rested on top of the blanket for what you assumed was to keep easy access to the sword that rested against his thigh. 

“It’s still early if you’d like to sleep longer,” he said. There was a certain deepness to his voice, one that you remembered feeling in your own throat when you were tired. 

“I’ve slept long enough,” you answered. 

Keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you stood to your feet before walking to one of the windows. Snow had piled up on the windowsill, but if you stepped on the tips of your toes you could peer out over it. The wind had stopped, and the cottage felt warmer, but flurries of thick snowflakes continued to smother the once green forest around you. 

“Have you slept?” you asked while turning back around to face him. 

John stayed silent for a moment too long before saying; “I’ve gone longer without sleep.” 

“So, no,” you concluded. You took a few steps closer to him before gesturing to the spot on the floor you had spent the night on. “Sleep. You won’t be any good with that sword if you’re hallucinating shadows from exhaustion.” 

Like a curious dog, John tilted his head at you as his hand slowly, almost absentmindedly, reached for the hilt of his sword. Not in a threatening manner, but almost as if it was his only comfort. Out there in the wilderness, with no one but you to watch his back, it probably was his only comfort. 

“I appreciate your concern, Princess, but I’m fine. Truly,” he assured. 

That wasn’t good enough for you, and you knew it was the furthest thing from the truth he had ever told you. Two weeks worth of travel was already bad enough, but fighting off those men, killing them, was no easy feat. Skipping sleep was unacceptable, and it would catch up to him before long. 

So in one last attempt, you pointed towards the ground as you kept your eyes locked onto that stubborn knight. “Sleep. That’s an order.” 

Despite your words, there was a heavy lack of authority in your tone, and it came off as another request rather than a demand. Being embraced by a thick blanket and fluffy cloak didn’t give you the aura of a leader, either. Nothing but Venaca’s darling little princess, too kind and soft-hearted for her own good. 

You didn’t realize how close you stood to John until he rose from his seat. Despite the proximity, you refused to move, even when you swore you could feel his breath fan across your face. With sword in hand, and blanket tucked under his arm, he gave you a slow nod, the dark azure color of his eyes didn’t leave you for a moment. He gave you a small, tired, and perhaps half forced smile. 

“As you wish.” 

The snow didn’t stop falling until it covered your knees. Three days worth of winter left the vast forest feeling small as you and John were mostly confined to the tight space of the cottage. He still refused to make a fire, which meant the two of you spent most of your days sitting on the floor together huddling for warmth as best as you could. 

After a week of being trapped in the cottage, John ventured out to hunt. Apparently he was just as good, if not better, with a bow as he was with a sword, and he returned back with a rabbit and a tail feather from a capercaillie. That was the first time John allowed a fire, but he built it small with nothing but bark shavings. You enjoyed the warmth while it lasted before he snuffed it out once the rabbit cooked, and though it wasn’t seasoned, you were just happy to have something other than chewy dried meat. 

John still refused to sleep at night, and would sit in that old, creaking chair with his sword across his lap, and would sleep for a few hours during the day only after you woke. On the nights that you couldn’t sleep, either from the anxiety or the cold, he would tell you stories. Ones that he would make up, or tales from his childhood. The dark baritone of his voice was comforting, and you found yourself sleeping better on those nights. 

In the daytime, he would take his hunting knife and carve gentle lines in the wood of the floor to mimic constellations he knew. Everything from fruit, to swords, he stuck those crude drawings into the cottage as a permanent reminder that despite Neshevia’s attempts, you were still alive and well. 

“Onme’s Necklace,” he said softly after carving what appeared to be a simple circle with a bump at the bottom. “The Goddess of Love and Fertility.” 

You reached out a hand and used the pads of your fingers to trace along the wood. It felt faint and hardly there, yet it made your heart race all the same. 

“Do you think the Prince of Draewen will gift me a necklace for marriage like our people do?” you asked, eyes still trained on the floor. 

John shuffled as he sheathed his knife and placed it on the floor next to him. Though your eyes were focused elsewhere, his were only on you. 

“Difficult to say. I’m not familiar with Draewish courting customs. But you would deserve nothing less, Princess,” he said, voice still soft and low. 

All you could do was hum as you pulled your knees to your chest. With the wind gone, the cottage grew warmer, though you were still ages away from being able to continue your journey through the mountains with the snow settling so heavily along the lands. Or maybe it felt warmer because John, against his better judgment, allowed himself to be closer to you physically. 

“I hope he is kind,” you said suddenly. 

“And if he’s not?” asked John.

“Then I will marry him anyway. It is what is required of me to join our armies, to end this blasted war,” you answered without much thought. But then, you did. You paused to think, and every single thought spewed from your mouth in an unstoppable wave. “I will marry him, even if he isn’t kind, and I will bear his children, and I will be his queen. I’ll spend my days looking out over the green valleys and rivers they say cover their lands, and I’ll think of the orchards that I used to roam as a child as I do. I think that might be my last thought before I either die an untimely death due to his boredom with me, or of old age after being overshadowed by his mistress for the second half of my life.” 

Not even the gods themselves would have thought about breaking that suffocating silence that followed your words. There was still so much you wanted to say, rotting feelings that infected your chest, but they were ideas that you pushed aside because you could not afford to depress yourself with those thoughts. 

“You are a princess,” John spoke, daring to break that quietness, “you deserve better.” 

“I deserve nothing more than anyone else,” you quickly retorted, your eyes glued to the carving of the necklace on the floor. “Besides, no one gets married because of love. The oath is just to make the necessity seem sweeter, but it’s poison all the same.” 

“Don’t speak of yourself in such a way,” John said. It was the closest thing to an order you had ever heard him speak, and you weren’t sure of what to think about the fluttering in your chest that followed his words. “You hold a power that makes nations tremble; one that has men scrounging the mountainside for you. Thimme would look upon you and weep until the oceans flooded the earth.” 

Thimme. Had he dared to compare you to the Goddess of Beauty Herself? You tore your eyes away from Onme’s Necklace and planted them on John instead. It was then that you realized he himself wore no necklace. You didn’t like the way your heart hummed at that realization. Something started to grow inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to smother it. 

Cabin fever. That’s all it was. 

You should have said something, should have reprimanded him for saying such a thing. Instead, you found your heart reveling in his words as your throat grew tight with the thought of asking him for more. You laughed in disbelief as you looked away from him, unable to say anything that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

Whatever words that were unsaid between the two of you were silenced by the sound of creaking hinges and a blast of cold air. Your eyes were drawn to the door where three shrouded figures slithered inside with snow covered boots and frosted cloaks. John rose to his feet with the quickness of a wolf, his sword already unsheathed and at the ready before you could even comprehend the danger. 

“Our quarrel is not with you,” one of the men barked. His accent was strange. It wasn’t ugly like the Neshevian accent was. It was more flowing, and gentler in a way, but you couldn’t quite place where it was from. But he was a threat all the same. “Hand us the Venacian blight and we’ll be on our way.” 

John strengthened the grip on his sword as he raised it higher. “I’ll have your head for that.” 

The three men seemed more like monsters than human; more akin to bears than any other earthly creature. They had broadswords for claws and thick woolly cloaks for fur. The only thing human about them was the way they looked at you as you huddled on the floor behind John; not with hunger, not with a need to survive, but with a malice only humans could comprehend. 

No other words were wasted from either side before swords started to clash together with sickening screeches. Flashes of silver iron moved in a blur as John kept up with each of the men. In a way, he had the advantage in that small cottage. The intruders couldn’t use their full range of motion without risking injuring their comrades, and John used that to his advantage as he slowly pushed them to the far side of the room. 

You had never seen him in action before, and you had prayed to the gods that you never would have had to. The only thing you could think of was impressive. There was no flourish to his movements, and there was no showing off. Just simple, precise, and deadly strikes and slashes that left superficial cuts along their skin. But no amount of skill could save someone from fighting three monstrous men; even a man as talented as John Price. 

If he wanted to even the playing field, he would have to incapacitate or slay one of the men. In order to do that, he would have to focus his blows on one man, or get lucky and hope one of his defensive moves would knock them away. But if he focused too much on one man, it left him open for the other two to attack. 

You had to draw one of them away. 

You grabbed the knife John had left on the floor and slid it out of its sheath. It was a well kept blade that glinted dangerously in the little light that bled through the cottage windows. With shaking knees, you pushed yourself to your feet and threw the leather sheath at the intruders, which caught one of them off guard, allowing John to land a fair slash against the man's ribs. He howled in pain as he backed up, body hitting the wall behind him. Hiding the knife underneath your cloak, you ensured your feet hit the floor as loudly as you could manage as you dashed out of the cottage. 

John’s horse huffed at you, certainly out of hunger, as you scurried through the snow as fast as your legs could carry you. It neared dinner time, and the sun slowly fell towards the horizon, casting an orange blaze across the sky in its wake. Had you been in Venaca, you would have enjoyed the view. But not then. Not with the frigid air lining your lungs with frost. Not when you ran for your life. 

“Zekral,” you prayed breathlessly. “Zekral, give him strength. Uvral, let him live.” 

Like you had expected, one of the men managed to break away from the fight with John. It was not the man that had been wounded, but you could hear his snarling gasps behind you while you fled. You didn’t dare glance behind you because you knew you would freeze if you caught sight of the monster that chased you. Instead, you kept your eyes straight ahead as you weaved between trees and slick thickets. 

A glittering stream snuck up on you so carefully you nearly tossed yourself into the water before you realized it was there. The orange hue in the sky reflected off of its crystal-like waters, almost making it seem warm and inviting. Despite it’s beauty, you realized it cut off your escape route. 

It forced you to hesitate. 

A hand grasped the hood of your cloak and the clasp caught your throat as you were yanked back into a chest so firm you could have sworn it was stone. Suffocating arms wrapped around your chest, and you found a scream escaping your throat as the air was squeezed from your lungs. 

“Vodrir smiles on me this day!” the man claimed triumphantly over your cries. 

You didn’t know why, but in that moment you thought of home. So far away, and yet you could feel the greenery on your feet, and taste the fresh apples from the orchards. You could smell the breeze as it drifted through your bedroom window, and feel Eilra’s hands as she braided your hair. 

Was this death? Was this Uvral comforting you before silencing you forever? 

With whatever strength you could muster and a shout that only a dying animal could make, you took the knife hidden underneath your cloak and blindly stabbed it over your shoulder. The man howled as the blade sunk into the flesh of his chest, but his arms only tightened around you as his muscles tensed from the pain. 

Just as quickly as the man's arms tensed, you felt a little slack as his arms fell off of you. A gasp filled your chest as you were able to take a proper breath, only for that breath to get pushed out of your lungs as the man shoved you away from him. 

You tried to catch yourself, tried to regain your balance as you stumbled forward, but it was too late. Every single muscle in your body seized as the icy water of the stream enveloped you in a soul snatching embrace. Any thought that had been in your mind before was erased as your body laid in the bed of the stream as if you were resting. It didn’t even feel cold anymore, it just hurt. Like every soldier in Neshevia had run their blade through you at once.

Maybe that was what you deserved. But you refused that fate. 

Thrashing in the water, you came to your senses and pushed yourself to your knees as your head broke the surface of the stream. Your gasp for air rang throughout the forest like a lone bell in an abandoned city. Sharp rocks dug into the flesh of your palms as you coughed and sputtered while you dragged yourself to the bank of the stream. 

A pair of hands landed on your shoulders, and it was like you had fallen into that stream all over again. You let out a pathetic excuse for a war cry as you attempted to push the man off of you. You would not be the enemy’s pawn. You refused to be the blood that fed and enriched the soil beneath your feet. 

“Princess, look at me,” a desperate voice pleaded. 

It was a voice you knew well. One that had comforted you with strange stories as you slept. One that taught you the constellations. It was a voice you wanted to drown yourself in. 

“It’s me, Princess. I’ve got you,” he said softly.

John held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Fear flooded his eyes as he took in the sight of your chattering teeth and trembling body. Water soaked straight through your clothes and clung to your body with no intention of letting go. You tried to speak, tried to do anything, but your muscles shook and convulsed with such strength your body was rendered nearly useless. 

He wasted no time in relieving you of your cloak, which had grown heavy as it was weighed down from the water. Not even grunting with effort, John lifted you into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he marched back towards the cottage as fast as his feet would carry him. You closed your eyes when you caught sight of the man that had caught you, who now laid in the snow with a piercing wound through his stomach. Your arms curled in towards your chest, and it was then that you realized your hands and feet felt too light. As if they had floated away from your body long ago. 

In order to reach the entrance of the cottage, John had to step over two bodies. Their blood tainted the snow in a similar fashion to a child who had spilled paint over their bedroom floor. But even with the mess, it was like nothing was there, no gore or death or bodies, it was just you and him. 

John shoved the door open where the splashing of water falling from your clothes became obvious on the wooden floor. Inside didn’t feel any warmer than outside, but at that point you couldn’t even register temperature. All there was, was pain. Nothing but a numbness of pins and needles skewering your skin. 

He attempted to set you on your feet, but they felt so detached from your body you stumbled onto the floor instead. His hands caught your waist, preventing too much damage being done to your knees, but then you felt him roam. Your corset loosened, and you felt his fingers dip underneath your dress as he yanked the soggy fabric off your body. He didn’t stop there, either. Your slip, your stockings and undergarments, if there was a piece of fabric on you that was wet, he tore them off until you were completely exposed on the floor underneath him. 

You didn’t even have the energy to ask him what he was doing or to protest. The only thought that consumed your mind was to live as you drew breath after shuddering breath. It almost sounded like you were crying, and maybe you were.

John left your side for only a moment before he returned with the blanket the two of you had huddled under before those men had attacked. He wrapped it around your body before lifting you once again in order to set you closer to the hearth. You laid on your side and watched him with stinging eyes as he piled logs into the mouth of the fireplace along with kindling and other scraps. It was only then that you noticed his shirt had gotten wet too, most likely from carrying your soaking body back to safety. 

In minutes, John had built the largest fire you had seen since the night before the caravan had been slaughtered. Its flames reflected off of the stones of the hearth, slowly filling the cottage with a heat your body was almost too numb to feel. As you laid on your side, you watched as he slipped his own shirt off over his head, tossing that damp garment in the same heap your own clothes sat in. If you weren’t struggling with each breath you took, you might have gawked at the hair on his chest or the faint battle scars that decorated his skin. Instead, you stayed silent as he vanished somewhere behind you. 

Moments later, he returned with another blanket in hand. He settled on the floor behind you as he threw the blanket over both your bodies. The warmth of him soaked into your back as he pressed himself against you, trapping in any heat that attempted to escape. His hand settled on your arm as he quickly rubbed up and down, attempting to create any friction on your skin that he could. It sent a painful sensation ripping through your skin as your body finally started to regain feeling again. 

“Talk to me, Princess,” he spoke, his breath hot on your neck. 

You attempted to speak, but it came out as nothing but a whimper. Every muscle in your body twitched painfully, and it only got worse when you tried to stop shivering. 

“Fi-re,” you were eventually able to choke out. “Sm-o-ke…” 

John continued to rub his hands along your body as he did everything within his power to warm you. No one had ever touched you in such a way, and no man had ever gazed upon your bare body before. But in that moment, you didn’t care. 

“If it draws anyone in, they’ll fall before they lay another hand on you,” he swore. 

It was stupid, and you would have told him as much if you could have gotten your teeth to stop chattering. He had said it himself that smoke would attract those with ill intent towards you, which is why you had spent countless nights huddled alone on an unforgiving floor. But he risked it to save you. John was a strong fighter, that much you knew, but he couldn’t hold off an entire army. 

After a while, John’s hand stopped rubbing against your arm and instead settled around your stomach as he held you tightly against him. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he fit against you so perfectly. His knees settled against the back of yours, his chin rested softly on top of your head, and gods he was warm. The feeling in your body returned, and you felt your skin defrost as the fire melted the ice from your veins. It was like you were back in the basin, sitting on the soft grass and clovers as the spring sun warmed your skin. 

It was like you were back home, and not nearly dead in a cottage in the wild forest of the mountains. 

“John?” you spoke up. Your voice was more fluid, and less tense as the spamming of your muscles stopped. 

“Yes, Princess?” he responded. 

“Those men… they were not Neshevian,” you said, and though you hadn’t framed it in such a manner, it was certainly an unspoken question. 

“They were not,” he confirmed. 

You sniffed some as you felt the snot in your nose start to run. It felt like you had a head cold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you had gotten sick after your quick dip in the wintery stream. 

“Where were they from?” you asked. 

John’s arm tightened around your center as if he was afraid you’d slip out of his grasp. “They were Draewish.” 

You swallowed the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Then they have betrayed us.” 

For the first time since the night before you left for Draewen, you wept. Your tears soaked the carved up wood of the floor, and your shoulders shook not with cold, but with sorrow. You cried for the loss of your people, for the death of Eilra, for the war you weren’t any closer to winning. And most of all, you cried for yourself. You cried for the stupidly optimistic Venacian Princess. 

Your tears ceased once the flames of the fire diminished to embers, and it was the first time John made even the slightest movement to leave you. He left his blanket covering your body as he knelt next to the fire, his bare back exposed to you. Two more logs were added to the fire, and he sat back on his haunches as he watched the flames devour the wood. 

“When the snow melts, we’ll set off for Venaca,” he said, voice tired. 

Nodding your head, you pulled your blanket tight under your chin as you curled forward. Night had fallen by that point, and you hadn’t even realized it since the fire had provided an unfamiliar light. It was the first night you had seen in weeks where you weren’t miserable. 

“The city will fall within months without Draewen’s help,” you said. “Sooner if they choose to aid Neshevia.” 

“Then let it fall,” John said gruffly. “They can burn it to the ground, but no one will lay a hand on you again, Honrul strike me.” 

The determination in his voice almost made you believe him. You shifted slightly, your bones crying out from the harsh floor that offered no padding for your body. 

“John?” you asked again. 

At the sound of your voice, he turned so that he no longer faced the fire, but instead looked to you. Even in the dark shadows that casted on his face you could still make out the softness in his eyes. 

You wondered if that softness was only there when his eyes were on you. 

“Yes, Princess?” he answered. 

“Lay with me.”

His eyes didn’t leave you for a moment, but you could feel the hesitation roll off his body. Maybe there was something unseemly about your request. Underneath your blanket, you were utterly naked and completely exposed. John had only laid with you before to warm you, and you were no longer in danger of freezing to death. It was improper, something both of you should have been reprimanded for. 

“Is that an order?” he asked, shifting slightly. 

“It’s a request.” 

He froze for a moment, and you thought he was going to deny your request. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Maybe he should have. Instead, he crawled on his hands and knees along the floor as he shuffled behind you once more. With careful hands, he moved his blanket off of you, still letting yours stay wrapped securely around your naked body to keep your modesty. 

His chest pressed against your back and his legs bent with the curve of yours while he laid the blanket over both of you. A different and new bloom of warmth blossomed in your chest as his arm settled around your center again, holding you close. Never before had someone held you like that. Never before did you feel wanted for anything other than your status. 

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. “Don’t… don’t go.”

At your words, he buried his face into the back of your neck. You could feel the slight tickle of his facial hair, and how cold the tip of his nose was. When he spoke, you swore you could feel his lips ghosting against your skin. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

ah!!! i was so excited to write this once i got the idea i finished it in three days (cringe) but i'm so happy to finally share it with you all! price is unfamiliar territory for me, but i tried to get the vibes of a tired dad down lmao knight!price is going to be rotting my brain for awhile, though.

thanks again gpd for doing this challenge! and everyone, make sure to check out the other entries!

[hopepetal]

Hi!

So @applestruda and I have been working on a little thing for the boatem knights au. I hope you enjoy this next arc of the story as much as we do.

You can find the masterlist of the previous bkau fic here, and I will be posting this on ao3 as well.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated :)

Impulse was painfully, bitterly, human. Just a normal guy, with normal hair and normal eyes and friends that were anything but. Even Mumbo, who he'd thought to be his one human companion, turned out to be something different. Something special.

When it had finally been revealed to the knights that Mumbo was, in fact, a shapeshifter, no one was really surprised. With the amount of non-humans in the group, and magically gifted ones besides, it was only a matter of time before Mumbo revealed that he was obviously, not human.

While they were all joking around and laughing over Mumbo's newly revealed ability, Scar had turned to Impulse with that friendly smile of his and asked, “So, when are you gonna reveal your super secret backstory to us, Impulse?”

Impulse had laughed off the pang of bitterness and guilt combined (and how stupid was that, feeling guilty over the fact that he didn't have a special ability or secret backstory to reveal?) and shook his head. “Nah,” he had responded with a shrug, “I'm just a guy. Just Impulse.”

Just a guy. Just Impulse. 

Simple words that had become a mantra over the past few days, lingering in the back of Impulse's mind. A whispered chant, just audible enough to catch his attention but hardly loud enough to deserve a shushing. They were an apt description of what he was– of who he was, of course, and Impulse knew that. He had known that all his life, and, up until this point, had convinced himself that he was fine with that.

(He never had been ‘fine’ with it in the first place. It’s why he trained from dawn till dusk for years, honing his strength and skills. He couldn’t fly, couldn’t breathe underwater, couldn’t withstand a fiery blaze, and most certainly couldn’t teleport. But he was smart, and he was strong, and that was enough. Wasn’t it?)

Mumbo was good with redstone, too. He was a genius, even. What with his constant inventions and how he thought outside of the traditional redstone conventions, and the way he brushed off any compliments with a wave and a soft, “It’s quite simple, really.” 

Impulse’s mother had told him that everyone was special. That they were all made up of stardust and the love of the universe. It was an old wive’s tale, but it had been comforting. 

Now, surrounded by shapeshifters and avians and magical beings, Impulse was wondering if the universe forgot to give him a little stardust.

The sun had just begun to rise, bathing the world in its golden light, as Impulse got dressed and headed out to the makeshift training area to work on his swordplay. It wasn’t long before he was hacking away at one of the many training dummies the knights had made together in an effort to “work on their arts and crafts skills”, going through the familiar motions of a swordfight. 

Just a guy. Just Impulse. 

He’d always wondered what it was like to fly. To dive deep into the ocean, without fear of drowning. To never feel the terrible pain of burns, or to get to where you wanted to be instantly.

Just a guy. Just Impulse. 

It wasn’t like being a human was bad. Not at all! Being human was great! He didn’t have to worry about getting hurt by the rain, or his wings being targeted in battle, or, void forbid, being hunted for sport. He could do so much as a human! 

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Just a guy.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he continued fighting, his breaths coming in short pants. In his mind’s eye, the training dummy was an enemy, and it was his job to defeat it. Slicing and stabbing and slashing, Impulse went back and forth in a dance all his own, in a battle that held no weight on the future. 

Just–

“Impulse?”

Pulled from his reverie, Impulse stumbled to a rather clumsy halt, his sword arm falling to his side as he looked over for who called his name. Standing at the edge of the arena was Pearl, leaning against the little wooden fence that surrounded it. She wore a bright smile as always, but something akin to concern shone in her eyes, barely hidden.

“Huh?” Impulse got out, before blinking and shaking his head. “Sorry, Pearl, I uh– I didn’t see you there. Were you calling me?” His muscles were aching, and he was absolutely drenched in sweat. Just how long had he been training for?

Pearl nodded. “Yeah, mate. You were fighting that dummy with the intention to kill, huh?” she joked, gesturing to the very much falling apart training dummy. She continued, “You were training for a while. Lost in your own world, were ya?”

Impulse glanced up at the sky, internally wincing at how high the sun had climbed without him noticing. “Yeahhh…” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Kinda got caught up in my own thoughts, y’know.” He looked over at the training dummy. “Uh… sorry, mister dummy,” he apologized awkwardly, which Pearl found hilarious judging by her soft laughter. 

“You should come get some breakfast and wash up,” Pearl advised, “I’m heading to the village in a bit to pick up some stuff– do you wanna come with?”

Impulse shrugged, before walking over to where Pearl was and hopping the fence. “Sounds like fun, and I don’t have anything else planned.” 

Pearl grinned, and gave Impulse a fistbump. “Great! I’ll go get the horses ready, if you wanna go eat and change real quick?”

“Will do!” Impulse gave her an over the top salute. “Thanks, Pearl!” 

He began to head back to his tent at a slow jog, and decided that maybe it was best if he ignored that soft voice in his head. His friends were incredibly perceptive, and the last thing that he wanted was for them to get all worried about him and start asking questions. 

Would they judge you? Call you jealous? 

Maybe. And maybe Impulse was jealous, at least a little. Did that make him a bad person? For wishing he could be more than what he was? For hoping that he had some chance at standing on the same level as his friends?

Impulse tried to shake those thoughts out of his head as he quickly scarfed down some breakfast and changed out of his sweat-soaked training clothes. Pearl had just finished with getting the horses ready by the time Impulse returned, and greeted him with a smile. “Ready to go?”

Impulse returned her grin as he mounted his horse. “You know it. Road trip time!” 

The trip to the village was a short but pleasant ride through the forest, on a well-worn path the knights had traveled many times. Impulse and Pearl made idle conversation as they rode, Pearl mentioning that she wanted to stop by a couple of shops and the library. They arrived at the village after about thirty minutes and dismounted, tying their horses reins to the hitching post before grabbing their bags and walking into the village.

Impulse had been here before, of course, but visits had been rare recently with… well, everything that had happened. It was nice to get back out and just walk through the village, without any life-threatening or world-ending danger looming over their heads. And as a bonus, he got to hang out with Pearl, which he always enjoyed. 

They went through the shops one by one, Pearl picking up supplies and things they had run out of. Eventually, they were finished, and Pearl pulled Impulse rather excitedly toward the library. He didn’t blame her– he was the exact same way around candy shops. Everyone needed a place that they were excited to go to, in his opinion. 

The librarian– a woman with messy black hair– looked up from behind the counter and greeted them with a nod, before going back to reading her book. Impulse caught a glimpse of the name tag that was pinned to her shirt, the name ‘Evelyn’ written in neat cursive. 

Pearl led Impulse into a room full of bookshelves and, of course, books. “I’m going to go look for some books,” she whispered to him, “you can go off and see if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Impulse nodded. “Alright. See you in a bit,” he whispered back, and watched Pearl disappear into the maze of bookshelves. 

Looking around, Impulse began to wander. The library was well stocked with literature on nearly every subject he could think of, with golden labels on the end of every bookshelf to indicate what the books in that particular section were about. He found himself walking past the shelves that normally would’ve had his attention– books about redstone and industry ignored as he gazed at the shelves. 

Finally, a particular bookshelf caught his eye. The label told him that the books here were about all things supernatural, and with a shrug, he began to walk through the aisle. Most books seemed to be rather thick, scholarly texts, which made sense given the topic. A couple books drew his attention– an old book with a faded purple cover and block letters that spelled out Evolution in all capitals, a book on curses, and a book that probably had been misplaced, given its title– The Legend of Theseus. The mythology shelf was right next to the supernatural one, so Impulse took the book and brought it back to where it was hopefully supposed to be. 

Once the book was back in the mythology section– next to a very old book with a cracked spine and strange symbols on the cover– Impulse headed back to the supernatural section, glancing over the titles with relative disinterest until a particular book caught his eye. He bent down and carefully took it from the shelf, instinctively brushing off the cover and flipping it open to the cover page. Skimming the summary of the book, Impulse found himself nodding along to the words.

He closed the book and glanced around. Pearl was nowhere to be seen, so he likely still had some time. Tucking the book under his arm, Impulse walked back to the main room of the library, placing the book on the counter. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Evelyn looked up from her book. “I’d like to check this out, please.” 

Evelyn took the book, looking at the spine and writing down something on the sheet in front of her. “An’ what’s your name, sir?” she asked, not looking up from the sheet. 

Impulse blinked. “Ah– uh, Impulse.”

Evelyn wrote his name down, before setting her red feather pen down and handing him the book. “Alright, sir. If you’d please return this by the end of next month, and no writin’ or rippin’ any pages out unless you wanna pay for it.”

Impulse took the book and placed it in his bag with a thank you, just as Pearl returned with her collection of books. She gave him a smile, which Impulse returned– albeit a little nervously. 

As they were walking out of the library, Pearl asked Impulse if he had seen anything he liked. Impulse answered with a shrug and a shake of his head. “Nah. I’m not much of a reader.”

Something must’ve spooked the horses while they were gone, as Impulse’s horse was clearly nervous when they returned. He calmed the horse down with a bit of petting and a treat Pearl had bought for their horses before mounting up and beginning the journey back home.

It was a little past noon when they returned, and they were greeted by Scar and a barely awake Grian. Mumbo was busy working on something, but he soon ran over to say hi and help with the supplies and horses. 

The rest of the day went by as normally as it could– it was a calm day for the most part, the only “mishap” being Grian stealing Mumbo’s rocket launcher as revenge for drawing a mustache on him while he slept. They all ate dinner together as they usually did, and after, Impulse left to go to his tent.

Finally alone and in the quiet, Impulse took the book out from his bag, brushing his fingers over the title. 

The Art of Summoning - Demons. 

He opened the book.

Obviously, a book given out at a library wasn’t about to teach him how to summon a demon– void knows he didn’t want to do that, anyway– but Impulse had always been fascinated by demons. He had been told a lot of stories as a child, which probably was the reason for his interest, but there was also… something else. He had been drawn– pulled to this book, almost. As if by magic, or something. 

…some demons can grant their summoner a wish– whether it be super strength, speed, or even flight, there have been records of people making a contract with a demon for their own benefit. When asked why, many of their answers were similar. They wanted to be unique, or special, and had become desperate.

That… sounded familiar. Impulse pressed his lips together in a thin line as he continued to read. He obviously wasn’t desperate enough to summon a demon– he doubted he would even be able to if he wanted to! Which he didn’t. Because that would be crazy. 

As he went to turn the page, a sharp pain shot through the tip of his finger. Impulse sucked in air through his teeth as he yanked his hand away, examining the fresh papercut. “Oh, come on…” He shook out his hand, annoyed, before going to flip the page. 

As soon as he touched the book, Impulse found that his fingers were almost glued to the page. He couldn’t pull away, couldn’t pull the book off his hand, though he tried frantically to do so. It was then that he noticed a small bead of blood had welled up from the cut, and smeared on the page when he had gone to flip it again. 

That… was probably bad.

Just as he was considering calling for help, a soft voice spoke up in his mind. Not soft enough to be inaudible, but not loud enough to be quieted. 

Hello.

Impulse tensed up, looking around the tent. “...I didn’t mean to summon you,” he began, “assuming you’re…?”

A demon? The voice was… quite pleasant, actually. Not like anything Impulse had thought a demon would sound like. Yes, I am one. And you haven’t summoned me. Just drawn my attention. I’ve been trapped in this book for quite some time, you see. It’s been a long while since anyone has opened it.

“Why were you trapped inside the book?” Impulse asked, still on edge. “What did you do?”

Well, that’s rude. The demon sounded as if it were pouting, as if Impulse had offended it. I didn’t do anything. I just… It sighed, and its voice took on a tone of loneliness. I was young when I came to this world. I… wanted to be different, I guess, from the rest of the demons. Everyone had this cool thing going for them… one could curse multiple people at once, one could take human form, and everyone else… had something that made them special. I didn’t. I’m just your regular ol’ demon, residing in your thoughts.

Impulse frowned, settling the book carefully on his lap. “So… why did you get put in the book?”

I’m getting to that. I… got excited. I wanted to show everyone that I was special, too, by cursing someone. I didn’t really think things through. The demon paused. I don’t even want to curse someone, anymore. I just want to go home.

“I’m… sorry…” Impulse began, “that sounds really rough.” He sighed, leaning back slightly. “I get it, though, as crazy as that sounds.” He briefly debated on whether or not he should tell someone– a demon, no less– about what he’d been going through. “I’m… the only human in my friend group,” he started, hesitant, “and it’s just… I’ve always been just a guy. Just Impulse. And no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to change that.”

There was a moment of silence, and Impulse could almost feel the demon thinking. Well… maybe you could. Maybe, we could both help each other out.

Impulse’s brow furrowed. “What are you thinking of?” 

I know, you were against summoning demons earlier, but… hear me out, okay? I could tell you how to summon me, and not only would that free me from this book, but I could also maybe grant your wish! 

The demon sounded… genuinely so excited at the prospect of being freed. Being trapped, all alone, for however long it had been, must’ve been really difficult. Impulse didn’t blame the demon for wanting to be free. He would want the same thing, were he in the demon’s position. 

…and maybe, just maybe, a small, selfish part of him spoke up and influenced his reasoning. But Impulse closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Alright. I’ll help you. Tell me how to summon you.”

Excellent choice! Alright, first things first, you’re going to…

Impulse was painfully, bitterly human.

He refused to be just Impulse forever. 

[moncherellie]

hii!! i saw you were taking requests so can u write an knight!ellie x princess!reader period piece?

it was never meant to be

a/n: thank you for the cool request! i don't know how i feel about this- never wrote for this time period before. it was a fun learning curve!! i hope you enjoy it. requests are open <3 please. please. tell me. smut or fluff or angst idc

-content/warnings: 1.8k words, fem!princess!reader x knight!ellie, arranged marriage/political marriage, mentions of reader having to marry a man, slight angst? happy ending though, feminine reader i suppose

You were a goddess amongst mortals, treading the Earth lightly and gracing the barren ground with flowering spring beauty. There was an elegance to your touch. Anyone blessed enough to know you were changed for the better, your kindness and charity caressing their soul like hundreds of dandelion wisps in the wind. Heads turned when you walked down the pathways, villagers hoping to get a glimpse of their beloved princess, to catch her stray gaze as she passed. You were the kind of person who would never be subject to malice; even if someone wished they could despise you, the love behind your eyes would soothe their violent minds. Your soul seemed to be sculpted by the hand of a creator who endowed you with pure goodness.

Ellie’s skin was etched with years' worth of hardship, mental fortitude carved into her perpetually crinkled brow. Dirt caked her bloodstream, poisoning her soul as it moved through her heart. Behind her eyes was no mercy, no forgiveness, only seeking vengeance on some imaginary being that had seen no value in her from the moment of creation. It seems the same deity that sculpted you had been corrupted as it created her, molding her heart of ashes and skin of rotten wood. She was a decades-old shattered, rusty sword thrown into a river. No value. No hope. Only a broken promise of a better future that had been forgotten.

​​But your merciful, generous sight had befallen her by some stroke of luck. You recognized something good within her and gave her the chance she'd always dreamt about. You sponsored her induction into knight training, looking past her fiery faults and into the essence of her spirit, finding a spark of virtue. You tended to it until the ember became a blaze, and Ellie Williams became a force to be reckoned with. Despite the whispers of naysayers around the castle, there was something honorable and just inside her. There would never be enough words in the English language for Ellie to express her gratefulness to you properly. Even if there were, she couldn't string them together- she was never skilled with words. Instead, her every step carried a purpose: to echo your goodness through her actions.

Every so often, she'd find a quiet moment and reminisce upon the years of hardship she'd endured in training. Initially, she'd been one of the weakest pupils, lanky and malnourished but with a lust for improvement. She would cry herself to sleep the first year, and every night, she'd sneak out to see the dear princess, who would hold her and assure her that she belonged. It took time, but Ellie began to believe her. She sought comfort from you night after night, conversation topics turning personal after Ellie’s mental health had begun to improve. You’d talk about nothing and everything: silly hypotheticals, stories of growing up. The juxtaposition between your upbringing and hers was comical, but you both found comfort in learning about each others’ lives. 

When Ellie was with you, she felt like her social status didn’t matter. She was just a girl, and you were just the girl she was in love with. The class difference didn’t matter and neither did the impossibility of being together. Just two girls in love, neither with the courage to admit it. 

The lingering touches turn into shy smiles as Ellie sits in your room. Ornate tapestries adorn the walls and silk kerchiefs cast you in warm golden light- you look like a sun goddess in a long linen dress, your well-manicured hand coming to rest on Ellie’s knee as you laugh at something she said. Her rude humor was a welcome change to the sterility of castle life. You grew tired of the roles forced upon you by your authoritative parents and court, and vastly preferred Ellie’s brash personality. Your parents would have a collective aneurysm if they knew you were mingling with the ‘peasant knight’ (their words, obviously), so the two of you were reduced to sneaking around. 

Ellie’s smile dropped a bit as she felt your touch through her trousers. Her head felt dizzy and she attempted to compose herself, finding it hard to focus when your touch was so delicate and warm. Your call of her name was like a siren song, impossible to ignore its dulcet velvety tones. “Ellie?”

“Yes, Princess?”

You scoff. “Stop with the title. You know I hate it.”

Ellie smiles. A selfish thought crosses her mind- she wishes you were born normal, born in the village like her instead of in an ivory tower. Maybe then, things could have worked out. “That’s why I use it.” You laugh again, and she feels her stomach turn. Why couldn’t you be like me?

-

A week later, Ellie’s thoughts are the opposite. You sit in the throne room, grandiose decor embellishing the great chamber. Lavish royal purple flags and bright maroon banners drop and fold along the walls. Opulent chandeliers of pure wrought iron hang from the ceiling, supporting crystal fixtures through which valuable beeswax candles bathe the room in light. Stained glass rose windows and fleur de lys seem to further isolate Ellie, who stands guard by your throne. Invasive thoughts plague her as she keeps her professional face. I don’t belong here. I never have. I wish I was like you- then I could take you away from here. The thoughts are heightened when she sees the reason the entire town is gathered under the concave.

Four suitors from across the land vie for your hand in marriage. Ellie bites her tongue, her taste buds flooding with a familiar metallic sting. 

They don’t really want you, not like I do. All they want is power. They don’t treasure your time or your kindness. You deserve more. 

She clutches her spear, posture erect, seeming the quintessential knight. Only you noticed how her hand shook with nerves, how she seemed to hold onto the weapon as if letting go would kill her.

Each suitor takes time to introduce themselves. They focus on their own qualities, never talking about why they would be honored to be with you. And they would be. You sit on your throne, deep purple taffeta draping your body elegantly as you cross your legs. Aphroditic, a Hellenistic Roman statue come alive. Romantic, expressive, nymphlike in every way. If you were Euydice, Ellie thinks she must’ve been Orpheus. The anticipation of witnessing you choose your husband (and thus leaving her) was beginning to affect Ellie physically. Her heart felt like it would die in her chest: she swore she felt an arrhythmia. 

First, the suitor from the East describes what he would gift you if wed. As if you would be swayed by material possessions. The suitor from the South notes his conquests. The changes in your expression are minute, but Ellie knows the look. You’re entirely disgusted, and she clears her throat to catch your attention. You look over, the unimpressed look still donning your face, but your eyes light up when you see her. Ellie smiles- a silent reminder: I’m still here for you. It’s like you’re the only two people in the room.

The Western suitor wears his pants inside out, and your eyes immediately meet Ellie’s. You cover your mouth with your hand, appearing classy while chuckling and snorting behind your cover. 

The Northern suitor is handsome and decent, Ellie reluctantly admits. She’s not blind. She hates that she doesn’t hate him. He expresses interest in you and vows to give you autonomy. It’s basic, but more than the others offered. She tries to read your expression and for once, she can’t. It makes her heart drop. 

After every suitor is introduced, you and your court go into the back room to discuss your final decision. The decision that, whomever you choose, will ruin Ellie. She stands guard before the door, straining her hearing to find some clue that you won’t marry these men. She begs silently to whatever immortal being watches over her. 

You haven’t done much for me. I haven’t asked for much. But I’ll do anything to stop this. Please. 

A knock at the door signals Ellie to move away. She takes your hand and leads you back to the throne. You sit, and Ellie has to will herself to let go of you. What if this is the last time she’ll be able to hold you? The thought nearly brings her to her knees. Her joints ache with every step she takes away from you, returning to her post in front of the chancel. Your father stands, his creaking bones the only sound in the room. Everyone holds their breath as he speaks.

It’s detached apolitical jargon that Ellie can barely pay attention to. She thinks that if she doesn’t listen, the situation won’t become real. To her dismay, your father ends his aloof speech and presents you. Sir Williams has never felt so sober.

Ellie watches with wide eyes as you stand. She peers up at you from below the stage, and she can’t help but realize what a perfect metaphor this is. You stand above her, gilded and unobtainable, while she looks up, dreaming of what could’ve been. Of course, she’ll support any decision you make, but she’ll never be happy with it. It seems time moves gruelingly slowly as she awaits your voice. At any other moment, she’d be hanging off your every word, waiting excitedly for what you have to share next. But now, she hopes the words never come.

You open your mouth, words leaving in slow motion. She wants to close your mouth to shut you up and kiss you so hard that you never think about anyone else again. She doesn’t.

“Dearest suitors, I thank you for coming here today. Your travels are long and treacherous and your efforts do not go unnoticed. As noted by my father, I have come to a decision regarding my spouse. I am firm in my choice, as this is the most chivalrous, goodhearted, and impressive person I have met. The only person who understands me.”

Ellie is used to you switching from your formal persona to your true self, but she never gets over it. It’s you, but it’s not you. You stroll along the chancel, in thought, and Ellie takes the chance to admire everything about you as if this is the last time she’ll be able to. Posture, gait, the way you hold yourself as if you’re sure about every action. She doesn’t know you’re terrified beyond belief.

Your finger comes out to point to a suitor. The great hall inhabitants draw a collective breath, Ellie included. You drag your finger from the right side of the stage, passing over the suitors of the East, South, and West. Ellie knows where this is going. Of course, you’ll choose North. He was the obvious choice, and she couldn’t fault you for that. And suddenly, your finger passes by him.

Ellie’s mind races. What’s happening?

Your body turns, and soon, Ellie stares down your hand, furrowing her brow. Her eyes are filled with childlike hope.

“Ellie Williams, if you’ll have me?”

[starhoppin]

pick a picture; the next important person you'll meet

pile 1 -> pile 2 -> pile 3

disclaimer; this is a general reading! these messages may not fit everyone. please take what resonates and leave the rest.

「 pile one」

queen of swords (cb: the sun rv, four of wands rv), six of pentacles rv (cb: eight of swords, ace of wands), ten of cups (cb: king of pentacles, justice rv)

you might be going through a tough period in your life at the moment. perhaps you've been experiencing a lot of instability and sadness. it seems like you're feeling a bit stuck; however, this person will help you get out of this toxic mindset. they will bring a lot of passion and inspiration into your life. this person could be a romantic partner that you've been searching for. i'm seeing that they will bring a lot of happiness and joy into your life. you might have been feeling like this type of connection has been withheld from you unfairly; however, it will come in due time. this person is responsible and reliable. they could be very good with money or flourish in their career. they may have an air of impulsivity about them but trust that they have a lot of love to give. they're compassionate, kind, and supportive.

「 pile two」

five of cups (cb: ace of cups rv, ace of swords rv), knight of wands rv (cb: four of pentacles rv, wheel of fortune), the sun (cb: justice, knight of cups)

this is in terms of a new romantic connection. you could be mourning a past love connection that didn't work out. this could be creating a lot of confusion and chaos in your life, as well as leaving you feeling emotionally drained. however, it looks like things are turning in your favor. you might be feeling ready to open your heart to a new love opportunity. you may have manifested this new person. their presence will bring a lot of joy and harmony into your life. since you've been making an effort to work through past wounds, this person is essentially like a gift from the divine. this person may come across as charming, artistic, and diplomatic. they might also be a bit of a flirt. i'm seeing that you might be a bit hesitant to pursue this connection at first, perhaps causing a bit of a slow start, but this person will be persistent. they like to take the lead in love and i'm hearing that they "won't take no for an answer." this person will help you accept good things in your life - particularly if you're the one who tends to be the giver in relationships.

「 pile three」

knight of cups rv (cb: ten of cups, ace of cups), knight of swords rv (cb: death, seven of pentacles), strength rv (cb: wheel of fortune rv, the tower rv)

you might be currently going through a rebirth and are working hard at releasing things that no longer serve you. however, there is an air of impatience to your actions. you might be feeling that this part of the journey is taking longer than anticipated. despite seeming like you're working hard to get through this period in your life, you may be fearing change. this is natural; however, you are clinging to control and could be prolonging this period. the next person who is coming into your life will help you work through this transformational period by encouraging you to go with the flow. this seems to be a romantic connection; however, you may not be open to it at first. you might think this person is just full of empty promises, but it looks like there is a lot of potential for this to develop into a stable love offer and bring you a lot of long-term happiness if you give them a chance. they may be a bit unconventional or rebellious. this person may make a great leader or perhaps hold some sort of leadership status in their career. they like to "blaze their own trail." this person is optimistic and confident.

tarot deck used in this reading: cirque du tarot

[moonywritez6]

Knight Rengoku x Princess Reader

A/N: Have some Knight Rengoku head canons! I wanted to try something new! I hope everyone likes it!

Warnings: Slightly spicy towards the end!

Wc: 2,048

______________________________________________________________

Knight Rengoku! who was assigned to you from a young age his family being one that has served the royal family for generations. The first thing you ever recall noticing about him was the unique look of his eyes that seemed to stare up at you admiringly as he gently placed a kiss on the back of your hand. "It is an honor to serve you, my princess!"

Knight Rengoku! who is always keeping a bright smile on his face as he happily greets you whenever your paths cross or the days begin. His loud and joyful voice echoes throughout the palace grounds as he makes sure to kneel before you each morning for his daily greeting. "Good morning my princess! I hope you have slept well! I, your loyal knight Rengoku am happy to serve you on this beautiful day!"

Knight Rengoku! Who makes sure he is always accompanying you whenever you leave the palace walls even if it's just out in the royal garden. His reasonings are sometimes ridiculous. "My princess I must accompany you here in the garden! Who knows when a dragon could come flying from the sky and snatch you away to his lair!" You rolled your eyes as you examined some of the garden's flowers happy to see they were blooming well as you glanced up at your knight whose smile remained permanently plastered across his face. "Sir Rengoku there's no such thing as dragons! Honestly how old are you?" He just laughs scratching the back of his head knowing his excuse was a lame one.

Knight Rengoku! who finds himself overcome with joy when you ask him to escort you to one of the royal balls being held in a few days. He makes sure to brush up on his social skills along with the proper ball etiquette as he does not wish to mistakenly embarrass his princess in front of those who will be quick to judge her.

Knight Rengoku! who happily holds an arm out to you a giant smile on his face. "Shall we, my princess?!" He laughs as you shake your head but smile nonetheless at his energy. Once your arms are interlocked Rengoku feels his chest expand as his heartbeat against his ribcage your touch could bring him to his knees if it wasn't for all the nobles surrounding the area.

Knight Rengoku! who watches from afar as a few noblemen try their best to win your favor. Rengoku feels his jaw clench, teeth quietly grinding together as he feels a tight knot form in his stomach. He watches as you dance across the ballroom your dress flowing perfectly with each movement you take. 'Breathtaking' He would think to himself as his eyes never left your form making sure he engraved each sway of your body into his mind.

Knight Rengoku! who one day catches you staring at him from across the training grounds the sun blazing hot as he tries to wipe some sweat away from his chin. He looks at you with a bright smile as he waves a hand high in the air. You blush at having been caught as you try to hide your flushed face behind your fan while averting your eyes. Rengoku notices this action finding it adorable as a small hue of pink dusts his cheeks before he makes his way towards you. "My princess! Good evening! What brings you hear if I may ask?" He cheers leaning over your seated form his entire torso exposed.

Knight Rengoku! who's muscles flex sweat dripping down every part of his exposed torso causing your mind to wander into sinful scenarios. "I-I just happened to be walking by is all! Please continue with your training Sir Rengoku!" Your stuttering response gets a small chuckle from the knight as he carefully catches a strand of your hair slowly dragging his fingers down to place a delicate kiss on the end his eyes locking with yours causing you to freeze as your body felt like it was being cornered by the smiling man in front of you. "I see…please feel free to continue watching if you would like my princess." His voice is different this time though you fail to catch it due to your panicked mind.

Knight Rengoku! who hears talk amongst the servants of a marriage proposition for the princess causing his heart to sink as he quickly makes his way towards your quarters. He awaits outside your doors tapping his foot nervously while waiting for the doors to open. When he is allowed inside, he is quick to spot your delicate form sitting gracefully in front of your mirror as you calmly get ready for the night. "What brings you to my chambers so late at night sir Rengoku? Has something happened?" You question, voice filled with concern. Rengoku stares at your reflection from the mirror his eyes locking with yours causing your body to visibly stiffen when you see the look they hold.

Knight Rengoku! who feels his breath hitch when you demand for your staff to leave you two in the room. You turn to him giving the knight your full attention his eyes shamelessly fall to your chest where your nightgown reveals your cleavage causing him to swallow the heavy lump in his throat as he carefully fixes his posture. "Is it true my princess? Has someone made you a marriage proposition?" His question catches you by surprise as you straighten your posture giving a small nod of your head. "Yes, he appears to be a kind gentleman! Though he is quite a bit older…" A sigh leaves your glossy lips as your knight watches you shake your head in dismay.

Knight Rengoku! who finds himself walking towards his sweet princess his heart clenching when he gets close enough to notice the crease in your brows along with the small dark circles starting to form under your eyes indicating the lack of sleep you have been receiving. "My princess…have you not been resting well these days?" He whispers in such a gentle tone as he carefully places a hand on your cheek his thumb lightly caressing the spot under your eye. You hum leaning into his touch a small smile on your face as you look up at him with those kind eyes, he loved staring into each day.

Knight Rengoku! who bites his tongue when he hears his princess whisper about how warm he always was and how much you loved it. "I wonder…will I feel such warmth again when I am married?" The thought slips out unintendedly, but Rengoku hears it his grip on your face tightening as he brings the other up to gently lift your chin. "My princess…does the warmth from my body truly bring you this much comfort?" He whispers slowly inching closer to his princess's face, warm breath slightly hitting your precious skin. The two are locked in time as they both stare into each other's eyes silence filling the room.

Knight Rengoku! who apologizes for his next move as he finds himself locked in a passionate and fiery kiss with his princess. The woman whose side he has always stuck by no matter what anyone would say about the royal family. You were different no matter what anyone said he would defend you with his last breath. Pulling away from the kiss when he notices his princess starting to get fidgety, pressing his forehead against hers with a heavy sigh. "Forgive me, my princess…I have taken advantage of you." He whispers with a small pant his eyes showing you that he wanted much more than just a kiss.

Knight Rengoku! who is in complete shock when you pull him in for another kiss this time more needy and aggressive. Your knight hums into the kiss as he pulls you closer to his body arms wrapping around your smaller frame protectively as one hand finds itself entangled in your hair gripping any strands he could. You felt his body heating up even more with each sloppy kiss. "Princess…m-my princess this is wrong!" He curses distancing himself slightly from the two of you panting cheeks dusted red and bodies warm from lust and desire.

Knight Rengoku! who is pushed back onto the floor looking up at you with surprise as you straddle his torso glaring down at him with small tears in your eyes. "It's not fair…why can't it be you I marry?" Your words caused the knight's eyes to widen his chest tightening as he watched his sweet and caring princess cry on top of him. Your tears drip onto his face but your knight says nothing as he finds himself carefully rubbing circles on your hips with his rough and calloused thumbs. "Shhh. Do not cry my princess…it pains me to see you so sad." He whispers truthfully as that smile you loved so much appears once again on his handsome face.

Knight Rengoku! who carefully lifts you into his arms as he carries you towards the bed gently laying you down his eyes scanning over your entire figure wishing to keep you by his side for the rest of time. "I shall take my leave now my princess." He whispers with a small bow before turning to leave. You lay there in silence before whispering the few words he never wanted to hear leave your lips. "I'm sorry for burdening you for all these years sir Rengoku…I hope that once I am married and gone you can find true happiness in such a cruel world." He knows you do not hold any ill intentions with those words, that you had always felt like such a burden to those who serve you their lovely princess who has never asked for a single thing in life from the day he met you.

Knight Rengoku! who finds himself having you caged under him his hands on either side of your frame. "Don't say that…don't you ever say that my princess." He scolds quietly the expression on his face one of anger and pain. Rengoku hated that you felt like you were a burden especially that fact you thought you were a burden to him. "You have never once burdened me princess…from the moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were my one true princess. I will happily serve you until the day I die no matter where you go, I will follow." His confession leaves you silent however he notices the tears falling from your face.

Knight Rengoku! who kisses you passionately his hands cupping your face as he whispers sweet praises in between. "My princess…you taste so good." He whispers as he finds himself trailing kisses down your neck the small whimpers that fall from your lips sending a wave of lust to overcome him as he nibbles on your sensitive flesh. "Ah…I suppose I shouldn't leave marks can't have any more rumors spreading about my sweet princess~" He teases letting out a small chuckle when he sees a pout on your adorable face.

Knight Rengoku! who finds himself aggressively feeling up and down your body his hands yearning to touch every piece of his beloved princess as his tongue invades your mouth. "S-sir Rengoku please slow down!" You cry out softly having not ever been touched by a man before. His movements slow down as he pulls away from you a deep red dusting his cheeks as his eyes fill with love and desire. "Forgive me, my princess…I forgot you are still pure and must be savored properly." He apologizes as he pulls away from your form.

Knight Rengoku! who promises to slowly teach his lovely princess how to properly make love before excusing himself from her quarters with one last kiss. He nods to his fellow guards as he makes his way to the training grounds needing to blow off some steam, he keeps recalling how delicious his princess looked as he lightly presses a thumb across his lips a bright smile on his face. "Don't worry my princess…I'll do anything you ask of me till the end of time." He whispers before pulling his sword free ready to train his body throughout the night. His princess fills his thoughts even as he dreams later into the night.

[jediskywalkerblog]

Heya! How about what happens when Ani finds out you haven't had your first kiss? 😘

Many Thanks ❤️

A sweet, sweet kiss. - Anakin Skywalker

A/N: no smut in this just a whole lotta ani fluff <33

I’m sat in by bedroom watching the blazing sun go down over Crouscant, I can’t help but think about how someday I may get out of this place, somewhere out of all the business and politics. One day. I am bought out of my thoughts when I hear a slight knock at the door. “Miss (Y/N), there’s news that my skywalker and mr kenobi have just arrived back to crouscant.” It feels like a long while since I last saw Anakin and Obi - Wan.

“Thank you 3P0” I will be down soon to greet them I say as I rush to my vanity table to make myself look a bit more presentable than being bare faced in my satin pj dress.

“Miss (Y/N), we really should hurry, we might miss them” I hear 3P0 say from outside my bedroom door. He always waits to escort me places.

“Don’t worry, I never miss them” I smile to myself as I pin my hair up… “I’m coming now 3P0” I say as I open my bedroom door, 3P0’s arm is already out to escort me downstairs.

…

As I’m walking down the stairs, my eyes catch his beautiful blue ones as he walks up to me. My walk turns into a little more of a run when I’m finally at the bottom of the stairs. I run straight into his arms. I missed this feeling. “Oh Anakin, it feels like forever since you left” I say as he pulls me into his warm embrace.

“Been missing me have you?” He smirks down at me right before I full away from his embrace. I can’t admit it.

“No, of course not. I missed my protection” I say making him chuckle as I turn to Obi - Wan. “I’m guessing Anakin wasn’t too much trouble” I say as I side eye Anakin, who looks very unimpressed.

“He was alright when he was needed” He replies making us both chuckle…

“The two of you must attend the dinner I’m hosting tonight to celebrate your safe returns!” I say as I turn to Anakin, catching his glance once again. Those eyes have always made me feel some type of way towards him.

“We’ll be there miss (y/n)” Anakin says as he gently grabs my hand and plants a gentle kiss onto it causing butterflies to flutter inside me.

3P0 escorts me back to my room so that I can get ready for tonight’s dinner, I’m just so happy the Jedi knights are back safe, I’m happy Anakin is safe…

“Miss (Y/N), I can’t help but wonder if you have feelings for my skywalker?” 3P0 asks me as i’ m at the dresser brushing the curls in my hair.

“Excuse me, it’s none of your business 3P0” I reply in a playful way. “So what if I do?” I accidentally say out loud as I look into the mirror. I’m in a silver satin dress that hugs me in all the right places with my long brown hair resting along side my body… I’m almost ready to head down to dinner until I hear a knock at the door.

“Miss (Y/N), it’s Anakin.” My heart skips a little.

“Come in” I say before asking 3P0 to leave… “Hey Ani” I say as he walks up to me. He looks as handsome as ever in his all black suit with his robe resting along his body.

“Ani?… I like that nickname” he says as he follows me out onto my bedroom balcony.

“Why is it you wanted to see me Anakin? I’m due to see you in 15 minutes for dinner” I ask as I turn to face him, he’s smiling down as me as the bright sun beams down on his beautiful face.

“I just couldn’t wait (Y/N), I missed you, I missed your face, your beautiful eyes, your smile and even just talking to you… when it got tough out there thinking of you is the only thing that kept me going”… he says as he cups my cheek with his beautiful eyes beaming down at me. “You look beautiful tonight by the way” he says with a smirk on his face.

“You don’t scrub up too bad yourself, mr Jedi” I say making him chuckle.

“Also, I really want to try something with you” he whispers softly as his face slowly gets closer to mine .

“What’s that Ani?” I say teasingly. I know it’s a kiss. I’ve never kissed anyone.

“A kiss” he says whilst his lips are millimetres away from mine. My heart is beating out of my chest as he grabs onto my waist, I hope he can’t feel that.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before Ani” I admit before looking down in embarrassment. He pulls my chin back up so I’m looking into his beautiful eyes.

“I would be honoured to be your first (Y/N), may I?” He doesn’t need to answer before my lips are crashing onto his, butterflies are exploding in my stomach as he pulls me closer into his embrace. In this moment it feels there’s no one else in the galaxy. Just us.

Hey lovelies, hope you liked this lil fic that i put together today🥺… my requests are still open so send any you have via the ask button! <33

- @jediskywalkerblog 🚀✨🛸

[jenosbliss]

hihi!! i love how u write the dreamies 💝 yk how people talk abt having a third place? could u write about how theyre ur third place please? (if that makes sense!!)

thank u if u do this!

🍯 ⌇nct dream ! being your third place

paining. gn!reader x nctdream | genre. fluff | wc. 926 | warnings. none

MARK.

Mark wasn't the first boy to make your heart skip a beat, nor the one who ignited the wildfire of first love. He was like the sunrise after a restless night, the warmth of a shared cup of coffee in the morning.

His love wasn't a fireworks display, but a slow burn, a steady support that kept you cosy even on the coldest days. He was the shoulder to cry on, the hand to hold when the world felt like it was spinning too fast.

Mark challenged you, pushed you to be your best self, even when you didn't believe in yourself. But beneath the driven exterior, there was a boy who loved fiercely, who wrote you clumsy poems and tucked wildflowers behind your ear. He was your cheerleader, your rock, your third place that felt a whole lot like first.

RENJUN.

Renjun wasn't the sun that blazed across your sky, but the moon that bathed your world in a soft, ethereal glow. His love was like a whispered melody woven from moonlight and starlight.

Renjun understood your silences, the unspoken worries that danced in your eyes. He could read your every mood in the curve of your smile, the tremor in your fingers. Hewas the confidante you never knew you needed, the one who listened without judgement, who offered solace with a gentle touch and a shared secret.

With Renjun, love wasn't a display, but a whispered promise, a bond of forever. He was the calm after the storm, a simple poem, your third place that felt like a whisper of forever.

JENO.

Jeno wasn't the wind that swept you off your feet, but the steady breeze that kept you grounded. He was the boy who held your hand through the darkness, his quiet strength a beacon in the unknown.

Jeno didn't need grand gestures to express his love. It was in the way he helped you carry groceries, the way he chased away your nightmares with a silent presence, the way he held your gaze. He was the quiet hero, the knight in shining armour who didn't need a parade.

With Jeno, love was a slow, steady burn, a fire that kept you warm from the inside out. He was the rock you could lean on, the lighthouse guiding you home, your third place that felt like an unbreakable promise.

HAECHAN.

Haechan wasn't the star that brightened your universe, but the playful comet that streaked across your sky, leaving a trail of laughter and stardust.

Haechan’s love was like sunshine and confetti, a melody that made you want to dance in the rain. He was the boy who turned every day into an adventure, who chased away your blues with a goofy grin and a contagious giggle.

Haechan taught you how to find joy in the little things, to laugh until your sides ached, to embrace the chaos with open arms. He was the reminder to never lose your inner child, to chase your dreams with reckless abandon, your third place that felt like a never-ending summer.

JAEMIN.

Jaemin wasn't the fairytale prince you swooned over, but the boy next door who held your hand under the streetlights. His love was a slow bloom, a promise written in shy glances and stolen kisses.

Jaemin was the one who made you believe in happily ever afters, who whispered sweet nothings in your ear under the starlit sky.He was the best friend who turned into something more, the shoulder to cry on who became your kiss in the rain.

Jaemin knew your favourite ice cream flavour, your deepest fears, the way your eyes sparkled when you were truly happy. He was the one who saw the beauty in your flaws, who cherished you for who you were, your third place that felt like falling in love all over again.

CHENLE.

Chenle wasn't the one who stole your breath away, but the one who poured you with impromptu tunes, his laughter filling the air like scattered notes. He was the sunshine after a thunderstorm, the sprinkle of sugar on a rainy day.

It was in the way Chenle hummed your favourite song while doing the dishes, the way he taught you silly dance moves in the kitchen, the way his eyes crinkled with mischief when he caught you off guard.

Chenle was the reminder to find joy in the simple things, to laugh until your stomach hurt, to dance like nobody was watching (even when they were). With him, love was like a pop song stuck on repeat, catchy and unforgettable. He was your third place that felt like an endless karaoke night, your heart forever warmed by the echoes of his laughter.

JISUNG.

Jisung’s love was a spark of electric energy, a playful banter that kept you on your toes. He was the one who challenged you to rap battles in the grocery store, who wrote you poems as funny as they were sweet, who could turn any dull moment into a cherished and beautiful one.

Jisung didn't shy away from expressing his feelings, but did it in his own unique way. He wrote you songs, baked you cookies shaped like hearts with funny uneven icing, told you you were beautiful with a smirk and a wink.

With Jisung, love wasn't a slow burn, but a firework display, each moment an explosion of laughter, joy and passion .He was the spark that ignited your own, the energy that propelled you forward, He was your third place that felt like a nonstop roller coaster ride.

a/n. hii anon i hope this is what you expected and Tysm for requesting 💖

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masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

[purplepeach333]

The Prey

Pairing: Feyd x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: you are the adopted daughter of house Atriedes, stranded on Arrakis with your mother and brother. Paul starts seeing visions of war and chaos whilst you are trying to aid your brother in finding a way out of the bloodshed you get word of the arrival of the Emperor and house Harkooen. Paul goes to your mother for help. She claims there is only one way that war will be avoided which is for you to accept the long waited betrothal offer so that they can keep peace.

~Part 1~

I dart into the cramped cave my mother occupies, feeling frantic and almost sick

“How could you! Even just knowing that you were considering giving me away to those monsters is absolutely unbelievable!” I breathe out, anger coating my features as I pace around the small space a few times.

Jessica sits there in her usual place within the shadows almost unaware of my presence, meditating for the hundredth time that day. I stop pacing and turn to her looking for a sign that she is paying any kind of attention. Away from the blazing desert sun the air feeling cool as It fills my lungs, not a sound but my unsteady breath

“Mother please, you can’t just ignore me and expect me to accept it” I cry out angrily, searching for any kind of response.

After a horribly long couple minutes of silence Jessica opens her eyes glancing up at me with a vacant expression

“It has been decided, I have already sent word to the Baron.” She replies her voice empty and emotionless matching the bland expression on her face

“What!.” I stand there, my body frozen dread rushing through me. “Y-you can’t do that.” I try to protest my voice coming out in a desperate whisper. “They wouldn’t agree to it. Not now”

Feeling my world collapse around me, anything I could have ever wanted or wished for gone, impossible, absolutely unattainable I’ll be a prisoner.

“They will come to fetch you tomorrow, then all shall be well for Paul to continue on his path” she finishes turning away from me

Hearing her words I feel something within me snap “Paul! Is that seriously all you care about!” I shout in frustration. Seeing her so uninterested in what I have to say I step towards her. I'd been training day and night my whole life to perfect my control over the voice, without hesitation I look down at my mother and use her own training against her “look at me.” I command

The energy in the room changes almost immediately as Jessica stands from her spot glaring at me “how dare you.” She demands her voice echoing on the thick stone walls around us as bits of sand and rock fall from above.

“You have no say in the matter it has already been decided.” she continues stepping towards me “with the Harkoonens satisfied and out of the way Paul will be able to do what he must and with you wed to the Na-baron we will have a hand to control them.” Without another word she strides past me out into the light.

I stand there stunned. Even if Paul achieves his goal how will I gain control over the Harkooens they’d kill me if they ever saw me as a threat.

—

Stepping out into the harsh, burning heat from the cool, comforting shade, I realise that this is actually happening in just a few short hours. I will be forced to leave my family and the beautifully harsh desert to go willingly with the Harkooens. I’ve only ever read about them and their way of life and what I’ve read isn’t very comforting, but being merely a pawn in a large,unfair game of chess I have little to no say against the kings and knights ranking well above me no matter how much I plead and beg.

“y/n do you have nothing better to wear?” Jessica comments from behind me devoured by her layers of elegant fabrics

“No mother, this is all I have.” I pat down my fremen borrowed clothes “I doubt it matters-“

“Of course it matters, you must make a exceptional first impression” she corrects me immediately “you wouldn’t want to disappoint your betrothed”

I peer out into the never ending sea of sand, wishing it would swallow me whole and put me out of my misery.

[thebetawolfgirl]

His Chosen Queen

Pairing: Timmy x Reader

Warnings: Smut, soft Hal.

A/N: I wrote this at midnight so I might be rushed in some places because I was so tired!

His Chosen Queen!

Hal had chosen his Queen, she was the love of his life and had been with him from before he became King, she was there during his wild days as the young prince, although while the other women he went with were more interested in his title, y/n couldn’t care less. He was utterly fascinated with her because she wasn’t hanging onto him like the other women, she would always serve him with a smile, and she would always ask him how he was and he knew she meant it and genuinely wanted to know how he was doing.

When his father passed away, he went straight to the pub to drown his sorrows even though he knew he now had duties as the newly appointed king of England, he just needed some time to himself to process everything, it was very quiet in the Inn and the moment he stepped through the door he felt soft gentle arms wrap around him, and a voice of an angel.

‘I am so sorry, my lord. Your father was a good man and a wonderful King.’

He wrapped his arms around her back, and buried his face in her neck inhaling her unique scent, she smelled of fresh cotton and rose oil, she felt so soft, he thought as she pulled him upstairs and just sat with him on the bed as he cried.

He began inviting her to the castle and spending time with her immediately after his coronation as King, his council didn’t get it. They had tried to recommend several eligible ladies, princesses and Duchesses but the King wasn’t interested in them, he just wanted y/n, so one night after a beautiful meal and a walk around the grounds he proposed to his lady and was overjoyed when she accepted his hand.

After their wedding y/n insisted on going outside to greet the people and Hal would do anything for y/n so they went out and greeted the people of the Kingdom.

Hal watched his new wife with the people, he watched as she hugged the children and spoke to the elderly, some of them regulars from the Inn, she truly was a Queen of the people and she had won over their hearts.

They spent nearly every day together when he wasn’t doing his royal duties for the Kingdom, which was thriving under the new king and queen, there was hardly any poverty amongst his people now, since y/n had began to work with the local farmers to provide enough wheat, grain and barley for everyone. Y/n made sure everyone had their fair share of everything and the people loved her for her kindness and her intelligence as well as her beauty.

The King was still ruthless and somewhat merciless towards those who would choose him as their enemy, and some even went as far as attempting to attack his queen, but she never feared because she knew he would always protect her.

‘I will protect you with my life, y/n! You are my Chosen Queen.’

She smiled and lay her hand on his cheek in one of their rare moments of privacy and he melted against her like ice under the blazing sun.

‘Then I have no fear of being harmed my Hal. For I have my Knight in shining armour. Many people would not have approved of your choosing a commoner as Queen-‘

‘Name them and I will have them all hanged.’ He glared looking around them pulling her close.

She chuckled and brought him back to her by taking his face in her hands and stroking his cheeks. ‘There are no enemies in the castle my love, be at peace.’

She nuzzled his nose with hers and watched his eyes soften again.

‘Let us retire to bed my King.’ She whispered and took his hand in hers and pulled him upstairs.

Hal was sitting on his large bed staring at his wife watching her getting undressed and leaned forward to pull her towards him by her hips and rested his head on her stomach closing his eyes.

‘My Queen.’ She ran her fingers through his short hair smiling.

‘I am not Queen yet, my love.’

‘You are MY Queen. Queen of my heart, Queen of my mind, Queen of my soul! You are the air I breath, through my lungs. You are the blood that runs through my veins.’

He slides his hand up her thigh pulling her to sit on his lap letting her wrap her legs around him while he pushed her underdress from her shoulders,

‘Don’t stop my king, what else am I to you?’ She whispered against his ear her long hair falling into her eyes.

His breathing hitched as he untied the lace in front of her gown slowly.

‘You are the music i hear in my head at night, you are the birdsong in the morning. You are the voice of an angel that takes away all of my fears,’

She lifted his shirt over his head tossing it aside and ran her fingers up and down his chest before moving sideways and falling back against the bedsheets and pulled him on top of her.

He had slid her gown down to sit around her hips and placed open mouth kisses up her torso watching her eyes close as he reached her breasts and wrapped his tongue around one nipple and sucking gently while rolling the other between his fingers before switching to the other with his mouth, he trailed his tongue along her collarbone before capturing her lips in his.

He moaned feeling her tongue dancing with his and deepened the kiss passionately. She slid her hands down his body and reached for the strings that tied his pants together and pulled them free before sliding her hand in and wrapping her fingers around him making his hips to rut forward against her hand moaning.

She began stroking his hard length sliding her hand up and down him as she moved her head and kissed down his jaw leaving gently nips along his neck causing him to whimper and let his head fall against her throat and dig his fingers into the sheets just by her head.

‘No! Not like this.’ He growled hoarsely and gently pushed her hand off him before ripping the rest of her gown off and grabbed her legs to wrap around him as he ran his cock against her opening teasingly making her groan before pushing into her slowly, both their eyes rolling back into their heads.

He set a steady pace thrusting into her hard and deep and leaned down to kiss her lips as she pulled him down on top of her deepening the kiss, causing his cock to go deeper into her making them both moan.

She wrapped her arms around him holding him close as he thrust into her, the only sound being their breathing and contact of skin against skin, he thrust deeper nearly slamming into her as he slid his arms under her body pulling her close against him panting into her shoulder feeling his hair sticking to his forehead and neck.

‘I’m close my King.’ She muttered breathlessly against his ear as her body jerked upwards from the force of his thrusts, he raised her legs up nearly around his chest and slammed harder and deeper making her scream his name beneath him and came undone around him, he watched her in awe as she came around him his eyes never leaving hers as he came straight after her before collapsing into her arms moaning and whimpering her name like a prayer over and over again.

‘Y/n, y/n y/n, y/n. My Queen y/n.’

He lay in her arms, both drenched in sweat and tangled in the bedsheets trying to remember how to breath again. He buried his face in her neck as she lightly ran her fingers down his back, she turned and lay small pecks against the side of his head earning a nudge and a nip against her neck, she lifted his face and gave him an open mouth peck against his lips which he deepened pushing his tongue into her mouth.

She returned the kiss pushing him onto his back and gently held his face between her hands as he wrapped his arms around her back and just lay there letting her kiss and nibble his lips. She pushed his hair from his face with her fingers before breaking the kiss and laying her head on his shoulder.

‘Sleep, My king. We have the rest of our lives to make love and be together forever.’

He smiled and closed his eyes holding her close and pulled the bedsheets around them falling asleep.

@sufferingstarlight

@gatoenlaciudad

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@minnypress

@tchalamess

@tchalamss

@mel-vaz

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Exactly as you are

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n well look at us meeting at part three already. Thank you so much for all of your love. And an extra thank you to @brekkershadowsinger for being my knight in shining armor and a beta reader! Love you so much!🤍

summary: when two broken souls meet something is bound to happen.

warning: mention of past trauma, anxiety, sexual assault, murder.

••••••••••••••••••••••••���••••••••••••••••••

The sun peaked through the open window. The sun - which was supposed to warm and bring hope did little for the coldness that lingered in the room. Kaz rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Sleep just didn't find him tonight. And how could it be when all he heard were your cries? Screams and pleas that dragged way into the night. Kaz leaned back into the chair that he had pulled over hours ago. His gaze fell on your curled-up body, now fast asleep in his bed. His pillow beneath your head, his blanket warming up your body, his shirt clenched between your hands as you held it closer to your chest.

When Kaz had made his way back, the first person he was greeted with was Jesper. He could tell that the man was lingering. Purposely trying to wait out to catch Kaz there. Kaz thought about ignoring him, and he was going to until Jesper spoke up, "I'm sorry. You know that I am", dirtyhands spun around to face his crow. A cold, predatory gaze seeped through his eyes. Not family. Not friends. A boss and his investment, "Are you, though?" Now step away from one another, they were practically breathing at each other's throats. "Imagine that was Wylan? What would you do, Jesper? How far would you go?", Kaz barked out and turned away in an instant. Too much. Jesper had already seen too much. There had been too much. Too much was at stake. Too many people were involved.

"You love her", Jesper breathed out. "You…", but Kaz quickly turned back to him, the tip of his cane now pointed straight at Jasper's throat. "One more word, and I will rip your throat out". The warning was primal, raw, and something that deep down Jesper hoped Kaz would never actually do, but from the way, Kaz's eyes blazed and the way his hand shook ever so slightly, "Consider yourself lucky because Wylan was there if none of you would have been…", but his words died down. Choked out by that fear of losing once again. Kaz had already run through every possible scenario and every feasible way that those two could have hurt you. He needed names. Needed a reason. Now he wished he had left at least one of them alive. One of them to tell Kaz, who had been stupid enough to try to get to you when you were his. Because those faces were new to him tonight. Not prepared. He was as unprepared as the crows, and for that alone, Kaz couldn't find the strength to properly punish Jesper.

"Take Inej and sift through the docks. I need reports of all the newcomers, their names, who they work for, and why they came here. Find out who those two were", Kaz ordered, fingers running through his hair in frustration. He needed to calm down. To properly pull himself together. His emotions were too much of a giveaway that he cared. But shouldn't he? Shouldn't he care? His business might be in danger. There was a tassel in his club. His property was damaged. Who knew how much it would cost to get the blood off the floor? "Inej is upstairs with Nina looking after Y/N", Jesper muttered, and Kaz only nodded his head. "Good, go after it or go alone. I don't care".

"Kaz", you had muttered at least a thousand times since Jesper had walked in with you in his arms, shaking like a leaf. Nina dragged a wet cloth down your back, locking eyes with Inej, who was just as worried, before turning to you. "He will be here shortly, darling. Fix a couple of things, and I will be with you", she said as lightheartedly as she could, although Nina doubted if the state Kaz would come back in would help you in any way. The heartrender had suspicions. Most of the crows did. You two were almost glued to each other. And for goodness sake, who else besides you got to sit on Kaz's bed, let alone lay or sleep in it? No one. They couldn't even breathe the same air as him for longer than intended. But then there was you. And no matter when or for how long you stayed in Kaz's office, there wasn't a time when you were cursed out and pushed through the door. Together. Almost always together. Kaz's heartbeat changed first. At least that was what Nina caught onto. Maybe it wasn't affection at first, but still, you managed to alter Kaz's heart. Give strength to the beats, but lighten them at the same time.

"Kaz", you muttered your mantra, once again, big puffy eyes looking up at the two girls. Inej was a breath away from comforting you once more, but Nina cut in swiftly, changing the subject, "Let's get you out before you turn into a prune. Come, up you go", she pulls at your hands, making you stand, before wrapping a towel around your naked body. "Inej, why don't you fix a cup for all of us, huh?", but there was more behind this, and Inej could tell. Almost a silent plea to go look for Kaz. That whatever Nina was doing to keep you calm wasn't going to hold for much. She could feel it too. Slowly bubbling. Building up.

Kaz selfishly did not want to seek you out after all. Why would he? You had Nina and Inej. What would he do there? Stand and look? But then shouldn't he go up there and demand answers? Maybe the two had told you what they wanted. Because this seemed more than just a quick fuck that they were after. If that had been the case, Kaz would have been too late to stop it. Too late… Promised to protect. To keep safe. The image of you stripping in his office the first night flashed through his eyes. Kaz clenched his fist angrily. He had killed them all. Found a list of every man who had put in money to buy you off. They were begging for it to stop, but all Kaz did was repeat your name over and over to them. Dragging their deaths painfully slowly. No one knew about that. It wasn't something anyone else needed to be a part of. It was for Kaz. It was for all the rage that waked in him every time you flinched, every time his eyes caught a glimpse of your scars that painted your wrists and ankles, the torn skin on your back while you were changing, and the emptiness in your eyes.

Then Kaz heard it—the faint sound of your voice once again. His name slipped out of your lips in desperation. Calling for him. Searching for him. Kaz stood up, rushing towards the door, but then he halted. Still as a stone. He could not face you. He could not see you. Not now. Not like this. Not for everyone to see. Your voice grew louder. Kaz. Kaz. Kaz. Kaz. Kaz put his palms over his ears. Turning to walk to the furthest corner. Yet he still heard the way Nina was trying to soothe you. Kaz could almost see you trashing in her arms. The cries made him tightly close his eyes. He wanted to. There was nothing more that he wanted than to hold you now. To answer the call. To pull you out again, but he couldn't. There was no way.

Slow her heartbeat, make her pass out, Kaz thought to himself. Come on, Nina, be useful. And as if the heartrender had heard him, the cries died down softly. Followed by a little sob from Nina and a ray of apology slipping past her lips. The silence stood again. Kaz braced himself against the sink, catching a glimpse of his worn-out face in the mirror. Weak. Worthless. How can you protect her when you can't even go to her when she needs you the most? The anger rippled again, and without a second thought, Kaz's left fist slammed into the mirror.

The room was dim. The last remaining light source was the fire slowly dying down in the fireplace. Wylan was rubbing his hands over Jesper's shoulders. Nina was leaning onto Inej. The tea that sat in front of them had gone cold. Neither of them had touched their cups even once. It had been several hours since the last cry echoed through the house. Nina had stopped sniffling. She had never before used her ability in that way. It was one thing to make someone fall and cripple them in the middle of the job; it was a completely different story to choke the air out of the lungs of someone you cared for while watching their limp body in front of you.

Even at the thought of that, Nina's lips trembled once more. Jesper reached towards her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. Tonight had been a mess. Everyone's brains had been scattered with questions. All the ifs and whys, maybes, and whats. And with Kaz nowhere to be seen… He had made it clear to everyone that Y/N was someone that each of them had to look after. And tonight they all abandoned their posts. Sure, it was Jesper's night to keep an eye on you, but the blame couldn't be placed solely on his shoulders. They all let loose. Disappointed Kaz, but most importantly, hurt you in the process. They didn't talk about the other side of this. There was not even a thought about it that lingered. Jesper, while telling everyone about the conversation he had with Kaz, cut himself off right before the question of love was brought up. Not his to discuss. Not his to be brought to daylight.

"Why are all of you still here?", Jesper had stood up so quickly, nearly sending the little table flying, the tea cups rattling. All of them stiffened, like kids who had been caught misbehaving and now were awaiting the scolding of their parents. None dared to meet Kaz's eyes. It felt like he had brought coldness with him, as the room suddenly became almost freezing. If Kaz was being honest, he wasn't sure if he wanted them to fall over one another while they apologized or if he preferred silence. The silence that carried fear. The power he had over them.

"I gave orders to Jespere…", dirtyhands spoke once more, and Inej was quick to cut in, "He told us". Kaz nodded his head, and said, "Good. Then why are you here?" It seemed like such a simple question, but then again, what were they supposed to say? Because they wanted to see him? Because they tried to find strength in one another? Because being alone felt too vulnerable? Yet this set of silence was met with a growl from Kaz. "Go", he muttered angrily. Turning to the side so they could walk past him. "Kaz, she…", Nina started, being the first one to lift her eyes, and the coldness that pierced her made a shiver run deep within her body.

Kaz lifted his hand, silencing her. "I'll take it from here. I have unfinished business with her as it is", Nina shook her head. "Kaz", you were too weak. The demons within you had feasted on your strength. If he were to come at you Kaz-style, he would send you into yet another panic attack. But Kaz only let out a snarl, "Did I ask for your opinion?" They lowered their heads. Jesper wrapped one of his arms around Nina, bringing her closer to him, and clasped Wylan's hand in another. He glanced at Inej, who only nodded her way. Get the two settled, and then they would hit the town just like Kaz had ordered them to.

When Kaz finally made his way up to his office, he tried to pretend that you weren't lying in his bed. That he couldn't hear your breathing. When that got too hard, he tried to trick his mind into thinking that this was the usual night. Like always. He had chosen to work too late, and you had ended up falling asleep. The only difference was that on nights like that, Kaz found himself watching you. The way your face would relax. There was no sign of the slight frown that lingered then. Calm and relaxed. Comfortable enough to sleep in his presence. Now, however, Kaz tried to keep his eyes away from you. Too afraid that it would only break him more.

But the uneasy breathing was hard to miss. You let out a cry, and Kaz's eyes drifted to your frame. Only now did he notice the shimmering drops of sweat clinging to your forehead. Hands clenching the sheets. Kaz blinked again. There in your place now laid Jordie. Turning and tossing as the plague spread further and further. Kaz stood up, crossing the distance between him and the bed in a couple of steps. He ripped the gloves off his hands. The taste of bile in his mouth picked up again. What was this cruel joke? Sure, he was a bad person. Had done so much wrong, but why you? Why Jordie? What have you two done? Or was it a curse for just letting Kaz be a part of your life?

He kneeled once more. One deep breath in, and his hand came into contact with your warm forehead. Not burning up, but warm enough for a slight fever. A part of him was trying to stay rational. To get a fever after a night filled with such events was normal. It could happen, but what if this was something more? What if they had poisoned you? What if he had missed it? Kaz reached for a jug of cold water before dipping a piece of cloth in it. The moment the cold material came into contact with your skin, your eyes opened up slightly.

The fright in Kaz waked again. He wasn't ready. Wasn't prepared to see you conscious just yet. You glimpsed up at him tiredly. Body eased slightly at the sight of him. Kaz swallowed thickly. He didn't know what he wanted to say or what he should say. A part of him wanted to shout at you, but one look at your eyes, which had lit up ever so slightly at the sight of him, halted him once more.

"I'm sorry", you murmured, licking your dry lips as the uncomfortable tightness pulled at your skin. Kaz shook his head, reaching for a cup, "Nothing to be sorry about". The words had come out more sarcastic than he had wanted. As if he didn't genuinely mean it. You gave him a look. One that he had learned to identify. One that let him know that you were more than aware that he was lying. But he wasn't.

"I would do it again", he muttered, turning his gaze away from you. And he would have. As much as he tries to tell himself that he would never reach for you again, he knew deep down that it was a lie. Because he would. Because you were now a part of him. In ways that Kaz couldn't fully identify. Ways that were unfamiliar to him. He had only felt somewhat similar when it came to Jordie. Sure, Kaz cared for his crows, but that was different. You were different. Your eyes filled with tears as you watched him. You had been so desperate to apologize. Aware that you crossed the line by touching him tonight. For reaching out to him in a way that he didn't want to be reached. And here he was telling you that he would do it again. You shook your head, "No." Your voice died down. Cut off by the fear. By the lack of words spoken for a long time.

"Don't push yourself", Kaz ordered you firmly, but you jerked your head once more. He needed to know. You wanted him to know. Through your heavy, tired eyes, you looked at Kaz. You searched for him as you always did. "No one has ever touched me without bad intentions. You…", you stopped yourself as the tear ran down your cheek, stinging in your eyes getting unbearable. "You were the first who wanted to hold me without the intention to hurt me".

The sob finally slipped past your lips. You quickly moved your hand to cover your mouth. Trying to silence the cries, knowing how much Kaz hated emotions displayed like that. Kaz closed his eyes, lifting his head ever so slightly. If you hadn't crossed the line before, you sure have now. You reached for the sides of the sheets. Not waiting for him to scold you. Not ready to face him pushing you away. But Kaz was quick to snatch the side of the blanket out of your hands, pressing it down onto the bed and keeping you covered.

There was so much that Kaz wanted to say. So many words at the tip of his tongue. So many thoughts. And you knew it too. You could tell, so you settled back down. Both of you used up your emotional resources tonight. Drained yourselves dry. Yet Kaz looked at you once more. Reaching for the cloth to dip it into the cold water once more. Just this time, his palm lingered on your hair for a moment. A silent promise that he wanted to figure this out together. Step by step. No matter what was to come, you were going to do it together. Then he turned away from you once more. Pushing the rising water down. You watched him for some time until your eyes grew heavy, and the darkness pulled you under once more.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Kazzle Dazzle taglist: @igakc @anxiousbeech @vicky-09 @coldheartedmar

[astralnymphh]

before the flora.

knight!ellie x princess!reader teaser. beginning is essentially just lore. bonus excerpt with ellie and princess interaction below the sketch. wrote the intro in january. no warnings tbh. illustration by @trackinglessons :P READ THIS . PALESTINE MASTERPOST

When the universe was born, there was only fire; a slowly waning blaze. And so hence when death begins to unfurl its low, groaning bloom— there will only be ice.

Yet the heavens and earth are nay alike, as death— and life, are interwoven by the timeless nuptial that is humans, and Mother Nature. Cordial and tepid heartbeats meet with her frigid and frightening marrow this season. Flakes are falling, a howl swells in the wind, and hearths stay an undying tongue of flame in the province of Istenad. Isle of riches and hedonism gone rampant amongst those who proved meritful of a conversation spat over gilded chalices. Or those who wiped a famished tongue stroke over the sole of His Majesty— The King's tan leather boots in entreat, declaring the hide a tenfold more gullet–watering than their stale, daily spare of bread. Where high life reins, low life is there to scrub their steeds.

The wintry pearlescent tundra fringing around uncharted woodlands hums your name— it carries by gale, an airy reed of vowels pulled through your ears. 

Tut, tut, tut, the pecking of bark.

Everything seems to resound much heavier over the windows thick limestone sill. Woodwinds, the sough of pine boughs— a chorus wafted. Woodpeckers, they beat rigid timber with their sonnets of calling. The echoed tut starts to sound awfully kindred to a beckoning call of your name. And at daybreak, when the tangerine sun dips its head under the coast, you feel a magnetic lull to traverse your truest passions and slip away into the night, arctic chilled steel in hand. The quantity of hay sticking beneath your shoes collected by skittering across the night–doused thoroughfare was well enough to concern your maids on duty to dress you, brows fuddled at the streaming of straw near your door come morning.

Loop of your knuckles, bend of your wrist, a hand flexed on the hilt of a meticulously poached sword. A swing 'round your waist, a cold hale grip the air could taste, fighting off many mythic brutes of moonlight, however only conceived where dreams are airtight. The mind, it plays. The play it perceives, a viewing spread like tawny butter. Ghouls and ghastlies encircle a quaint pond, chanting away in cryptic grumbles and beastly bumbles, enraged with their slobber frothing at the fangs you tore from their sockets— deeper than artless, juxtaposed to the blinding ruby reds and dyed paper sunflowers of the theater. Your mind’s play felt real.

Unfortunate to your heart, dreams will stay dreams.

Nary a princess was meant to tune into melee, especially at your courting age. Nevertheless, your psyche has spurned from what a maiden is expected of and is completely in a haven of your own structure, your signature sanctuary. 

In the farmsteads, a forthcoming soldier harvests not just crop— but dexterity. Derived and nurtured in the faraway prairie village of Dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. Any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time unfolds. In their— well, her— adolescent years, the yearning for practices of gallantry in knighthood swiveled her sights to the colossal stone castle way.. way far away. Sprouting beyond the earth line, far as the eye can see.

So, she learned, she trained, she slept, partaking in a ranged cycle taught by her ruthlessly departed father: Sir Joel. Reprisal became her nemesis; never able to rend the barrier of hesitation and cleanse her shut eyes of revolting imagery. The horseman of death was not omitting the trauma of this hazel-haired soldier. A weight so burdensome, her speckled skin remembers the tales of every scar clawed into it. Like how the lips of a bard cling to an everlasting ballad.

Every knight knew well to exile any lingering ties to the past. It's been years since he passed, she understands that. Though, the heart never lies, and certainly never covets forgetting.

Ambitions stemming from legions of knights in waiting have fallen short, submerging within the moat of the castle and sinking deep into the catacombs with no elegy sung. An allegory for dreams long since vanished. A domain so valued longs for those biding life with rigid bones, such as she. Tempered by the hardships, endured like metal meeting the blacksmith's chisel. 

A vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. For it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. A knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. An artisan of her craft, this knight-to-be is. Born to thrive in matters regarding protection of their kingdom and its nobility. By the sheer tenacity of her skill, she will excel. From the self–instructed lessons in a verdant pasture, basked by undying light in her hometown— to the ordained priming within the royal court. 

They were forged to be dutiful. 

You are a daughter of the illustrious King, Sagard, and swan–grace queen, Sagard— maiden name Adela, and sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, Prudence. Subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. A pratfall you plainly turned a serene ear from, for you foresaw its coming. Clandestine adventures and lollygagging in the marketplace earned you right in the clasp of consequences. You knew that, knowing it kept you on the balls of your toes before you'd be caught suiting into an act more repugnant— be it, no.. befogging yourself in a peasant boys' dire–in–muck rags, merely to play "boy" games as a young one? 

Sacrilege! 

Prudence was there, at every occasion, scolding with her youthful finger at the palace fore, sucking her fingertip wet of spit and dragging a stroke over your soot–strewn cheek, just before scuttling the halls in search of father, cawing, “Father, Father! My sisters become a boy again!” until it rang his fucking ears to a pulse. Hmph, father even countered his own remark of squawk, pouring through the walls, “Hah! The second son I wish I reared! Tell me, what peasants skin does she clad: butcher's boy, or of the farmer?”

Rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. You purely long for a world of your own color. Your self-brewn arcadia of art. In a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty. And your family chastised you curtly for every scant display of free will, short of the Queen, she is fair.

Daughter of the King, Princess of the thicket. You retain your fortunes. Modestly.

“Why don't you resemble your sister more?”

A ruby crested box designed by the best of goldsmiths is lodged at the margin of your beds footboard, safekeeping of your esteemed regalia. You possess a bedazzled amassing of circlets, veils, brocade and velvet tunics of long lengths within this box. But do any of them revel in the blessing of being worn on regal skin? Never. You opted for garbs of less gilding and jewels, so that you might taint it with whatever adventures mold under the ribbing of your foot. That shit offended your skin with its indelicacy of forgetting a human will don its fabric golds and woven jewels.

Even— court gatherings. You don the likeness of simplicity and temperate elegance. This morning's virginal aurora, a broach of light swoll from the windows arch, to the footing of your bed, made the wake of your eyes begin upon a lighting behind sheer skin. Your box of regalia shone in that incandescence momentarily. It danced, fleeter than you, irkingly so. You had to squint whilst flipping the clasps and hauling the heavy lid slanted against your bed, or else you may be heaven–blinded. “Every inch of Princess,” you intoned in quietude at the sight of glamored fabrics, “—whom I shant mirror.” and reached for the homelier fabrics, scratch of cobalt-blue linen delight brushing under your prints, you grasped your reserve tight.

“I was not made aware that there is a village wedding to be, dear sister— from what river does this dress of rags hail from?”

“It is not a brides dress, nor rags, leave me Prud—”

Prudence had blocked the shut of your chamber door with her hand flattened, pursuing, “You glum your gems. Rotting in that chest, tasting no light, no glory.”

You kept your lips thickly sown shut, casting dimly eyes to the ground.

“Shall I send for the steward so he may sell—”

“No need.”

“Hmm, most stubborn, are we? Then I—”

“I am least stubborn,” you wedged your fingers beneath her palm, prying the door loose, “—it is you, who strays your own counsel, unmoving as a mountain.” ending with the trudging shut of your door, ceasing in silence.

[++ bonus excerpt from act 2, scene 1]

“Uh–huh..” she draws out. Legato; a sarcastic reply, and wipes her tongue through the press of her lips together, “This far out? You must rebel quite often to have made a friend, I bet?” she tilts her head, a bit playful.

“You bet well— a lot, I assume?” 

Cannily, she winks, “Indeed I do.” and aligns her face onward. Gesturing to her horse's rump a second— third? Eh, whatever time— she jerks her brow with a head cock back, “Hop on, I'll take you there.”

Both brows fall, and you flinch bemused, “Wh– uh,” as you hem and haw for words, grating a stutter, “But not a moment ago you spoke of the roads recent perils—”

“Surely it's not far?” she spoke presumptuously, “I mean, you've come this far, My Lady. Nobody would travel the woods past sunset, besides you it seems.” now a matter–of–fact vocal barricade that shoves itself into your ears and winds the cogs to think cleverly.

You shan't know my transgressions, sweet Knight. You may talk.

Trust is sparse as a puddle marched in.

“‘Tis but a mile out. Bravo on your convincing, Williams.” you wry and scoff. 

“Can't fumble that name, huh?”

“I would not want to dishonor your knighthood.” 

“You honor me with your coincidental presence, Princess.”

“Honor in your mind.”

"Hmph," her breathy chuckle, a sweetness you luckily caught with ears even numbed by the snowsquall. Do not blush. Do not smile. Fuck. Guess you'll be visiting Malina after all, the gale of a displeased sigh icing your lips over as you approach that dangling stirrup.

[witchthewriter]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: how are we feeling with ep 5??? I feel like I’m being fed with CRUMBS. I want more Harwin, he is my favourite for Rhaenyra (well fav in general). 

Also, this is like a mix of headcanons and an imagine; I just like the dot points breaking up the text🌷

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ    

SFW🌿

⭑ Your father was the head of a smaller house that was well-known for creating great soldiers. Your brothers were already in the King’s guard, so political matches to further your house were left on the women’s shoulders. 

⭑ And it was because your father was in good faith with King Viserys, that you, along with two of your younger sisters and father, were invited to court. 

⭑ The journey was long, almost two weeks travel, to get to King’s Landing. And as soon as you got there, you were on the move again, as it was Aegon’s second birthday celebration. 

⭑ In the carriage, you felt cranky, sticky and uncomfortable. 

⭑ Your periods had arrived the day before and your sisters weren’t old enough to understand how the monthly attack made a woman feel. 

⭑ “Y/n, you must fix your face before we arrive,” your father commanded. 

⭑ Your attention snapped towards the patriarch of your house and a pang erupted in your abdomen. Fix. My. Face? You thought angrily, the pain was indescribable, and it was all you could do to not rip your father’s head off. 

⭑ “What was that, m’lord?” You retorted. Spitting the name like a viper. 

⭑ Your father knew he had made a dire error. Sitting up straighter, he replied sheepishly, “Nothing y/n.” 

⭑ “No, no. Say it again, please. I misheard you.” 

⭑ “I spoke out of turn,” her father replied. And even though he was the patriarch of your house, the father of so many knights, the one who was expanding your name. 

⭑ He was still a man, who did not understand women. Especially women on their period. 

⭑ No one spoke until your arrival. And even then, your father adverted his eyes. But when you thought he didn’t notice, you asked your sisters to help clean you up. 

⭑ The sun was still high in the sky as you stepped out of the carriage and onto the dirt ground. A tent had been erected in the middle of the grounds, and a fire stood blazing. 

⭑ Your body was being attacked by pain and anxiety; daggers and butterflies. Surely not every woman felt like this while at court? Wouldn’t these nerves subside? 

⭑ But the weight of the world felt heavy on your rose-gold-clad shoulders. Your dress showing your collar bones and a golden necklace hung on your chest, with your house’s animal in the center. 

⭑ There seemed as if hundreds of people engulfed you. Your sisters hung by your sides, hands clasping your own. 

⭑ Your father led the way, his cloak billowing in the dusty wind. You blinked violently, but the dirt had found its way in your eyes. Your sisters squealing as they too were attacked by the wind. 

⭑ But in the mere seconds your eyes had closed, your father had disappeared and you were lost in the waning crowd. 

⭑ Social gatherings weren’t your forte, especially ones that were so important. 

⭑ “Where’s papa?” Your youngest sister asked, she had only celebrated her 9th year last month. 

    “We’ll find him,” a deep voice replied from behind you. 

⭑ Spinning around, your sisters still holding onto your hands, you saw a tall man with dark hair and a beard to match. 

⭑ He offered you a kind smile. And you could tell that he was trying to show you that he was no threat. 

⭑ “Thank you, Ser,” you curtsied, although awkwardly, as your sisters trembled into your dress. The sun was too bright for them to see Ser Harwin’s smile. All they could make out was a dark giant with a deep voice. 

⭑ “I know this can be overwhelming,” he remarked. His honesty was something that you weren’t expecting. 

⭑ Harwin bent down, so he was eye to eye with your youngest sister. He looked at her with a jokingly stern stare, then smiled. She mirrored him. 

⭑ “Do you like food?” He asked, a dramatic expression of questioning on his face.

  “Yes,” your sister responded lightly. 

“Do you like sweets?” 

     Both of your sisters’ eyes lit up. And your middle sister answered for both of them. 

    “I hear there are tables full of cake, pastries, sweets, and biscuits inside.” 

⭑ He stood up and the girls flocked him, grabbing onto his hands as they pulled him inside. But Harwin waited for you to move, opening his arm so that you could link yours with his.