#and he doesn't get hung up on challenges

[ohkate]

Mickey Milkovich is not dumb.

[gurugirl]

DILF | older!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

A/N: This was requested + this! Also, please think before you judge Y/n. She is very bold and confident in this. Maybe even a little pushy but Harry likes it (even if at first he doesn't give that impression). Also he's single so this isn't cheatrry!

Word Count: 6,580

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light)

. .

"That one. Total dilf. He looks grumpy. Bet you can't crack him."

Y/n laughed at her friend and looked down at her red-painted nails before narrowing her gaze on the attractive older man who was seated at the corner of the bar alone. He was nursing a whisky and he did look rather sullen. Unapproachable even.

"Why him?"

"Because he's hot. And I'm curious to see if you can get him to smile at least," Warren raised her brows, "I dare you."

Y/n tilted her head and assessed him. He was nice and big, taking up a decent amount of space at the bar, broad shoulders and back hunched as he leaned his muscular forearms on the wood of the bar top. Meaty hands placed on either side of his lowball glass. Thick brown waves on top of his head with a bit of silver coming in at the temples. But the handsome features on his face really set him apart. His granite jawline gave way to stubble that stretched over his skin and shaded in the spaces around his pink lips.

If she could "crack" him she wasn't sure she'd want just a smile. He looked yummy enough to eat.

Drinking down the last of her martini she pointed at Warren and then Tara, "Fine. Give me twenty minutes and I'll have him eating from the palm of my hand."

Tara laughed, "If you say so…"

She placed her heeled feet down on the floor and brushed her hands over her dress, "Oh, I do say so. Just watch and learn, ladies."

Y/n wasn't quite that confident, but she wasn't about to say no to dare. And she could hold her own when it came to flirting. She liked getting a little attention and if she could garner this one's interest it might be fun.

She sauntered up to the bar behind the man and noticed the way his t-shirt stretched over his lats and tapered loosely down at his waist. The guy was fit. And lucky her, there was an open stool next to him.

Sliding onto the seat she waved at the bartender to order another drink. She'd need all the courage she could get, in whatever form she could get it.

Tapping her long nails on the lacquered wood she felt nerves thrumming through veins before turning toward the man finally. He hadn't seemed to take note of her yet, which honestly was unusual in most cases. Maybe she thought too highly of herself but men tended to notice her right away. She appreciated the challenge, though.

Reaching her hand into his space to greet him, she pushed down her nerves to sound steady as she spoke, "I'm Y/n."

She watched his brow furrow as he turned to look at her hand and then up at her eyes, his expression, which she expected would soften once he looked at her, was unamused. A single light overhead lit the tops of their heads as a shadow cast over the side of his face and he didn't make a move to shake her hand, "And I'm old enough to be your dad."

A surprised scoff fell from her lips as she moved her hand away from him. She wiggled in her seat and crossed her leg over her thigh toward him, gulping down the initial rejection with as much grace as she could muster, "I think you're jumping to conclusions about my intentions. But so what if you're older than me? I don't mind. We're both adults, right?"

An unimpressed grunt rumbled from his throat before he took another sip of his whisky and he looked away from her toward the TV that hung not far away from where they sat.

The bartender placed her olive martini down on the bar in front of her, "It'll be on Y/n Y/l/n. I already have an open tab."

A sip of the salty drink felt warm down her throat. So he was going to be a bit tough to crack. She turned to look at her friends who were grinning in her direction.

Straightening her back to feel more confident she tried again, "So you're not gonna tell me your name even?"

Without looking at her, he licked his lips and ticked his jaw, "Y/n, I think it's past your bedtime."

She smiled at that. He'd said her name, which meant he'd been listening, "My bedtime is whenever I say it is, not when some grouchy stranger says."

He puffed out an amused laugh through his nose, "I am a stranger. Which means you should be cautious, little girl. Your dad didn't teach you about things like that?" He turned to look down at her again, and that time she saw the soft green color of his eyes as the light hit his face just right.

But now she was really determined. She smiled brightly at him and let her eyes coast over his tattooed arm and then back up to his face, "Are you telling me you're dangerous?"

He still didn't smile as he shook his head like he was surprised by her gall, "Do your parents know what you're up to tonight?"

"I'm 24. Graduated from college, live on my own, pay my bills, have a full-time job. You seem to be awfully worried about my parents. I can take care of myself just fine."

Just then another person sat down next to the man Y/n was trying to whittle away at. He poked his elbow at him, "Who's this?"

"Don't know. Someone who's about to go back to her table with her little girlfriends."

Biting her lip she traced the rim of her martini glass with her fingertip, keeping her eyes set on the handsome tattooed one, "Not even a smile. Just one? Please?"

"Like I already said, I'm way too old for you."

The other man leaned over and reached to tap Y/n's shoulder, "Hey. Forget about Harry, here. You can bring me home with you if you're looking for a daddy tonight."

She frowned and looked him up and down to asses. He was late 40s perhaps, wearing a local band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a backward cap to make himself appear a little more youthful. "No thanks. You'd know if I was interested in you."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at her retort. She was definitely too young but he liked her spunk.

"Now, Harry…" she said his name slowly as she leaned a little closer, "I've got your name thanks to your friend. Can I have a smile?"

"Why?" He stared down at her, the caress of his gaze felt infinite and she found her skin convecting in its wake. He might be hard to crack but this one would be worth it, she determined.

She sighed and slid her finger dangerously close to his wrist as he looked down at her nail and watched her trail it near his arm, "I just hoped to see you smile is all. Too handsome to have such a sour scowl on your face."

"And you're hardly old enough to be so confident to walk up to a strange man at a bar."

She laughed and tilted her head, "You planning on doing something bad to me, Harry?"

And that. That pulled a reaction out of him that spread over his features slowly as he shook his head in disbelief, "Darlin', you wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her eyes widened slightly. Now she was definitely not giving up. Y/n wasn't one to fail and Harry might be making her work hard for it but she couldn't imagine it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

"Is that a challenge or something?" She softly scraped her nail over his tattooed wrist and Harry watched her red nail work over his skin.

His resolve was fading fast. She could tell he wasn't going to keep denying her. And why should he? If he was single, which he appeared to be, what was the harm in having a little fun with someone younger? Y/n didn't mind. And he certainly shouldn't either.

"If it were a challenge you'd know it. Lots of other guys here, Y/n. Go enjoy your night with someone closer to your own age."

She sighed in annoyance. But he hadn't moved his arm away from her and she was going to take that as a sign.

Dragging the toe of her shoe into his shin she grinned, "I don't want to enjoy my night with someone my own age. Not tonight anyway. I think you've convinced me that I need to test out this theory of yours. That you think I can't handle you. Cause I bet I can."

With his eyes piercing into hers, he took another sip of his drink. She thought she might have just convinced him to give her a smile at the very least because it looked like he was weighing his options. And if she could get him to smile she might have luck with the rest.

He tilted his chin upward for a moment, eyes aimed at the ceiling like he was calling on a higher power for strength, "Go back to your friends, Y/n. Any other man here would love to have your company."

"But you wouldn't love to have my company?"

"I mean… I'm still here," the other man raised his hand and leaned into Harry, "Honey we could have so much fun. Any man who'd turn you down is either battin' for the other team or more likely," he chuckled and pushed his shoulder into Harry's teasingly, "He can't get it up anymore."

Y/n's mouth dropped open at that and Harry turned to look at the man. She wished she could see the look on his face, "Sit the fuck back down, John. She already told you she's not interested in you."

"Yeah, and you're not interested in her so what's it matter to you? Look at her, Harry. Practically begging you. Young and bubbly… Tight—"

Harry's hand covered John's throat as he pushed him away, nearly making his stool topple over, "Get the fuck outta here. You had too much whisky tonight."

"Aww… come on Harry… I was just jokin'!"

She watched as he stood from his stool and looked down at John, "And you thought that was funny? You like making jokes about women like that?"

The man put his hands up in surrender, "I'm out. Here…" he threw a wad of cash on the bar top before he moved past Harry and then looked at Y/n, "My apologies if I offended you."

They watched as John left the bar quickly and then Harry sat back down before he waved at the bartender and signaled for the check, "Just the one whisky neat."

"You're leaving already? Night's still young, Harry."

He sucked at his teeth as he scraped his gaze over her face and down to her cleavage. She smiled when she watched the path his eyes had taken.

The bartender handed him the bill and Harry leaned over to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

She scooted closer to him, "You headed home?"

He nodded, but not necessarily in answer to her question, it was more of an appraisal kind of nod. He was still silent as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm sure John's a nice guy and all but he's not really my type. And I'm sure he was wrong about you."

That got his attention. Harry flicked his gaze back to hers, "Wrong about me?"

She smiled, "The part where he said you couldn't get it up. You're not that old. I'm sure you still can. Right?"

He clenched his jaw and breathed out of his nostrils like he couldn't believe she'd asked him such a thing. He handed the bartender his cash with a nod before he stood up from his stool.

"Huh. Since you're so quiet about it maybe he was right," she goaded, pressing her lips together to flatten her smile as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Harry placed a palm down on the bar top next to her hand and leaned over her, "You're out of your depth here, Y/n."

"Now, you don't really know that do you? Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're awfully pushy. Not used to hearing no, are you?"

Y/n watched as the edge of his mouth lifted in amusement and she widened her eyes and pointed, "You're almost smiling."

He shook his head and looked around the bar before pinning his gaze back to hers, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. But your luck has run out with me, princess."

Harry stood to his full height and Y/n decided to try one last time, "So it's true then. What he said."

He stopped and turned to look back at her, a slow burning heat behind his gaze, "Couldn't be further from the truth."

She smiled and slid off her stool to stand in front of him. His height was impressive, "Prove it."

The line of his jaw hardened, turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. His eyes simmered as he weighed his options. Finally, a hint of a smile stretched over his mouth. A small one, but still.

"I don't need to prove anything to silly little girls."

"Good thing I'm not a silly little girl. I'm a grown woman, Harry."

Y/n knew she was pushing it. She'd never needed to throw herself at any man before. But because of that, she wasn't used to rejection either. Maybe it was a good lesson for her ego. She knew her big fault was how entitled she could act sometimes. But that was partly thanks to how she was raised. It's better to act like a man to get what you want in life, her dad told her. And so far, that had been true. Some women balked at her confidence and her bold attitude. She wasn't demure or sweet enough. And men would often refer to her as a bitch or say that she was trying too hard.

She'd work on her ego another time. But right now? She was focused on winning this battle.

"What do you want with someone like me anyway? Hm? I'm old, Y/n. What's in it for you?"

Blinking her eyes she shook her head, "You're not old, first of all. Secondly, you're really attractive. It doesn't need to go much deeper than that, does it? I just think you're handsome. And I do kind of like a challenge."

"I can see that you like a challenge. It's the only reason I haven't walked out that door yet. Kind of relentless."

She smiled, "So it's working?"

Another half-smile worked its way up his mouth as he laughed in disbelief, "Are you surprised that it is?"

His pupils coasted over her figure and then back up to her face. The warmth of his gaze singed her skin like an open flame.

"I guess I just didn't know how difficult it'd be with you."

He licked his lips, "Difficult. You have no idea. But looks like you're about to find out. Go tell your friends what's going on. Meet me out front."

Y/n watched him turn and walk away. She was shocked. For a minute she thought he wasn't going to go for it at all.

Shaking off the sudden surprise of having gotten to him she settled up with the bartender and then stopped at the table with her friends. They were just about to give her condolences for having oversold her ability but she interrupted. "He's waiting for me outside. Location is on. Don't wait up!"

Harry was leaning against a black car in the parking lot when she stepped out of the doors. The moment he saw her he pushed himself off the car and opened the passenger door for her.

It was going to be tricky to maintain the kind of confidence she'd been feigning with him up until then but there was no part of her that didn't want to find out what he could show her.

She watched as Harry sat down in the driver's seat and started up his car. He took up too much space in the seat. His big hand wrapped around the leather steering wheel while his other encased the shift stick. Even the way he drove was turning her on.

She was pleased that she'd wormed her way under his skin and that he'd given in. She'd try her best to make it worth his while. Reaching across the console she put her hand on his thigh and he glanced down quickly before setting his gaze back on the road.

Now, Harry had slept with younger women a couple of times. He generally preferred someone closer to his age because he liked the confidence and experience that came with age. Women in their 20s were often in a different stage of life and that was fine –normal even, but it just usually wasn't a match for him. Not sexually and not mentally.

But Y/n was unusually confident for being so young. Persistent. He liked it, he couldn't lie. Whether or not she really had much else going for her beyond confidence, he guessed he'd find out. Well, she was very cute too. She did have that in her favor.

And Y/n at least seemed like she knew what she wanted. It was flattering as well. Being approached by such a pretty young thing. He figured the moment he told her to go back to her friends she'd give up but she was just fiery enough that she wasn't deterred.

When she ran her nail over his wrist he knew he was screwed. She was just close enough that he could smell her perfume and then she nudged her shoe into his shin and all he could think about was that she really wanted to be shown a good time and if anyone could it was him.

Harry knew his way around a woman's body. They were all different and he liked finding all the buttons and things that made them purr. In his experience, though, the younger the woman, the less she knew her own body. He didn't know if Y/n was just talking a big game but he was about to find out.

He stayed quiet as she ran her hand down his thigh and he shifted as the car accelerated past the green light. He'd see if she'd do anything with her hand but maybe she'd just pet at him like a novelty toy. He didn't expect—

"This is okay?" She asked him, her tone sultry as she palmed at his crotch.

He licked his lips, "Have at it."

His cock fattened up nicely with not much effort on her part. Proof that he definitely could get it up. Plucking at his button she looked from his face to her fingers as she leaned further over the console to reach her hand into his open pants to help him with the awkward angle of his dick. He seemed to appreciate that as he shifted under her palm.

Rubbing over his heather grey briefs she peeled down the elastic band the slightest to get a peek. The dark shade of pink on his tip matched the muted raspberry of his lips. She slid the pad of her middle finger over the slit and he softly inhaled through his teeth.

She wouldn't be able to give him roadhead like she wanted. It was impossible with the stick shift in the way. But she could wrap her fingers around his shaft and feel him under her palm until they got wherever they were going.

"Mmm… It's so big, Harry. Knew you would be. Might be the biggest I've seen in person. Can't tell yet, though. Have to wait to see when we've got these off."

Harry pushed a laughed breath through his nose. She was a bold thing. Her assertiveness was a turn-on. He didn't like meek and shy. Not when it came to sex.

When she spit into her palm and smeared it down his length, the best she could, he parted his lips and stepped on the gas. She was already exceeding any expectations he had for her. Maybe she'd prove him wrong.

Her nail scraped the underside of him and she moaned, "Really want it in my mouth."

He gulped harshly and ticked his jaw, "Just be patient. I'll let you put it in your mouth soon enough."

"And where are we going? Your place?"

He nodded, "Just a few minutes away."

She squeezed around him and pulled upward slowly. She knew already, he was well above average and she was going to have to work to give him a proper blowy.

His house was a one story, the driveway at the front with a garage attached. He lifted his hand and pushed on a device that was clinging to his sun visor and the garage door began to open. There was a covered motorcycle along the back wall and then the garage door closed after he shut off the engine.

She moved her hand away and unbuckled herself as he got out. When she reached down to pick up her little purse she realized her panties were already wet. She grinned as she stepped out, adjusting her dress before closing the door, and then followed behind him as he led her into a dark hallway.

When he turned on the lights she took it all in. Hardwood floors led into a dining area and then a kitchen. Hung on the walls were photos of himself with two children and then more framed photos with just the kids.

"Do you have kids?"

"I do. Boy and a girl. 7 and 10."

"You're not married are you?"

He laughed, "If I were you'd have known. Wouldn't have been out in the first place if I had a wife waiting for me at home."

She nodded as he turned on the kitchen light and pulled out two glasses before filling them with water.

"Divorced?"

Handing her a glass he squinted, "Yes."

She took a sip. He was a man of few words she'd gathered. She looked around the kitchen. Wood cabinets, an outdated laminate countertop, stainless steel appliances. The space could use some updating but it was large and he had a big pantry.

Sitting the glass down on the counter she watched him closely. His pants were still unbuttoned. She eyed the space at his crotch as he placed his own glass down next to hers.

"It's not gonna suck itself."

She laughed and looked up at him. He had a genuine smile on his face that time. The first real smile she'd seen from him all night. A healthy row of clean teeth, a dimple…

"Hmm… I think you're right. Let's see what we've got…"

She moved in front of him and placed her hands on his pants to push them away but before she could inch them down he wrapped his meaty hand around the back of her neck and drew her into his chest. His mouth was warm and soft. His tongue tasted like the whisky he'd been drinking.

Letting go of his pants she held onto his biceps as he used his free hand to push her hips against his. Still nice and hard. He ran his tongue over her lips and she moaned into his mouth. He worked his warm lips down to her jaw and then he licked upward on her neck, the wet patch was cool on her skin from the air in the kitchen. He did it again and her knees almost gave out. She hadn't been licked like that before.

He kissed over her clavicle and then drew his tongue over her flesh. Her heart was thrumming quickly and she squeezed his strong arms when he rutted against her.

"You good at sucking cock, Y/n?" He pushed his nose against her jawline and the hot breath from his words scattered over the skin on her neck.

"I want to be," she spoke breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as he mawed at her throat.

He parted from her neck and looked down at her, half-lidded gaze and spit-slicked lips, "Go on."

Instantly she dropped to her knees as her fingers worked deftly at pulling his pants down and then his underwear. She'd sucked a handful of dicks so she knew a couple of moves.

Getting her hand around his thick shaft proved to be a small challenge. To say he was thick… understatement. Long too. His tip was smooth, mushroomed with ridges along the length that she hoped she'd get to feel later on. His was the kind of cock that women dreamed of.

Looking up at him she licked her palm and used her spit to pump him slowly. Another glob over his tip for good measure. Then she pressed a kiss to the base of him, just over his sac, and screwed her eyes upward to watch his expression as she licked his balls, one side at a time. She wound her tongue all around to wet him before sucking at one side, pulling it into her mouth and he let out a ragged breath, his dark pupils spreading inky until the soft green had almost vanished.

He liked it.

She worked around the other side, sucking him in again and swirling her tongue softly underneath the tender bits. He gripped the counter behind himself.

Pulling off she straightened her back and licked upward, feeling every delicious thick ridge along his shaft until her tongue met his smooth crown. Laving every crevice of his tip, she dipped her tongue into his slit and then ran it under the frenulum before she wetted every inch of his glans.

Her mouth was watering when she parted her lips around him and flitted her gaze upward. He was watching her with a slack jaw as she took him a little deeper. He cradled the back of her head and moaned.

"Just suck the tip…."

She blinked up at him and pulled her lips just over the lip, swirling and suckling around him like he wanted.

"Fuck. Just like that." His hand at the back of her head was easy. He didn't push or pull. It was more like a pleased gesture as his fingertips flexed around her skull gently.

Y/n would have liked to have gone deeper. Wanted to show him her best work. But he seemed rather happy with what she was doing.

She bobbed a couple of times, only to slide her lips back to his tip. Her pace was slow when she began to stroke his length with a little twisting motion.

He was big. She knew she could take more but in a way, she was grateful that that was all he was asking for.

A groan fell from his chest and he bucked forward, his cock slipping down her tongue and she sucked, drawing more of him in as she moved her hands away.

"Goddamnit, you're good."

She took that as permission to go deeper. Relaxing her jaw she closed her eyes and held her breath, pushing down to her limit. She filled her throat with his cock the best she could and gurgled around his tip.

He coughed out a moan and then thumbed at her cheek, "Alright, that's good."

She pulled off of him. His heavy cock aimed right at her face when she sat back on her knees and looked up at him, "I can do better than that."

He laughed and put his hand out for her to take, helping her stand up, "I bet you can. Come on."

Harry kept her hand in his as he led her to his bedroom. It was just past the dark living space and he turned on a floor lamp on the opposite side of the room from the bed. When he turned back toward her he cupped her face and kissed her again.

She pressed her hand into his warm, hard chest and he reached around the back of her dress to pull the zipper downward, his fingers dragging down her skin as he went. His touch sent a tremor down her spine as continued kissing her wetly.

He stepped back, helping her out of her dress until it fell to the floor. His eyes raked over her body and he smoothed his hands over her hips and up to her bra-covered breasts. He stepped in closer, walking her backward toward his bed. He put his hands back on her hips and nudged her to sit before he reached down to lift her leg up by her calf, removing her heels, one at a time.

Y/n's thong was drenched. She stared at him while he placed her shoes side by side at the foot of the bed and then he placed his big palms on her thighs, pushing her legs open, "Lie back."

She let her back hit the mattress as Harry got to his knees on the floor. An arm reached under her thigh as he spread her apart and then she felt her panties being pulled at until her her wet pusslips were right in his face. He groaned and felt a hand slide up the inside of her thigh. He pressed his mouth over her mons and looked up at her before he opened his mouth wide and drew his tongue through her crease making her gasp.

"Get your bra off."

She pushed herself up slightly and worked at the clasp of her bra between moans as Harry continued licking at her pussy. When she pulled her arm through the flimsy material he lifted his head and reached around her back, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed and he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!"

Y/n's finger and her long nails pushed into Harry's hair and scraped at his scalp as he licked and pulled at each nipple. He buried his face between her tits and let out a low sound, like he was murmuring something to her but only her breasts were allowed to hear it.

When he sunk back down he pushed at her so she'd lie back and he started in on her clit, one hand holding her panties to the side as he devoured her glistening cunt.

She kept feeling like she was going to slide off the edge of the bed but Harry's grip on her kept her still. His tongue and his lips were magic as he drew her to her end. She yanked at his hair and babbled his name on repeat as her spine bowed off the bed when she came.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavy when she felt her body being pushed upward. She popped her eyes open and watched him roll a condom over his shaft before he kneed back up onto the bed next to her. He was stark naked. His body was insane. Thick muscle and masculine everything. Tattoos scatter over his arms and chest.

Fuck, she muttered under her breath.

"Flip over, for me," his deep voice was husky as he motioned toward her to move.

She rolled to her stomach and she felt his fingers slide between the band of her panties and her hips as he pulled them down her legs.

"Ass up a little. I want to see all of you, Y/n."

She grinned and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she lifted her hips and spread her thighs. His lips were parted as he grabbed her ass and squeezed, making her cheeks spread apart. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and then dipped in, kissing her pussy from behind before licking upward over her ass.

She squealed quietly and bit her lip, still watching him behind her as he lifted, a lopsided grin on his face. He gazed at her as he fisted the base of his cock and slid the head up and down her soaked folds before he tipped his hips to push in just the tip.

"Gorgeous. Gonna look even better wrapped around cock. You like anal?"

"Never tried it."

He licked his lips and pressed his lips together as he looked at the spot where his dick was pressed against her cunt, "Figured. S'alright. Pussy's my favorite anyway."

"We could try… if you want."

He looked back into her eyes, a cocky smile on his face, "Your little hole would need to be trained. And that takes time. So, there will be no anal tonight. Not gonna try and hurt you. But that's a cute thought."

He canted his hips inward, eyes on hers and her mouth dropped open when she felt her entrance splitting open for him. She was tight, but so slick, it only took a few slow thrusts until he was buried in with a low grunt. He pulled back and then pushed his entire length into the hilt.

"Fuck—fuck!" She cried and stuffed her face into the blankets.

"Too much?"

"No! It's so good. You're just so big…" She began to send her hips back against him and Harry slowly fucked in to match her pace. His eyes were everywhere. On her puss getting split open on his cock, the curve of her lower back, the swell of her ass.

He just knew she'd look so sweet with her ass stuffed too, but good things like that couldn't be rushed which was a shame.

Every thrust was gushy wet. Y/n bubbled out small moans every time his dick brushed deep into her guts. It was better than she imagined. The way he filled her to the brim was going to turn into an addiction. She'd never slept with any man that had her wanting seconds before they'd even finished.

"Oh my god…" she mewled into the comforter.

"Fuck, I know, baby…"

She fit him like a glove, it was perfect. He went in a little faster, balls thudding against her skin rhythmically making her bounce forward as she spread around his girth. When he ground in she arched her back deeply and let out a soft groan, her hands fisted at the blanket and Harry reached around and smeared his fingertips over her clit.

It had her panting and pushing into him feverishly. She'd needed the friction on her throbbing button and he'd found it easily, thick, rough fingerprints slicking back and forth as he rutted in and in. It sent electrical sparks over her limbs.

"Like that? Needs her clit touched? Shit baby, act like you've never been touched by a man right here before…" he plucked at her like he was playing the guitar and she began to fade, her moans getting caught in her chest.

He could feel her walls tightening around him as he drove in deep.

"Fuck, Harry— fuck!"

He grinned as he watched her shudder, "Give it up, Y/n. There you go…"

She began to pulse around him, a constant stream of nonsense falling from her lips as he stroked against her channel and pushed deep into her tummy, his fingers still working her clit with ease.

Just as her body had tipped and oxygen returned to her lungs he pulled out and she felt him taking her hips and turning her around to her back. Harry grabbed her ankles and lifted until each was settled over his shoulders and pushed back inside of her, cock drilling down to her core making her teeth chatter at the way he split her down the middle.

Harry leaned over her, cock buried deep as she watched her pretty face twist up with pleasure. Plapping into her, her tits wobbled as his balls tightened against his body. The harder he plunged in, the more her legs shook. Soon, her ankles had slipped down and her feet hit the mattress as he continued drilling into her. His face was flushed hot, lips parted, muscles tensed.

Reaching up to his neck she smoothed her fingers over his warm skin and he lowered his chest down to hers and kissed her. That filthy tongue ran over her lips and he sloppily sipped at her between sucking at her lips. Her brain had turned to jelly.

She felt his hand on her outer thigh squeezing and brushing as he fucked down into her. "Mmm… fuck, Y/n, m'gonna come…"

He trembled over her, thick thighs pressed down and flexed as he rutted in and in and in, and then… he stilled. A deep, guttural moan vibrated through his chest down into hers.

She sighed when she felt him throbbing, pumping into his condom. Her fingers caressed the muscles over his back and she gasped when he bucked in harshly, once more as he emptied the last of his come into the rubber wrapped around his cock.

He slowed his kisses until they were lazy little pecks and then he looked down at her, his chest heaving. She was already grinning up at him.

"What?"

She blinked her eyes, "That was fun."

He puffed out a breath, "I guess that's a good way to describe it."

Harry was a gentleman as he pulled out slowly and helped her off the bed and led her to his bathroom. He helped her clean up and listened to her tell him about her job —just reminding him that she was an adult after he commented on her being so young again.

When she picked her dress up off the floor and started to step into it, Harry frowned, "What are you doing?"

She stopped and raised her brows. "Getting dressed. Was gonna call an Uber. I'm sure you don't want a stranger in your house all night," she laughed.

Harry pulled at her hand, making her drop her dress, "What kind of men have you been hanging out with that let you leave in an Uber at 2 am? You'll stay here."

She opened her mouth and then closed it in surprise before tilting her head in confusion, "Really? I just assumed—"

"You'll stay the night here. There's no way in hell you're getting an Uber at this time of night. It's dangerous."

She grinned and shrugged, "Well then… can I have a shirt or something to sleep in?"

He placed his warm hands on her hips, "You can have a t-shirt if you like. I prefer to sleep naked myself."

"Oh yeah? I usually do too as a matter of fact."

He held her out in his arms and eyed her naked frame, "Looks like we're both good to go then. We'll get you sorted in the morning. I'll give you a ride home then."

"I think you just want to keep me here with you," she chuckled.

Harry shook his head and released her hips before he popped her on the bottom with his palm. She bleated out a laugh.

"Get your ass in bed before I change my mind."

"Yes, sir."

. .

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[d1stalker]

I Want You [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Logan is jealous of you and Scott's friendship, not knowing your true feelings.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please. fem/afab!reader. brief argument, logan being stubborn comme d'hab, making out, oral, riding, you get the idea ;)

WC: 2.9k - MASTERLIST

The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the X-Mansion grounds. You find yourself on the patio, leaning against the railing, watching as the last rays of sunlight dip below the trees. The tranquility of the moment is soothing, a brief escape from the chaos that often fills your days.

Your mind drifts to earlier that day, when you and Scott had been working together in the training room. He's always been a good friend—someone you can rely on when you need advice or a steady hand in a crisis. Scott had patiently helped you fine-tune your abilities, offering encouragement and constructive feedback.

"You're really getting the hang of it," Scott had said with a smile as you both took a break, sitting on the edge of the training mat. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks, Scott," you had replied, grateful for his support. "Couldn't have done it without your help."

He had shrugged, a modest grin on his face. "We make a good team. It's nice to have someone who gets it, you know?"

You had nodded, feeling the warmth of genuine friendship between you. Scott was like the brother you never had, someone who understood the challenges you faced and never judged you for them.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching breaks your reverie. You recognize them immediately—Logan.

"You and Summers seem to be gettin' pretty close."

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow at his accusatory tone. "Scott? We're just friends, Logan. You know that."

He crosses his arms over his chest, scowl deepening. "Doesn't look like it from where I'm standin'."

Frustration bubbles up inside you, and you can’t help but let it spill over. "And where exactly are you standing? Lurking in the shadows, jumping to conclusions?"

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. "I'm just callin' it like I see it."

"You don't see anything," you retort, matching his intensity. "You're too busy looking for problems that aren't there."

He steps closer, his presence imposing but familiar. "I see the way he looks at you."

You roll your eyes, exasperated. "And how do I look at him, Logan?"

"Like he hung the damn moon," Logan mutters, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

"That's rich coming from the guy who's too stubborn to see what's right in front of him," you snap back, heart pounding.

He pauses, taken aback by your words. "What do you mean by that?"

You take a deep breath, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. "I mean, I'm not in love with Scott. I'm in love with you. But you're too busy being jealous and stubborn to notice."

He blinks, surprise flickering across his features. His defenses falter for a moment, and you see the real him beneath the rugged exterior. "Me? Why the hell would you—"

"Because you're you, Logan," you interrupt, voice softer now. "You're gruff and infuriating, but you're also brave and kind. You see through the facade I put up, and you make me want to be better."

He looks at you, his hardened exterior cracking. "I thought I wasn't good enough for you,” he says, quietly. 

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. The contact is electric, as always, grounding both of you in the moment. "You don't get to decide that for me. I've made my choice."

He stares at you, a mix of disbelief and longing in his eyes. "All this time... and I was just bein' a damn fool."

"Yeah, you were,” you say with a smile, the tension between you dissipating. 

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. "Guess I should apologize for actin' like a jerk, huh?"

You nod, teasingly. "That would be a good start."

He takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes with a sincerity that makes your heart race. "I'm sorry, darlin'. I was stupid, and I let my jealousy get the best of me."

You smile, feeling the last remnants of your anger melt away. "Apology accepted, but you're gonna have to make it up to me."

Tthe familiar glint returns to his eyes as he smirks. "Oh, I will. Count on it."

A comfortable silence falls between you. The night air is cool and refreshing, and you can hear the distant sounds of laughter from inside the mansion.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?" Logan asks, his voice quieter now, almost tentative.

"I guess I was scared," you admit. "Scared of ruining what we have, of pushing you away. You’re not exactly easy to read."

He chuckles softly. "Yeah, well, you're not the only one who’s scared. I’m not good at this...feelin’ stuff. Always thought it’d get in the way."

"It doesn’t have to," you say, hoping your words convey the sincerity you feel. "You don’t have to do this alone, Logan. We can figure it out together."

He nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You share a moment of quiet understanding. For once, there’s no need for words. You both know what this means.

"Come on," Logan says suddenly, breaking the silence. "Let’s get outta here for a while."

"Where to?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he shrugs. "Anywhere but here. I hear there’s a nice little spot by the lake where the stars look like they’re close enough to touch."

You laugh, "Alright, lead the way.”

---

The walk to the lake is peaceful, the cool night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The sound of your footsteps on the gravel path blends with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. You and Logan walk side by side, your fingers occasionally brushing against each other, only feeding the tension that seems to be growing as each moment passes.

When you reach the lake, the water shimmers under the starlight, a breathtaking view that makes you catch your breath. Logan finds a spot on the grassy bank, and you settle down beside him, lying back to gaze up at the sky.

"It's beautiful here," you whisper, feeling the tranquility of the moment seep into your bones.

Logan nods, his gaze fixed on you instead of the stars. "Yeah, it is."

His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It's a comforting sound, grounding you in the reality of this moment.

You tilt your head up to look at him, meeting his eyes. There's a softness there that you haven't seen before, a vulnerability that makes your heart swell. "I've wanted this for a long time, Logan."

He smiles, a rare and genuine expression that lights up his features. "Me too. Guess I was too stubborn to admit it."

You chuckle softly, reaching up to trace your fingers along the line of his jaw. "I like this side of you."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he's not careful. The world around you fades away as Logan leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It's slow and tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but quickly deepens into something more urgent and heated.

You shift closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly as his hand slides up your back, pulling you even closer. Your fingers weave into his hair, anchoring yourself as the kiss intensifies, leaving you breathless.

Breaking away briefly, his forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath. "You sure about this?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You nod, your own breath coming in short gasps. "Absolutely."

With a growl of approval, Logan captures your lips again, the kiss filled with a hunger that leaves you dizzy. He shifts, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his back, guiding you to straddle his hips. His hand traces down your side, sending shivers of anticipation through you. The world around you feels distant and unimportant, the only thing that matters is the man with you and the way he makes you feel.  

As the kiss deepens, you lose yourself in the moment, the passion and intensity of it all consuming you. Slowly, you rock back and forth, grinding your hot core against his growing bulge. Something akin to a growl releases from his throat, as his hands tighten their grip on you.

Breaking the kiss, Logan trails his lips down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your skin. You tilt your head back, allowing him to continue his journey, savouring the sensation of his mouth against you. He hooks his fingers into the hem of your shirt, pausing to look up at you. With deliberate slowness, he slides your shirt up and over your head, discarding it with a flick of his wrist. He takes a moment to admire you, his hands tracing the curves of your waist with a gentle reverence.

“Wow,” he breathes, his voice rough with emotion. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

His eyes roam over you appreciatively, lingering on your bare skin. His words and gaze make your heart race and heat flood your cheeks.

“Says you,” you murmur, feeling a heady mix of vulnerability and desire under his gaze.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers, flipping you over so you’re now on your back as he hovers above you. “I’ve thought about this moment more times than I can count.”

He begins to kiss the valley between your breasts, hands never ceasing their exploration of your body. Your grasp finds the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest. Your fingers trace over his muscles, delighting in the way they ripple beneath your touch.

Logan grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he moves even lower, his kisses trailing down your stomach. Each touch is electric, leaving a path of heat in its wake. His fingers find the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs. With your pants discarded, Logan settles himself between your thighs, his hands gently parting them to make room for himself. His touch is firm yet gentle, and you shiver in anticipation as he leans in, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin.

He starts with soft kisses along your inner thighs, teasing you with his lips and the occasional scrape of his teeth. The feeling sends a thrill through you, making your heart race and your body ache for more. Finally, Logan focuses his attention on your centre, his mouth moving with expert precision as he tastes you. The first touch of his tongue is like fire, a sensation so intense that it steals your breath away. You gasp, your hands finding their way to his hair, anchoring yourself to him as the pleasure begins to build.

He works you with a practiced ease, his tongue tracing patterns that have you arching into him, seeking more of the exquisite sensations he’s giving you. He alternates between gentle flicks and firmer strokes, finding a rhythm that leaves you trembling beneath him. Your soft moans and gasps fill the night air, mingling with the sound of the lake and the distant rustle of leaves. Logan responds to your every sound, adjusting his movements, his sole focus on drawing out your pleasure.

As the tension coils within you, winding tighter with each deft movement of his tongue, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release. Logan senses your impending climax, his efforts doubling as he brings you closer and closer to the brink. With a final flick of his tongue at your clit with gentle, firm pressure, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiraling into ecstasy. The world dissolves around you as the waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

Logan stays with you through it all, his touch gentle and reassuring as you come down from your high. He presses a soft kiss to your thigh before moving back up to lie beside you, gathering you into his arms as you catch your breath. “Logan,” you whisper, feeling a warmth that’s more than just physical spreading through you.

He smiles, a satisfied, tender expression on his face as he brushes a stray hair from your cheek. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

You shift slightly, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The sight of him, hair tousled and eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and desire, stirs something within you. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

Responding eagerly to your initiation, the kiss deepens as your hands explore each other with a renewed sense of curiosity and hunger, as if he didn’t just make you finish with his mouth. You push him gently onto his back, straddling his hips as you trade positions once again, trailing kisses down his chest, savoring the way his muscles tense under your touch.

Your hands make quick work of his belt and jeans, tugging them down to reveal the hard length of him. He’s beautiful. Logan’s breath hitches as you take him in your hand, stroking him with a slow, deliberate rhythm that draws a low groan from his lips.

You lower yourself further, your lips and tongue exploring every inch of him, tasting and teasing until his hands are tangled in your hair, guiding you with a mix of urgency and need. The sounds he makes, the way he reacts to your touch, only spurs you on, and you take him deeper, reveling in the way his body responds to yours.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasps, his voice strained with pleasure, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smile against him, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, the heat in his eyes matching the fire burning within you. “Well, don’t go dying on me now,” you tease, moving back up to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you settle over him. You barely break the kiss as you grab his length and slowly sit down on it. The pleasure of being filled by him draws a gasp from your lips, and a hearty groan vibrates underneath you.

You brace yourself against his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your palms, as you begin to move. The rhythm starts slow and steady, each movement deliberate as you rise and fall, taking him deeper with each movement of your hips. Soon enough, you feel him begin to thrust up into you, matching your pace, pounding into you even deeper than before. 

Logan’s grip on your hips tightens, guiding you as you pick up the pace, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sound of your breathy sighs and his low groans fill the air, mingling with the gentle rustle of the leaves and the lapping of the lake against the shore.

His eyes remain locked on yours, a dark and heated gaze that stokes the fire within you. You feel the tension coiling tight, winding with each movement until it’s all-consuming, a need that demands release.

“I’m close,” you gasp, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss. 

The tension within you builds to a crescendo, a tidal wave of sensation that sweeps you away. With one final movement, you tumble over the edge, your release crashing over you in a symphony of pleasure that leaves you trembling in his arms.

He follows soon after, a low, guttural moan escaping him as he finds his own release, his hands finding and squeezing your breasts while his body shudders beneath you.

When the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and you smile against his skin, feeling a sense of peace and contentment that only comes from being with him.

The night air cools the heat between you, and you nestle against Logan’s side, feeling safe and cherished in the aftermath of your shared passion. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, soothing and grounding you as you bask in the warmth of his embrace.

“Wow,” you whisper, a soft laugh escaping you as you meet his gaze, the stars reflected in his eyes. “That was…”

“Incredible,” he finishes for you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve got me all figured out, darlin’.”

You chuckle, feeling the warmth of his words settle in your chest. “I think we’ve got eachother figured out.”

“Yeah, we do,” Logan agrees, pulling you closer, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

As the night stretches on, you find comfort and peace in Logan’s embrace, knowing that this is just the beginning of something beautiful and real. You’ve found a home in each other’s arms—a place where you truly belong.

---------

A/N: this is my first time ever writing smut yikes lol please leave feedback!

[fairsweetlonging]

system wardrobe malfunctions and small scenario pushers: exteme edition au

after his qi deviation, shen qingqiu starts working on slowly building up relations with his fellow peak lords and disciples; saving liu qingge in the caves, spoiling luo binghe rotten, freely praising his students, inviting the sect leader over for tea, he's a whole new person!

and yet... his friendliness levels aren't going up.

he knows it's a bit icky to judge his relations with other people based on numbers an alien entity is giving him, but he needs them to survive, and he swears that once he's above a certain threshold (somewhere between "civil" and "friendly", he figures), he will mute every and all notifications regarding it.

but they're just not going up. since his deviation he's at least managed to claw his way from "hostile" to "tolerant" with most of them, but some are somehow still stuck in the "aloof" section! they wouldn't even care if he died!

he just doesn't know what he's doing wrong; he understands these things take time, but it feels so bad when people refuse to sit next to him or sigh when they're assigned a mission with him, especially since it's not his fault.

now, it so happens that, one day, the system hears his woes and takes pity on him.

【 user seems to experience difficulty increasing character favor levels 】

you could say that

【 would host like to utilize our special deluxe package to activate 'The Path of Blossoming Hearts and Unspoken Affections' free of charge? ₊˚⊹♡ 】

though shen qingqiu isn't trustful of the system's antics, he can't deny that so far they have helped him well enough, and since it's free of charge with no penalties, wouldn't it be a waste not to use it? the title is a bit dubious, but was the original shen qingqiu not known for his frozen heart? for never sparing a single nice word to anyone? this could be his chance to let it blossom without the system nagging on his characterization.

【 accept optional mission? [yes]/[no] 】

he picks [yes].

two weeks later, he wishes he hadn't.

the package is devided into small scenarios that mostly appear at random, ranging from small dialogue challenges where he has to pick the right option (he really doesn't like those, the dehumanization of it makes his skin crawl), to the equivalent of two rivals getting locked in a room together.

the first few scenarios are minor and not very impactful, to the point where he's finished three of them and his favor count with qi qingqi has increased a whopping +2 (still "aloof") and that of wei qingwei +5 (still "tolerant").

his fourth scenario, however, reminds him of exactly why he should never accept gifts from strange screens floating in the sky.

he's on a nighthunt with liu qingge to slay a mirebeast that's been terrorizing travelers—an amphibious creature with thick, slimy skin, a crocodile tail and a leech-like mouth that shoots mucus when threatened... and shooting mucus it did.

while his clothes can easily be cleaned with a cleaning talisman, he never feels truly clean himself unless he actually bathes. luckily, there's a beautiful, glass-like pond nearby that's surrounded by natural demonic-repellent vegetation, a win! he's just draped his clothes over a nearby branch and submerged himself in the water, when the system rings out.

【 heads up! small scenario "Stolen Silks and Sunlit Waters" is about to begin! penalty: none. wishing user good luck (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) 】

hold up—stolen what.

stolen silks. his silks. stolen by a mossy-jade stag that happens to scratch its huge antles on the exact tree he hung his clothes on, which rattles the branch and causes his robes to fall exactly onto its head, spooking it into a gallop as it disappears into the forest.

how. how does that even happen.

shen qingqiu is just about to get out of the water when of course liu qingge chooses that exact moment to stomp into the glade looking for him, even though he should have been miles away to the village to ensure the people the beast is dead.

for anyone looking in from the outside, it's not a bad picture: shen qingqiu, with his hair pulled up and away from his slender neck, submerged to his (very bare!) pale shoulders in golden sunlit waters, surrounded by lotus flowers and lily pads. to liu qingge, this must be a terrible view, apparently—shen qingqiu can think of no other reason that would cause his face to flush so bright red.

liu qingge tosses his outer robe on the grass between them and turns resolutely around. it's only a bit insulting—is shen qingqiu not pretty enough to try and sneak a look at? even just a glimpse? meanwhile liu qingge is trying really hard to mentally recite the ethics sutra to not fixate on the sound of shen qingqiu getting out of the water (naked!!) or the rustle of fabrics as he wraps liu qingge's robe around his (naked!!!!) body. when liu qingge turns around he flushes an even darker shade as he sees shen qingqiu's bare legs and feet sticking out from under the robes.

"thanking shidi," says shen qingqiu, who notices none of this, as he pulls the robe a little closer around him, "for coming to this one's untimely rescue."

liu qingge grunts, turns, and walks away.

【 congratulations! liu qingge's favor increased. character satisfaction points +50. please continue to work hard! 】

shut up

【 ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა 】

they return to the sect victorious, but very embarrassed. the mirebeast gets all the blame. where his clothes are? well—uh, gone. the mucus dissolved them. yes he knows that's not how mucus works but it did this time okay?!!

yue qingyuan acts a bit strange seeing shen qingqiu wearing liu qingge's outer robes. he almost qi deviates when he finds out his shidi is wearing absolutely nothing under it. it's all very dramatic. apparently the sect is made up of people who shower with their clothes on or something.

【 ⁺‧₊˚bonus scenario!!˚₊‧⁺˖ interactive dialog quest: pick the best suited options to win additional favor points! 】

i don't like where this is going

"shidi?" yue qingyuan asks, looking at him with those big worried puppy eyes.

【 choice A: (demure) this shidi is cold. will you not invite me in at least?

choice B: what are you looking at?! mind your own business stupid old man!

choice C: i'm in love with liu qingge 】

WHAT

if he was drinking tea he would have spat it out, and then coughed himself to death. what the hell kind of options are these!!

【 system has based these options on what will earn (or lose!) user the most points. please pick one. 】

[ admin notes: option A will earn +60 points. option B will neither increase nor decrease points. option C will decrease -100 satisfaction points and increase +200 heartbreak points ]

shen qingqiu silently curses the system. option B is way out of line, even for the original shen qingqiu, who probably would insult yue qingyuan, but not with so little class. he doesn't even consider option C an actual option. and, well, he is cold. and wet. and almost naked. he would like a warm bath and some clothes. A it is then.

he doesn't like the way yue qingyuan's face light up when he grits out the dialog.

【 congratulations! yue qingyuan's favor increased. character satisfaction points +60! keep up the good work! 】

he can't keep doing this much longer.

unfortunately, he does have to keep doing this for much longer.

he's just about to go to bed when someone knocks on the door. luo binghe is already sleeping so he goes himself. just as he's about to open the door the system rings out—but it's too late.

shen yuan is used to wearing old tshirts to bed and no pants (he hates the feeling of his legs being restricted while he sleeps), so he doesn't really care when the only equivalent of this in pidw is a silk nightgown. his mother wore them, his sister wore them. hell, one of his brothers once bought one for fun and ended up using it for months. it's florally embroidered with puffy sleeves and reaches to his knees, that's decent enough, right?

【 heads up! small scenario "Dreamy Encounters at Dusk" is about to begin! good luck! 】

he has no idea what that's supposed to mean and he doesn't care. he opens the door, and it's mu qingfang. not... that unusual, but still.

"can this master help you?"

it takes mu qingfang a moment to remember what he's here for, it seems, because he stares at shen qingqiu for a good few seconds before raising an eyebrow like he's caught him doing something wrong.

"does shen-shixiong always answer the door like this?"

shen qingqiu glares back. "only when unsolicited guests come stumbling around my porch in the middle of the night."

"fair enough."

apparently he's here on behalf of yue qingyuan, who had asked him to do a post mission check up as soon as he was available, which is now. which yue qingyuan had apparently forgotten to relay to shen qingqiu himself. awesome.

he invites mu qingfang in (he can hardly close the door on him, it's late for him too!), and sits through the usual poking and prodding.

the system is prodding, too.

【 would user like some advice on how to maximize point earning? 】

no

【 ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) system is only trying to help!! 】

i really don't need your help with this, thanks. i can keep a conversation on my own.

【 optional system booster: not mandatory. user may choose to decline this quest.

option 1: this one appreciates your care. the hardship is... unexpected. (look away shyly). i find it difficult to accept help sometimes, even when i need it.

option 2: i'm in love with you.

option 3: stand up and pretend to faint into his arms 】

shen qingqiu is about to spit blood—what the HELL is this!!! why do all your options make you look bipolar HUH??? and what's this about professing my love to people?!! why is that always an option??! this isn't a dating simulator, stupid system, they'll think i'm crazy!

【 all these options result in an increase of character satisfaction points (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 】

HOW

【 (ó﹏ò｡) user seems misinformed about character preferences. [mu qingfang] likes to take care of people! 】

... i decline the quest. booster. whatever. i'll figure it out myself. and stop talking about him like he's some one dimensional character!

they hear stumbling coming from the little side room, then the creaking of floorboards. binghe peeks through the door, hair sleep-ruffled and his robes pulled on over his sleeping clothes.

"shizun?" he asks, worried, "what's wrong? why is mu-shishu here?"

【 ⁺‧₊˚bonus scenario!!˚₊‧⁺˖ interactive dialog quest: pick the best suited options to win additional favor points! 】

oh god, not again.

【 option A: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. go back to sleep.

option B: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. (invite him to sit next to you during the examination)

option C: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. mu-shidi is just keeping me company tonight. 】

huh. so you can give meaningful options that i would actually consider picking?

【 ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ 】

[admin notes: option A will decrease -100 points for luo binghe. option B will increase +20 points for luo binghe. option C will decrease -300 points for luo binghe, and increase +20 points for mu qingfang. option A & C increase luo binghe jealousy levels with 400 points].

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

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Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

“No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.” 

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars. 

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this. 

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber. 

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. 

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?” 

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris still doesn't fuck with the relationship labels — but that doesn't stop him from showing everyone that shy!reader is his.

it's supposed to be another fun frat party — overflowing with music, alcohol, drugs, and money. chris should be having the time of his fucking life, but without you tucked into his side as you usually are, he's not having fun at all.

he's restless; his leg bounces continually, and his jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth together, watching you across the room, engrossed in conversation with one of his frat brothers.

it was an unusual sight — seeing shy, little you animatedly chatting with someone other than him. but since you discovered that this particular frat boy shared the same interests as you, it was clear that you found a new friend... and chris hated that.

his irritation bubbles beneath the surface, prodding his tongue against his cheek, a humourless laugh escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief each time he catches a glimpse of your excitement; the way your eyes light up as you gush about something you're interested in, and how his frat brother nods along with a grin.

"what's up with you?" nate asks, clamping his hand on chris' shoulder from behind, voice laced with curiosity. chris shrugs him off, irritation flashing deeper across his face and nate scoffs, glancing over at matt who has been lounging beside him this entire time. "what the fuck has gotten into him?"

matt takes a slow hit from his joint and lazily nods his head over in your direction. nate follows his gaze, a low sound of understanding rumbling from his chest.

"as much as i would love f'you both to rock someone's shit tonight, that kid is harmless — literally. don't think he even knows what a fuckin' pussy looks like—"

chris isn't listening, not when there's a loud ringing in his ears, drowning out nate's voice as he watches his frat brother lay a hand on your arm, gently guiding you from a group of rowdy drunk people who stumble by. it was a simple and kind gesture, but the sight of another guy touching you twists something deep inside him, chris see's red.

chris pushes himself up from the couch, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, nostrils flaring as he beelines straight for you, shoving through the crowds of sweaty bodies, ignoring the ones that try and get his attention. he's behind you in seconds, looming like a shadow, breathing down your neck as he fixes his glare on his frat brother, who raises an eyebrow at chris' sudden appearance.

"oh, hey—"

"leave."

the guy gapes, startled by the raw intensity of chris' voice. "wait, wha—"

"did i fuckin' stutter or somethin'? do you... do you wan' me to say it louder f'you?" chris asks as he leans in closer, his chest pushed against your shoulder, eyes narrow into a dangerous glare. "fuckin'. leave. now... or d'you wan' me to make you?"

the challenge hung in the air, thick with tension, and chris' jaw remains set tight; muscles coiled like a spring. he doesn't even flinch when you spin around to face him, your own eyes wide at the sudden possibility of a fight happening.

panic surges through you as you shake your head quickly, curling your fists around the front of his shirt, desperation lacing your voice as you plead his name.

but he pays no mind — his focussed lock on his frat brother, who mutters an apology before hastily retreating elsewhere, the fear evident in his expression. chris watches him leave, the intensity in his gaze unwavering.

when his eyes finally flit to you, his tongue prods at his cheek, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. you can see the storm brewing within him and your heart races, clinging to him with wide and frantic eyes, searching for reassurance.

"chris..." you breathe out his name, your voice trembling with concern. "you.. why would you—"

but before you can finish, he steps closer, his hand gripping the back of your neck, pulling you forward with a force that takes your breath away. his lips crash against yours, hard and demanding, and you gasp against his mouth, arms frozen at your sides, eyes wide in surprise.

it probably wasn't the most please sight from a outsiders perspective — him fierce and harsh, you bewildered and unmoving. but this was the second time he's kissed you during your complicated relationship... if you could even call it that.

the feeling of his tongue sliding into your mouth is what finally brings you back to reality. you instinctively go to reciprocate the kiss, your heart warming at the thought of having his lips on yours for longer than just a few fleeting seconds. but, of course, your hopes are shattered when he pulls away from you, leaving you breathless.

his hand, which had rested on the back of your neck, now slides around to grip your jaw, holding you in place as he stares at you.

"don't look too pleased, kid," chris murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he pats your cheek. "jus' lettin' everyone know who you belong to, yeah?"

© STURNIOZ

[rosesareredrosa]

There's a Difference

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo thinks he is not worth it and thinks he will hurt y/n because of his past but y/n doesn't think so shes ready to take a risk

w/c: 924

You shouldn’t love me.

Mattheo’s voice was laced with a mix of defiance and resignation as he spoke the words that had been haunting him for weeks. The dim light from the torches cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the hard edges of his jaw and the turmoil in his dark eyes. He stood just a few feet away from you, his usual confidence faltering as he forced himself to look away.

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him slip away so easily. “Well, why not?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder as if he could find an escape route hidden in the stone walls of the Hogwarts corridor. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, before he finally turned his attention back to you. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely let anyone see.

“I’m not worth it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I’m going to end up doing is hurting you.”

You could hear the sincerity in his words, the fear that drove them. But you weren’t one to be easily scared off, especially not by Mattheo Riddle. The boy who was always so confident, so untouchable, now stood before you with all his walls down. You took a step closer, refusing to let him push you away.

“Is that a promise,” you challenged, “or are you just afraid?”

The question hung in the air between you, daring him to confront the truth he was trying so hard to deny. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled with the emotions he usually kept locked away. No one had ever called him out like this before. He was used to people either fearing him or idolizing him, but you… you were different. You saw right through his carefully constructed facade, and that terrified him more than anything.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “But that’s all I know how to do. It’s in my blood, Y/N. It’s who I am.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept that as the end of the conversation. “That’s not who you are, Mattheo. It’s who you think you have to be. There’s a difference.”

His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign that you understood the darkness he carried, that you knew what you were getting yourself into. “You don’t know what you’re saying. My father… the things I’ve seen… the things I’ve done…”

You took another step closer, until you were standing directly in front of him, your eyes locked onto his. “I know who you are, Mattheo. I see the way you fight against what you think you have to be. I see the good in you, even if you don’t.”

His breath hitched, the walls he had spent years building up around his heart beginning to crumble under the intensity of your gaze. For a moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, you were right. But then the fear crept back in, reminding him of all the reasons why he had to keep you at arm’s length.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice shaking, “I can’t let you get close. If something happened to you because of me…”

You reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m not afraid of you, Mattheo. I’m not afraid of what could happen. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out, of you letting your fear dictate your life.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from your words. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe,” you replied softly, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Or maybe I just see something worth fighting for.”

Mattheo’s eyes fluttered open, and in that moment, the battle within him finally reached its peak. He could keep fighting against his feelings, pushing you away until you had no choice but to give up on him, or he could take the risk and let himself be vulnerable, let himself love you the way he so desperately wanted to.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Mattheo closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, as if he was pouring all of his fear, his hope, his love into that single moment. You responded immediately, your hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if you could hold him together by sheer force of will.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, but the tension that had been hanging over you was gone, replaced by a sense of calm that neither of you had expected.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” Mattheo said quietly, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a fierce determination. “Then we’ll hurt each other. But we’ll also heal together.”

He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. “You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Mattheo chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worth it after all.

[zylusmusings]

"my star, that's not what i had meant." xavier's voice, as always, is as gentle as can be. she's over-consumed with anger, grasping at straws in attempts to validate her desperate want to scream at him, so she tries to think of a time when he'd raised his voice at her, and she can't. not even by a singular decibel.

xavier, a man so fitting of his angel-like features, was the kindest and gentlest soul she's ever known. even during their biggest fights, (she wonders if he'd even consider them fights, because he never fights back) he'd only ever gently explains his thoughts as she snaps and throws her arms up in frustration. this time, it's no different.

"oh come on, xavier. you meant exactly what you said - you don't think i can do it!" she speaks accusingly, deep lines of upset drawn in between her brows as she frowns. "you said "i don't think it's a good idea to involve yourself in this mission," did you not?" xavier opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it soon after. because she was right, she had quoted him verbatim.

she scoffs, shaking her head as she glares at her lover. "and yet, your name was the first one i saw when they released the list of hunter confirmed for the mission! do you see me as less, xavier? i know i'm not as experienced as you are, but i'm still a good hunter!"

xavier has his head hung low, blonde strands covering his guilt ridden blue orbs. he feels guilty, there's no question about it. yet, the small selfish part of him, ruled by the memory of his dying lover's body turning cold in his own arms, makes no way for regret to reside in his body. till this day, though a long time since the memory was birthed, there isn't a day where the feeling of his legs growing numb from staying frozen in place, fearful of any minuscule movement that will reinforce the fact that she has died, doesn't haunt him.

it was not as though he isn't aware of her capabilities as a hunter. she was talented beyond words. the way she moved and danced with the swords and weapons against the wanderers like the battlefield was a stage for her very own recital - her skills captivates him every time he had the honour of sharing the battlefield with her.

but he won't lie, ever since doctor zayne himself had pulled him aside secretly after he had accompanied her to her monthly appointment to advise him to be cautious of her overexerting herself physically at work due to her heart condition (and though neither doctor zayne nor she has given him much clue about the true urgency of her condition, he cannot help but be haunted by the fear and frustration in the cardiac surgeon's eyes), the fear has kept him up on more nights than he thought possible.

he's still silent, unsure how he'd like to go about this. as worried as he is, he bets it's an even more difficult experience for her to go through. her condition was something they barely talked about, she often shrugs off the topic every time it was brought up. xavier understands that she fears it too - almost to the point that she overcompensates for it by being too fearless. xavier wishes they could just simply talk about their fears together, but he doesn't know how to.

"so? nothing else to say now?" she almost challenges him, scoffing yet again in disbelief as she finally pulls her glare away and crosses her arms. xavier actually has a million and one things that he wishes to say, the bulk of it being apologies and the truth that's been weighing so heavily in his heart.

xavier is soft spoken, his body often the pen that writes the words he wishes to speak. "i.." he begins, then shakes his head as he steps in front of her, and so naturally, gets on his knees. an arm wraps around the back of her knees, and his free hand captures one of her own. he finds strength in the warmth of her skin, a reminder and reassurance that she was still alive and well - and he shan't squander this chance.

"i apologise, my heart." he sighs, grateful when she doesn't pull away. there is still stiffness and hesitance in her body and he doesn't blame her for that, understands that she's upset. nervously, he looks up at her, a little desolate when he sees her purposefully looking away. he takes her hand to his lips, where they press a soft kisses on each of her fingers. he doesn't know the intent is to comfort her, or himself. though he enjoys the imprints of her skin against his own, would tattoo the art lines of her fingerprints onto every inch of his body if he could.

"without a doubt in my heart, i know you're the bravest woman alive. enthrals me to no end how you're so beautiful, so talented and so intelligent all at the same time. all the marvels in the world stored in you." his eyes never once strayed away from her face, and you could see the twinkling in his eyes as he continues to watch her like she was the embodiment of the flowers that bloom in spring - and this garden was a place he'd be the most devoted pilgrim for. and with the honour of being the one she loves, how could this soldier not want protect his beloved treasure?

"but in all honesty, i'd been a bit worried since your last appointment. you've never truly told me what happened, so i don't know how to gauge things." he continues his explanation, still on his knees as he continues to press his kisses against her skin. this part of the explanation though, sends a shiver down his own spine as he recollects the reality of the situation. his star might not be okay, and he doesn't know what to do to cure her, except to just protect her. pulling his eyes away from her, he whimpers and presses his forehead against her abdomen. "i'm just scared."

the prince of philos is on his knees. a man with enough power to rule a planet, but in his eyes, that will all go to shame - rendered useless - if he can't find a way to save her.

"i understand that you don't feel comfortable with telling me what's going on.. but i know that it's not good. i don't know how to make you feel better, so i figured at least, i could do my best to keep you from harms away." he feels her fingers comb through his blonde locks, and he impossibly nuzzles closer to her, his arms tightening around her torso. "if you tell me what i can do, my love, i'll do it."

"i swear to you. tell me what i can do. tell me what you need, and i'll travel a million times around the world for it."

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can I request a headcanon of whb king (plus any other characters you want) reacting to gn mc avoiding them for as long as she can because mc got dared to by some random demon

WHB kings' reaction to MC avoiding them because of a dare

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! This was so fun to write since each king had a completelly different reaction ^^ Sorry for the long wait though t-t

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oh, Satan doesn't like this at all

The moment he notices your suspiciously long absence, he's on the prowl

Where are you and why tf are you avoiding him?

He'll even send out Amy and his group to look for you and bring you to him

Hopefully he'll during his search find out about the dare

At least hopefully for you

Poor demon who dared you will find himself homeless after Satan in his demon form destroys his place

Once that's dealt with, the next time you go outisde, you come face to face with Satan, leaning back against his bike

"Talked to that mf. The dare's called off :)"

    ༺☆༻

Mammon notices that you haven't been around him much, but he just chalks it up to you being busy

He's okay with it, knowing that eventually you'll come back to him anyway

Besides, if you needed something, you'd surely call him

After finding out that it's a dare, he's also curious how long you'll be able to keep away from him

If he ever gets worried about you, he'll just send one of his nobles to check up on you

Once you're back to him, he's taking you out for a dinner to congratulate you on how long you lasted

    ༺☆༻

Leviathan knew from the beginning thanks to Foras

You don't even get to leave the Hades castle so it's easier for you to avoid him when you get a message from the devil who dared you that the dare is off

It doesn't take a genius to realise that the poor demon had been visited by His Majesty himself and forced to end your dare early

Most likely, if you video-called with him, he'll be gasping for air, hung by a noose

The next time you see Leviathan, he acts like nothing happened, but you can feel his piercing stare when you're not looking at him

He's most likely not sure how to punish you yet...

But once he does...

Oh boy, now comes the moment to avoid him for the sole sake of your survival

    ༺☆༻

Funny :)

You think you can avoid Beel? :)

I mean, technically you could do that by hanging around in the Abyssos castle, but even then you can't exactly avoid Beel

If Beel wants to see you, he'll come and see you

Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing

Even if it means that he'll have to sneak through his own castle to escape Bael's wrath

And even more so, if he finds out about the dare...

Oops, he just reminded he meant to take you to this place and booked it in advance and can't cancel it

Sorry, guess you'll have to spend the whole month with him :)

I guess the rule with Beel is that the more you want him, the less he'll be around

(True story with my pulls for his cards tbh T-T)

    ༺☆༻

Belphie would probably realise that it's been a while since you were there when he woke up, but eh...

Maybe you're just busy doing your work

No sweat

That is until Beleth accidentally slips up about the dare

Oh?

Now that is something different

Prepare to start dreaming about him every night

That'll eventually make you come back...

And if not, don't worry...

Belphie's ability can bring you back anytime, so enjoy your time away from him before he decides this little game is over

    ༺☆༻

Keeping away from Asmo is honestly your day-to-day task, so I don't think there's much difference

That is until you realize that it's time for another annual king meeting

The real challenge becomes coming up with a good reason to excuse yourself from it

And all the nobles are helping you at this point

Sure, you could just not go, but Asmo might then leave the meeting to come and see you since he was so excited to meet you after so long

In the end Leviathan coems to save the day and hides you inside his coffin for as long as the need be

Phew

You're safe for another year

    ༺☆༻

To Lucifer, not seeing you for a long time is a good thing

It just means you're healthy and safe

But he does eventually start to miss you

And then Gamigin talks a bit too much and mentions that you've been avoiding Paradise Lost because of a dare

So whenever you need medical assistance one of the nobles has to do a house call

...

A house call?

That sounds unsanitary

Who even knows what germs and bacteria you might catch

Lucifer better make his way over to you for a surprise visit to make sure you're doing well

And no apples can save you from this doctor

[leviathanspain]

Hey! Saw you were looking for requests. I've seen Alicent's child!Reader manipulating Daemon into being on the Greens side. What about Alicent's daughter accidentally seducing Daemon? Like she's innocent and doesn't realise what she's done but Rhaenyra is not happy about it. (Rhaenyra still loves Daemon and can't get over the fact he is fall for her half-sister)

say yes to heaven

daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader

synopsis: your uncle always had a soft spot for you, but everyone else could see it was something more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

your mother hardly ever touched you, let alone brush your hair. she was smiling, a pleasant one, as she followed the brush with her fingers, carefully raking through. it was quiet, the only sound was the crackling of the burning wood, candles flickering around you as you gazed into the mirror, eyes honing in on her face.

she put a hand on your shoulder, a hesitance to it that you wondered if she thought you wouldn’t notice. “you looked lovely today.” she commented, her fingers still going to play with your hair, “prince daemon couldn’t take his eyes off of you.” there was a twinge of disdain in her voice. your mother, after all these years, still couldn’t stand your uncle and half-sister. if she could avoid them all together, she would.

you grabbed the lock of silver hair from her fingers and brushed it forward. you looked down at the table in front of you, and noticed the silver hairbrush that your uncle had acquired for you on one of his many travels. you grabbed the silver hairbrush, giving it to your mother, “he was telling stories from his time in the kings guard.” you tried to brush off the tension, but alicent had grabbed the brush with reluctance.

“riñnykeā, come.” your uncle’s voice whispered in your ear, you turned to see his back, already walking off. you rolled your eyes, following closely as he walked. he was walking quickly, and you had to lift your skirts to try and catch up to him, “umbagon!” you shouted, and he slowed just enough for you to match his stride.

you were smiling now, a laugh just on the tip of your tongue as he bumped into you. you laughed, and shoved him lightly, “what is it you have to show me? is it so important that we have to practically walk half the keep?” you turned back to see the path you had been walking. it was far now, and daemon shrugged, “i know you’ll like this.” his eyes lingered, catching your gaze, you blushed and instead looked to the ground for the rest of your trek.

daemons eyes blazed with satisfaction as he saw you practically leaping up and down with joy. you grabbed him, pulling him into a hug as you still continued to squeal. he laughed, watching you light up was what he lived for.

“i assume the walk was worth it?” daemon raised his eyebrows, and you nodded, “very much so.” you grabbed the sword, grabbing it off the table it had been set on. you hissed slightly, and ignored daemons warnings of the metal still being hot. your fingers brushed over the large targaryen emblem, etched onto the swords hilt. there was a weight to it, but your body seemed to adjust. you swung it towards him, smiling, “perhaps the rogue prince would like to spar?” you looked at him, smirking as you brushed his shoulder with your blade.

hung on his hip was dark sister, and daemon couldn’t resist a challenge. he unsheathed it, watching as you stood firmly against him.

rhaenyra could hear the clashing of swords and laughter as she walked. the closer she got to the training room, the more she recognized you, and daemon.

she put a hand on the door, the commotion was now getting louder, and you were laughing more. daemon’s shouts could be heard, but they were in good spirit. rhaenyra swallowed thickly, and pushed the door open.

daemon had finally caught you. you had cut him on his cheek, and decided that running around the training room was apology enough. but he had finally caught you, dropping your blade, you laughed in his arms. “i’m sorry,” your finger moved to wipe the blood from his cheek, “i ruined your handsome face.” daemon hissed slightly at the contact, but shook his head, “you gave me a memory, riñnykeā. a story to tell.” he knew there was nothing more you loved than hearing his war stories, or his stories from his time as king of the narrow sea.

you nodded, “i guess so.” your hand lingered on his cheek, and you caught yourself staring into his eyes for too long, and your head dipped in embarrassment. you pulled away, but rhaenyra had already seen you.

rhaenyra couldn’t shake the nauseous feeling that crashed upon her. swallowing the rising bile wasn’t enough.

“daemon.” her voice sounded steady, there was no shakiness to it that would reveal how she felt. there was disgust, disgust that daemon was currently holding you, barely her sister, in his arms like a wife.

you were pulling away from him, but daemon held you in his arms still, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling at the skin. he looked at rhaenyra and raised his eyebrows, “what?” he sounded hostile, his jaw clenching as he stared at his wife.

you looked between them and realized there was something that neither of them were saying. you grabbed his hand, it was warm to the touch, but you peeled back his fingers, “thank you, uncle. for my gift, but i must go now.” you stepped back to retrieve your blade, tossed to the ground like an afterthought, daemon dipped his head slightly, “yes..” he trailed off, his hand swinging like dead weight as it fell from your waist. his head turned to rhaenyra, his mouth opening, but you were already too far to catch his words.

alicent glared at the blade, wrapped in one of your finer silks, sitting on your bed. you were at your vanity, removing your jewels, you began to undo your hair, preparing to brush it.

“what did rhaenyra say again?” alicent looked away from the blade, warily towards you. you shrugged, “nothing. all she said was his name and they stared at each other for a moment until i left.”

alicent hummed in response, and sighed, “are you to sleep with the blade now? not even your brothers sleep with their weapons.” her comment made you slid your eyes towards her, before scoffing, “my brothers might not sleep with weapons but they have slept with half of westeros.” you grabbed the silver hairbrush, and raked it through your hair, “my uncle gave me a gift that is more than just a weapon.” alicent stayed quiet, and moved to brush your hair, “i think daemon wants to give you more than just a sword.”

it was a week before you saw daemon again. you had been training with your new blade during, hoping to impress him with improved skills.

you had moved towards the stuffed sparring dummy, full of hay. your sword struck it, a deep slash appeared on the dummy’s stomach as you pulled your sword back. you huffed, staring down at your mark with pride.

the sound of clapping echoed out into the room and you turned, seeing your uncle with his shoulder leaning against the doorway. he continued to clap as he walked towards you. excitedly, you walked up to him, “what do you think?”

daemon neared you, grabbing your face in his hands, leaning down, he brought his lips towards yours, “magnificent..” and he brought them down, crashing against yours, you felt his teeth against your lips, moaning as you kissed him.

you dropped your blade again, your hands moving to grab at his back, pulling him closer. he pulled back, drawing a breath, he kissed you once more, “show me, show me again.” he panted, his voice sounded shaky, but his grip on you was determined.

rhaenyra couldn’t stop him. she had begged, pleaded that he leave you alone.

“how could you?!” her cries had been heard across the keep, horrified that her husband would present you with such a gift.

not for the fact that you were her sister, but because he was her husband.

but he was a man, a man she loved, even if he was corrupting her younger sister right before her eyes. she had seen him slip away, knowing where he was off to. all rhaenyra could do was sit in front of the fire, and try not to vomit up the contents of her stomach.

“show me again.” daemon pulled at the shoulder of your dress, his fingers pulling at the fabric. you shuddered at the cold air hitting your bare skin, and did as he said, moving gracefully as your sword cut through the air. daemon watched you, his eyes enchanted by your movements, he couldn’t deny himself of you. finally, with a frustration to it, he pulled your dress down from the shoulder, the fabric tearing roughly as you gasped. nearly dropping the sword, you pawed as your dress fell around you in ribbons.

daemon didn’t miss a beat, “show. me. again.” he demanded, his voice was powerful, showing of the authority he once had.

“yes, my prince.” you whispered, and continued to cut through the air, smiling as you did so.

[sweetpascal]

— 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: knight!marcus acacius x princess!reader

pinterest board inspo

summary: an arranged marriage in the works. one on one jousting for your honor. celebratory feasts and extravagant dances. it all seemed exciting. however, as a princess with your mind on becoming a Dame, along with your father's main knight making sure you are always on your best behavior, some dreams are just meant to be crushed.

warnings: MINORS DNI, big age gap [reader is 19 and marcus is 54], slowwww burn, medieval times au, possible historical inaccuracies [maybe ??], reader has hair long enough to braid, father-daughter relationship issues, first kiss, forbidden love, non-sexual touching, flirtatious banter, allusions to sex, sword fighting, TW: major character death, TW: blood and gore, angst angst angst

wc: 21.6k (i maayyyyy have gone a bit overboard with this one)

notes: this is my submission for @almostfoxglove 's angst writing challenge (beautiful moodboard created by her). i'm not gonna lie, this is gonna be ANGSTYYYYYYY. so please, grab your tissues and hold on for dear life. sword divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

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follow @sweetpascal-notifs for future fic updates.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you exerted yourself once more. Swinging the heavy sword almost the same length as your body and slamming the blade repeatedly onto the side of the wooden post right by the outskirts of the woods. Blisters had begun to form on your palms from the improper protection needed, but the care you had for gloves was thrown to the back of your mind. Little grunts heavily exhaled from your throat each time you swung the sword down and around, further adding slice and slice into the mangled wood post. Feeling the burning sensation in your chest intensify, you had decided now would be a good time to rest.

You placed yourself on the nearest rock and laid the sword across your lap. Gently stroking your blistered thumb over the engraved markings of your older deceased brother's name towards the handle. He lost his life like a true knight in battle. His death was so long ago but it felt like yesterday. You remembered the morning he left. He had hoisted you up into his arms with the promise that he would return. When Marcus Acacius, your father's knight, returned back to the castle with your brother's bloodied sword in his hands, you knew. Almost a decade long feud with no success or improvement. With your brother's sword now in your possession, even though your father doesn't approve of a princess having such a manly hobby, it was your goal to finish what he started. Whether your father, the king, liked it or not, you would rather die fighting than be married off.

"Why am I not surprised that I would find you here, princess?"

Turning at the sound of the distinct voice that is of Knight Acacius, you observe the way his lips quirk into a tired grin. One of his arms lays limp at his side while the other rests on the handle of his sword attached to his hip. He wears only his chest plate with the yellow markings of your father's castle, as well as an engraved crow. It was the same as the flags that hung around the interior and exterior.

"Why am I not surprised that you would follow me out here, Marcus?" You retort, nose scrunching at the sound of his deep laughter from your sassy question.

He comes closer now, eyeing the wood post that has been abused from your sharp sword. Marcus has been your father's knight since before you were born. He had started as an esquire when he was just a teen boy. Your grandfather had been king at that point. When the title was passed down to your father, he deemed Marcus as worthy of getting a ranking higher. He earned the title, of course. Knight Acacius was a hardworking man. He did what needed to be done in a timely manner. He kept you and your father safe. He did everything to keep the king happen, and you could see that it was paying off.

"Your father sent me to get you. It's time for you to get ready for the tournament," he tells you quietly, already knowing your opinions on the matter.

When you let out a scoff at his words, Marcus nods to himself as if to say 'Yep, there it is.' There's a long beat of silence as he waits for you to gather your thoughts and express them through words. Unlike your father, Marcus has always been a patient man, which works perfectly with his title. There have been long nights after hours where you've poured your heart out to him; your unhappiness, your fears, your worries, your dreams. He always lent you an ear and shoulder to cry into you.

"Tournament," the word was bitter on your tongue. With an eye roll that made Marcus hold back a chuckle, you stood up and made your way back to the post. "You mean the sad excuse of a competition where men compare whose cock is the biggest for me to suck?"

Marcus choked on his spit at the vulgarity of your words. When you looked over your shoulder and gave him a teasing smile that expressed your youth, he took a half step back with widened eyes. He shook his head at himself and cleared his throat to make it feel less constricted. Why is his heart beating so fast? Why is he sweating? Why are his hands trembling? All of which had happened after you shot him that teasing little smile if yours. Oh, this was bad.

Wincing once again as one of the maidservants snagged your hair accidentally, you couldn't help but to grow annoyed. Not at the older woman, but at the idea that princesses are supposed to always be prim, proper, and innocent. She apologized softly with a guilty smile at you in the mirror. Like Marcus, Celeste had been in your family for a long time. You saw her almost as a mother figure. Closer to your father's age, Celeste had stepped up in helping your father raise you and your brother after the death of your mother. She had succumbed to her injuries during your birth, and you always felt like your father harbored a deep animosity towards you.

"I know you're not fond of these braids, princess," she tells you quietly, her wrinkly eyes glancing at you briefly before looking down at her fingers in your hair. "But it's just for today."

Letting out a small, soulless laugh, you tell her, "Father always has a trick or two up his sleeve, Celeste. You know that. Marcus knows that. The whole castle knows that. He may say one thing and mean another. That's just how he is, I guess." The little shrug you give her makes her tut.

"I do know," she says quietly, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few flower stems to slide them into your braids, almost creating a delicate flower crown. "And I also know that this is not the life you see for yourself."

You look at her in shock through the mirror. She gives you barely a nod and cascades the rest of your hair behind your back to comb through the wavy strands. There are a few beats of silence as you sit and wonder. Has Marcus gone behind your back and told her your secrets? Has she overheard one of the nights where you and the knight sat in seclusion? Has she read your diary? All of these questions are rushing through your mind before you could stop them. What if she tells your father? What if he isolates you permanently?

"I know what you're thinking and it's not true," she speaks up when she sees your eyes darting back and forth frantically. She feels your shoulder deflate with relief. She stops brushing your hair and rests her chin atop your head. You both look at each other in the mirror. "Your mother was a very intimidating woman. That's what drew your father in and made him fall in love with her. He sees so much of her in you, and that's why he's trying to hold onto you as tight as he can for the time being."

Feeling a tickle in your nostrils and a lump forming in your throat, your eyes shut before you could let tears spill over the bottom lid.

"I... I can't go on like this, Celeste," you whisper brokenly, finally turning in your seat to look up at her. Your breathing becomes shuddering as the emotions begin to overwhelm you. "I wasn't born to become a wife." You started to become angrier the more you spoke. "I'm not a child anymore! No man shall tell me what to do! Not my father, not Marcus, not any other king or prince! I was put on this earth to fight like William!" Uttering your brother's name from your trembling lips finally let the dam break.

Celeste was quick to bring you into her arms, hushing you softly and tenderly holding your head against her chest. Your shoulders shook with each sob that wracked through your body. You were exhausted and honestly, scared. Maybe this was really it. Maybe your dreams will always be dreams. You're going to die as a wife and not as a warrior.

"Oh, dear child," Celeste whispers and pulls your head from her chest to gently hold your cheeks, her thumbs swiping away the tear tracks so as to not ruin your light makeup. "You are going to do great things. And you are going to be a great woman. It will take time, but you will see it happen. Now, give me a smile."

Hearing her encouragement and reassurance, feeling the safety in her arms, you were finally able to calm down and steady your breathing. As she swipes a knuckle under your eye to wipe away a lonesome tear, you give her a little smile and laugh to yourself at your outburst.

"There she is," she smiles as well, her wrinkles much more prominent. She fixes your makeup and turns you back around to face the mirror. Your hair falls over your shoulders on either side, the ends curled elegantly. You really do look like a true princess. In another world, you would've been happy. But you didn't look, nor did you feel like yourself. However, the proud look on Celeste's face silenced those thoughts. "You look just like your mother when she was your age."

There was a gentle rapt at the door. Celeste called out for them to enter, and it was Marcus. He gives the older woman a nod before he sets his eyes on you. When you make eye contact with him through the mirror, it feels like time has slowed down. It feels like all the air had gotten knocked out of him, and he has half a mind to grab his chest as his heart nearly beats out of the flesh. Your cheeks warmed at his obvious attention to you. It was rare for him to see you looking like this. You never wore makeup, your hair was almost never done prettily, you loathed dresses. But sitting here right now looking like a princess, having his eyes on you made you feel beautiful for once. He didn't leer. Matter of fact, he never leered at you as though you were a piece of meat. Some of the feasts that your father has thrown in the past made you uncomfortable with the amount of unwanted attention you would get from men that were desperate to court you.

But it never felt like that with Marcus. He respected you. He respected how you perceived yourself, he understood your ambitions and what you can see yourself doing down the line. You were an inspiration to him. Princesses at your age are already married and having their second child by now. Never would a princess touch a sword. But you handle one like an expert on the battlegrounds. Marcus would never admit it aloud, but he would love to see you fight. With your years of training, he knows for a fact that you would put up one hell of a fight. He only wishes your father was more accepting of that matter.

When you stand from your seat in front of the mirror, Marcus swallows down his gasp of awe. You wore a soft pink, floor length gown with white gold trimming that accentuated your curves. The neckline was low and tasteful, but nothing too extreme that would be considered inappropriate as a princess. The candlelight makes you glow like an angel. The flowers in your hair as well as the soft makeup adds to the delicacy. Celeste stands behind you to clip on a pearl necklace and some dangly earrings that match.

"Please, don't make fun of me," you give Marcus a small, embarrassed laugh as he still hasn't said anything upon seeing you. "You can make all the jokes you want after the feast, yes?"

Celeste tuts and lightly swats at your arm. The knight hasn't looked away from you. Even as you cross the other side of the room to grab your soft pink slippers with sewn beads that match the colors of your gown. You preferred your calf-high leather boots.

"Do you need a glass of water, Marcus? You look like you've seen a ghost," Celeste says behind your back as you bend down to slide on the surprisingly comfortable slippers.

He clears his throat when you look at him once again with a bashful smile. He takes a step forward to you. Without even realizing it, his hand reaches up to your hair to fix a flower stem that was out of place. It was until Celeste obnoxiously cleared her throat that he realized what he was doing. You both broke eye contact, both feeling like you were caught doing unspeakable acts. She stares at you with squinted eyes, then at Marcus. He shifts uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. He clears his throat again.

"The king, uh, requests your presence, my princess," he briefly stutters when you make eye contact again, but he looks away before it could reach two seconds.

My princess. He always called you 'princess,' or occasionally your name. But he never included 'my.' It caught you off guard, and you feel like Celeste noticed because she nods at Marcus and shoos him away. He gives her a brief nod and leaves the room. Now, it was just you and the older maidservant. As she gives you one last touch up, she looks at the door and then at you.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't."

And with that, she ushers you out the door.

Your cheeks were hurting from the number of fake smiles you were giving all the guests. Your arm was aching from shaking all the hands of other kings, queens, princes, princesses, and all the like. In the corner of the dining hall was a small band playing music. They each looked at peace playing their music. They looked in their element, doing what they enjoy. Envy clawed at your chest. Looking away with a scowl, you focused on your chalice filled with the finest wine brought specially from one of the kingdoms visiting for the feast. You can hear your father's boisterous laughter across the hall as he sits with one of the king's. His face was flushed, and you knew he's had more than a few cups of wine.

You sit on your designated throne and observe the party before you. One of the jester's stops in front of you. He does a little dance, the bells on his shoes and hat jingling. It brings a smile to your lips, and then you start laughing. Jesters were one of your favorite people to witness during these times. They offered a temporary distraction and left you feeling lighthearted. Upon hearing your laughter, the jester stops dancing goofily and reaches a hand up to you. Your hand enters his and he gently kisses the top before dancing away to entertain the other guests.

"Looks like you have an admirer," you hear from above your seated position.

You look up and see Marcus leaning against the top of your throne, his arm stretched across it with his thumb tapping at the carvings. He rests his other hand on the handle of his sword. You've noticed that it was a habit of his, even when there was no danger around. Grinning up at him, you shake your head.

"Well, it's better than having a spineless prince as an admirer," you tell him half-jokingly, taking a small sip of your wine and looking back to the crowd.

Marcus also observes the crowd silently. The king was talking to one of the queen's and her son, the older man motioning behind him in your direction. When the prince looks at you, Marcus can see you recoil. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Having been in the family for decades, he's grown fond of you. Being able to witness you grow into the beautiful young woman you are today was a blessing. Your personality shines even brighter. Your quick wit and sharp tongue often deemed him speechless. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the other princesses he has met in his lifetime. You weren't like the others.

"Well," he clears his throat to capture your attention once more. "At least you get to see these spineless princes joust for your honor and courtship. The one in the blue tunic looks like a starved lamb."

The insult causes you to choke on your wine, some of it spitting out and landing on your dress as you break into a bubbly fit of laughter. Marcus muffles his own laughter by biting down on his bottom lip. Your father claps his hands loudly and makes a motion for the band to ease their music completely.

"Attention, guests! As you all know, my dear daughter, the princess, is up for courtship. It is my duty as her father, the king, to ensure that she has a safe and fulfilling marriage. Which is why we are holding this tournament!" There was a round of applause, and you find it so hard to not roll your eyes. "For the one prince to earn the honor of courting my daughter, you must fight valiantly, live honorably, and go forth courageously!" There was another round of applause, some even whistling. "Now, please make your way out to the field and get comfortable while the princes get ready to joust!"

The crowd cheered one last time before some of your father's knights led them out to the roped-off enclosure outside of the castle. Marcus held a hand to you, gently grasping and pulling you up from your seat. The distance between your bodies was short. He can smell your sweet perfume and see the shimmering of your eyeshadow. He prays to the gods above that you couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating. If only he knew that you were feeling the same way. From how close he stood in front of you, the gray in his beard was much more prominent and his thick hair looked curlier than usual. He smelled like a mix of leather, musk, and a woodsy, scented oil he must've purchased from one the markets along the outskirts of the castle. It was overwhelming, having him so close to you. Your lips parted, and you caught the way his eyes darted down to look at them.

"My daughter," you hear your father's footsteps coming closer, and you step away from Marcus who quickly broke eye contact to greet your father. "You have stained your gown!"

You looked down and noticed the dark wine droplets. Giving your father a sheepish smile, you offer him a kiss on the cheek as an apology. He claps a hand on Marcus' shoulder, both men now falling into a conversation about the tournament for your hand in marriage. Celeste ushers you down from your throne, her left hand holding your right as her right arm is around your back.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at Knight Acacius," she tells you in a hushed voice. You look at her in shock, your lips parted to disagree. But when you see her pointed look, you decide to keep your mouth shut. Sighing quietly as you both round the corner of the stone halls, you speak up.

"It's not like that, Celeste," you tell her. "Marcus just... He knows how I feel about... all of this. It's all so overwhelming. There's nothing I can do to change my father's mind, so I might as well play the part as the obedient princess."

When you both reach outside, you can hear the faintness of Marcus' voice a few feet away from you with your father's voice in tow. You and Celeste stand beside each other in silence as you scan the crowd sitting in their seats around the dirt pit specifically for when the knights are training.

"You know," Celeste began. "Your mother never wanted this life for you either." You look at her with interest. She nods at the curiosity in your eyes.

Giving you her typical wink, she motions for you to climb the steps to sit in your throne. You were high up now, the pit directly in the middle of your view with the crowd on either side. Your father sits beside you with a huffed groan and affectionately pats your knee.

"We have quite the rally, don't we?" He sloppily drinks from his jeweled chalice. You cringe and look away. Marcus stands to your father's left with his arms crossed in position, his back straight and broad with authority. He feels eyes on him, and he turns to face you, dropping his right eye in a wink before looking straight ahead again. You look out into the crowd with warm cheeks as you bite down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from spreading.

Two of the esquires blew the fellow buisines to start the tournament. The crowd silenced as well as your father. Two princes on two horses came out of the small tunnel and stood on either side of a horizontal wooden post, both on opposite sides of each other, facing one another. Both men were dressed head to toe in armor with the feathered colors of their kingdom on top of their helmets. In their hands were wooden lances. There was a tense silence in the air as the princes readied themselves. When the buisines blew once more, both men charged at each other on their horses with the lances pointing at once another chest level.

There was a booming clang of wood against metal as the lance from the prince on the right slammed into the chest of the prince on the left. Some of the wood splintered and nearly exploded from the force. The crowd gasped and proclaimed with shock. The left prince fell off his horse and landed hard on the ground. The crowd clapped for him as the right prince galloped around the pit in a celebratory manner. His arrogant gloating was a turn-off. It worsened when he lifted his helmet and looked at you up above, blowing a kiss in your direction with his hand. You let out a scoff of disgust. Marcus hides his laugh by coughing into his fist.

There was another hour of this jousting. Then, there were the top two princes – the Prince of Ehnkhart and the Prince of Ivanard. Both princes were unappealing to look at and had the personalities of a wet rag. You'd rather marry one of the jesters.

When the Prince of Ivanard was deemed the winner, you almost had to fight back a gag as the bile grew at the back of your throat. You certainly were not going to marry that yellow-toothed, spineless bastard. Your father bellowed in his seat happily as the crowd roared with delight when the prince threw his fist into the air and pointed at you. Glancing at Marcus with an expression he could only describe as horror, his face morphed into something grim. He bit his tongue to stay silent. He couldn't say anything, even if he wanted to. That was not his duty as a knight. And one of the main priorities was to never go against the king under any circumstances.

"My dearest daughter," your father lets out a full bellied laugh as he takes both of your hands in his. "You are now going to be an Ivanard!"

When the buisines blew in a celebratory manner, the crowd cheered louder as your father clapped. Everything was booming and overwhelming. You can feel it all closing in on you. Your ears began ringing and your breathing became shallow and unsteady. Sweat dotted along your hairline. Your eyes frantically scanned the crowd for Celeste, needing her kind eyes to lay upon your frightful ones and her motherly touch. The vibrations of the crowd stomping their feet could be felt underneath your own.

"My daughter, come and meet your husband! He is most excited to see you!" Your father yanked you up roughly before you had time to register what was happening.

"Your daughter is even more beautiful up close, your majesty," the Prince of Ivanard tells your father as he snatches your hand and kisses your knuckles with his dry lips. The feel of his thick ginger beard had you snatching your hand away. He looks at you with surprise and offense.

Your father laughs awkwardly and roughly pats your shoulder. "She's just a bit shy. Aren't you, my dear?"

The prince laughs awkwardly as well, shifting on his feet and accidentally bumping into Marcus. The knight stares down at him sternly with hidden disdain. The prince grips your shoulder and tries to lead you away as he says, "Well, princess, why don't we get to know each other one on one before we further our courtship, yes?"

Upon hearing that, you've had enough. You yanked your shoulder away from his grimy grip and backed away from the men crowding in on you. Your father's white eyebrows furrow and you can practically feel his temper rising. Marcus steps a foot closer to him in case he would need to intervene.

"No," you spoke through clenched teeth. Your fists tightened at your sides as your breathing grew heavy and fast with each passing second.

Your father looks at you, then at the prince, then at Marcus, then back at you. "No?" He mocks your answer. As he takes a step towards you, you take another step back.

"You heard me, father," you shakily spoke as your voice wavered and grew weaker. "You will not marry me off to a swine." You spit the word at the prince who scoffs in offense. "You will not force your values onto me as though I am a lesser woman to you. I will not live an unhappy life and ignore my capabilities."

The crowd's cheering gets quieter and quieter until they stop completely upon noticing the tense atmosphere around you and your father. Marcus feels pride and fear bubbling in his chest. He knew just how much you were holding in when it came to your father. He never expected now would be the time for it to spill out all at once. You harbored a different kind of courage that he admired. Any other princess would have kept their mouths shut and gone through an unhappy marriage. Ever since you were a child, you were always independent and following your eldest brother's footsteps, wanting to be just like him when you reached adulthood. Being a woman in this life wasn't easy, that's for sure.

"Capabilities," your father scoffed and waved you off with a hand as though you were a fly. He half turned away and glared at you. "And what capabilities might you speak of, my dear daughter?" The way he speaks to you was demeaning and you've never felt so belittled in your entire life.

When you glanced at Marcus over your father's shoulder, he subtly shook his head disapprovingly. That was his way of silently telling you to not poke the bear and make the situation worse by adding more coal to the fire. To be honest, he was terrified of the outcome. Your father was not a violent man, but he was a scary man when he was rage filled. Looking back at your father, he raised his eyebrows at you.

"I want to be a fighter," you tell him quietly, like a little mouse. "I want to continue William's legacy and ride into battle with his sword and finish what was started."

There was light, gossiping chatter that was faintly heard between the guests who observed everything. You had almost forgotten that you stopped the courtship celebration. Your father stood frozen in his place. His jaw ticked and his hands trembled. Marcus stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, about to speak into his ear but your father held a hand up, further silencing his knight.

"You listen to me, girl," your father spoke lowly as he stepped closer to your frozen frame. "You will never be like my son." Hearing those words had you choking on a heartbroken gasp. "You will never have the strength of a man to become a powerful fighter like my son." He steps closer and closer. "You will never be nothing more than a dutiful wife that will bear children to continue your husband's legacy."

Smelling the wine on his breath had you recoiling. Each cruel word spewing from his lips adds a crack to your heart. These were the words you were afraid to hear. Having them told to your face in front of the public added to the crushing embarrassment. You couldn't break down. Not now, especially not in front of your father and Marcus, who stands behind with a somber look on his face.

Staring into your father's wild eyes, you brokenly whispered, "He may have been your son, but he was my brother and my greatest friend, and I will continue his legacy whether you like it or not."

He swallowed thickly and realized you weren't going to back down obediently like he thought.

"Marcus!" He barked, causing the shoulders of his knight to jump. "Take her to her chambers and lock the door. She will stay there until I believe that she is ready to come out."

"Absolutely not!" You shouted in his face, the fire in the pit of your stomach growing heavier as you hear those words. "You will not imprison me!"

"And you will not disrespect me in front of our guests, child!" He all but bellowed in your face, some spittle landing on your cheeks and nose. You flinched your head away but didn't move a step back as he got into your space. "You will follow your orders as a princess and do as I say!"

Marcus finally creates space between you and your father. Celeste had run up the wooden steps of the viewing post to step in front of your father to place her hands on his chest. The Prince of Ivanard stood silently as he didn't want to get in between a family feud, especially since the angry king was his soon-to-be father-in-law.

"Let's go, princess," Marcus speaks softly in your ear, his large hand tenderly holding your arm to usher you away from drama.

As he finally, and successfully, pulled you away, you passed by your father and shouted over your shoulder to let your final words hurt him. "God damn you!"

There was a collective gasp amongst the crowd, and you were finally ushered away in the hands of Marcus.

It had been almost three weeks since the argument between you and your father. He had followed through with his promise of locking you in your chambers. You thought it was to scare you, but once you heard the lock click and you attempted to open your door, you stepped away in shock. Marcus tried to get your father to change his mind, to change his ways, but it was no use. Your father was a stubborn, stubborn man. Celeste even tried to talk your father out of this harsh treatment, but she too was waved off. The only time you were allowed out was for dinners in the dining hall which only consisted of you and your father sitting at opposite ends of the long table. Dinners were awkward and tense. Neither of you opted to speak to one another. Stubbornness runs in the family.

When it reached day twenty-six of isolation, you were growing more frantic over the prospect of never feeling freedom. All you had were your books and your diary. Celeste and Marcus were both instructed to not interact with you. If they were to go against the king's wishes, there would be severe consequences. You knew it was all talk considering the maidservant and the knight were the only two people your father cared about deeply. You thought he cared about you too, but you were wrong.

Tonight wasn't any different than the others. Sitting on the balcony that overlooks the garden, you had a quill in one hand with your diary resting on the smooth stone parapet of the balcony. It was Celeste that had taught you how to write in elegant cursive. She was your teacher for, essentially, everything.

Looking up at the stars and all the beautiful constellations, you couldn't help but to think of what life would be like if you weren't a princess; what life would be like if your mother was still alive, if William was still alive. You had a feeling that your brother would've secretly trained you after hours whilst your father slept. The thought pulled a smile on your lips, and you made sure to write it in your diary.

"Princess," you heard a hushed voice from down below. Your hand froze and you strained your ears, assuming you were only hearing things from being isolated for so long. But then you heard it again. "Psst! Princess! Down here!" You leaned over the edge of the parapet and glanced down, your eyes widening when you see Marcus standing atop one of the stone benches.

"Marcus!" You hissed quietly before you scanned the perimeter. There was a full moon tonight, which meant that everyone in the castle was dead asleep, aside from you and Marcus, obviously. "What on earth are you doing down there?"

He holds a finger to his lips. Suddenly, he throws a bundle of rope up to you and it plops down beside your feet. Completely and utterly confused, you leaned over the edge again.

"Tie the end around one of the pillars! I'm going to hoist myself up to you!"

The idea was absurd. The more you stood up there staring down at him, the more antsy he became.

"Princess, please!"

Without saying another word, you did as he asked. Tying one end of the rope around one of the pillars into a double looped knot, you tossed down the rest of the rope. You watched curiously as Marcus grabbed the rope with both hands and began hoisting himself up. He lets out a hoarse grunt with each pull up, no doubt struggling under his body weight. His arms were exposed from the tunic he wore, his biceps bulging from exertion. When he finally reached the top, he panted heavily and swung his long legs over the edge and hopped down onto the balcony. He was now face to face with you.

"Why couldn't you unlock my door instead?" You asked him with arms crossed and a tilted head that made his heart flutter.

Marcus shrugged. "I didn't want to possibly disturb your father's slumber by the obnoxious creaking of your door."

Squinting at him for not providing any further explanation, you offered him the other empty chair on the other side of the balcony. As he takes a seat, you take the time to really observe him in the moonlight coupled with the candles lit around your room. The tunic he wore showcased his broadness. Without his armor or casual chest plate and arm wear, as well as his sword always attached to his hip, seeing him in all his normalcy was definitely a change. A good change, if that. He looked comfortable and relaxed. No longer was he standing as straight as a rod. When you caught him curiously peering at the open pages of your diary, you were quick to push his head away with your pointer finger before shutting the book.

"That is for my eyes and my eyes only, Knight Acacius," you tell him in a teasing tone, a gentle smile on your lips that had him smiling as well.

"I'm no longer Marcus to you, huh?"

"Well, that depends on if you're going to be on my good side tonight. I really don't want to add you to the list."

He scratches at his scruffy jaw and chuckles quietly at your sassy answer. You briefly retreat inside your room to safely tuck your diary under your pillow. When you go back outside onto the balcony, Marcus sees the small wooden bowl of green and purple grapes in your hands that Celeste had left outside your door. He nods at you in thanks when you motion the bowl over to him. He plucks a few grapes from the stem and watches as you lean back in your seat with the bowl on your lap. The nightgown covering your body made him feel like you looked like a goddess under the moonlight. The delicate skin of your shoulders, collarbones, and arms were exposed. He noticed a distinct scar just above your left breast.

"How did you get that scar?"

You looked shocked at his question. Of course, you forgot just how exposed you were to the older knight. But you didn't feel uncomfortable under his inquisitive gaze. Looking down at the scar as best as you could, you touched the tip of your fingers onto the mark.

"Uh, it's a funny story," you let out a small laugh and looked at Marcus with crinkled eyes that caused a dimple to form on your cheek. "I was only a small child when it happened. I believe I was nine years old, and William was nineteen. He was outside in the pit practicing. I was curious as to what he was doing, you know? I stepped too close just as swung his sword back and the tip of the blade sliced right through my dress." Bursting into a fit of giggles, you remembered the horrified expression on your brother's face and the number of apologies spewing from his lips. "If I was just a few inches shorter, he would've gotten my throat."

Marcus shuts his eyes and shakes his head at the thought. When he opens them, he notices the melancholy, faraway look in your eyes at the mention of William. He quietly cleared his throat, causing your eyes to shoot up at his own. There was a moment of silence. He licked his lips and tried to form the correct words without ruining the mood.

"He would've been a good king," he tells you softly. He rolls a grape between his fingers. "He would tell me all of the ideas he had for the kingdom." Marcus laughed at a particular incident where he had stumped the young man. "He also would've been a good jester."

That was what made you cackle. You slapped your mouth with both hands and Marcus covered his own with his fist to keep from laughing. The two of you shook your heads and eased the laughter until a comfortable lull washed over. As he looked down at the grape in his hands, he mulled over the 'what if' questions that continuously ran through his head. Suddenly, he felt a thump on his forehead. A purple grape landed on his lap. As he went to lift his head to look at you, another grape hit him on the head and bounced off, landing a few feet away on the ground. You giggled behind your palm at his perplexed face.

"You are a child," he tells you in a joking manner.

"If I'm old enough to be married off to a prince, then I'm old enough to play games with my favorite knight," you tell him with that teasing smile again, the same one that always gets his heart beating fast.

"I'm your favorite knight, huh?" He throws a grape in your direction, the small fruit bouncing off your chest and landing between his feet.

"Not anymore if you keep antagonizing me," you joke as you go to throw another grape at him, but Marcus was quick enough to react and moved his head back to catch it in his mouth.

You throw him a thumbs up and he winks. The action was so charming. It was weird that it came from him. Again, not a bad weird. It was a good type of weird. It made you feel warm and fuzzy, and tingly. Although Marcus was much older and much more experienced, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you have towards the man. A delusional part of you hoped that the feeling was mutual.

As the silence grew longer, Marcus took it upon himself to break it. "Well, since you gave me a confession that I am indeed your favorite knight, then I guess you deserve my confession that you are my favorite princess." His tone held something you couldn't add up. It was a mix of adoration and something possibly stronger. It had your cheeks and neck warming. The butterflies in your stomach went wild at his boyish grin.

"I'm your favorite princess?" You asked him quietly, too shy to look at him as you fiddled with the bowl of grapes. You couldn't embarrass yourself, not now, not like this. Maybe it was the loneliness and the possibility of never falling in love with the right man. But all fingers keep pointing to Knight Marcus Acacius.

"You are my favorite princess," he repeated more slowly and gently, bending his head to try and catch your eye. "And it's only ever going to be you, my princess."

It had been a full two months since the falling out between you and your father. Your dinners have now been delivered to your door rather than your father having Celeste escort you down to the dining hall. There was no complaint though. If anything, you preferred it that way. You've grown comfortable with being alone. Well, not entirely alone. After midnight, you and Marcus had fallen into a routine of him sneaking up onto the balcony and the two of you sharing stories of your past lives. Sometimes, he would bring a gift or two to surprise you.

A few days ago, you had mentioned that you wished you had red ink to go with your quills. That same night, Marcus had instructed you to hold out your hand and to shut your eyes. You were skeptical at first, assuming that he was going to play a joke on you.

"Do you trust me, my princess?" He had asked you softly, tipping your head up with his forefinger curled under your chin. You meet his eyes and almost feel hypnotized by the emotions swirling in them.

You nodded. "I trust you... with my life, Marcus Acacius."

Then, he laid a small item in the palm of your hand. You looked down and read the label, looking back up at him with a wide smile that made your eyes crinkle that your eyes disappeared. He was stunned when your body collided against his in a hug that felt like home. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you pressed against him.

"Oh, Marcus," you had sighed softly and sniffled the tears away from the overwhelming feeling of finally being seen.

Tonight was a different adventure. Rather than Marcus climbing up, he instructed you to climb down. The idea was absurd, and you verbally expressed that when you stared down at his awaiting arms. It was at least a fifteen-foot drop without the rope. You couldn't risk breaking a bone because how else would you explain it to your father?

"Do you trust me, dove?" He hushed, staring up at you with those deep brown eyes of his that make it hard to say no.

You sighed to yourself and looked over your shoulder at the locked door of your bedroom. When you looked back down at him from over the balcony, you couldn't help but to smile at his eagerness.

"I trust you with my life, Marcus Acacius," you tell him earnestly. He smiles at that, his dimple deepening the wider his smile gets.

As you swing yourself over the edge, you make sure to fix your sleeping gown so as to not give him a sneak peek. Marcus never tried any advances on you. Although you wished he would at least touch your thigh or something, he always kept his hands to himself and was a respectful gentleman. The both of you would share intimate hugs and held hands on occasion, but that was it. There was an unspoken tension between the two of you. Whether the fear was your reputation as a princess, the arranged marriage, or the age gap between you and the knight. You were unsure of how to go about this. Whatever it was, you didn't want to ruin it. As of this moment, this routine, it was just two people spending time together and forming an intimate bond.

"There we go, darling girl," he tells you softly, his arms stretched up high to catch you if you fall. "Now, hold onto the rope with both hands and slowly lower yourself down." When you let out a small whimper, Marcus hushes you softly by saying, "I got you, darling. I got you."

Lowering yourself down to the ground was surprisingly easy work. It was harder for Marcus, most likely because he was twice your weight. Either way, you didn't embarrass yourself by falling on your backside and making a complete fool out of yourself in front of the man you have questionable feelings for. The two of you greet each other quietly and share a long hug. He had been unable to visit you for a few days, so this was your reunion back in each other's arms.

"I have a surprise for you, princess," he speaks quietly in your ear, the both of you swaying gently in each other's arms. "Are you up for adventure with your favorite knight?"

Pulling away from his chest, you rest your hands on his broad shoulders and look up at him. He spots the skepticism in your eyes, and he rolls his own jokingly.

"It's nothing extreme, I promise," he makes an X across his heart. "If it's something you are not interested in, then you say the word and I shall bring you back to your chambers safe and sound."

Marcus sounds sincere, and almost nervous. Curiosity got the best of you as you were eager to see what he had planned. When you give him a nod, he gives you one of his boyish grins and takes a hold of your hand and holds onto the lantern he had set aside to pull you into his arms. You follow him silently through the gardens, casting your balcony one last look before it disappears from view. It was another few minutes of walking until you realized what direction you two were heading in.

"Are we... going out to the lake?" You finally asked him, looking at the back of his head before peering around his shoulder. When the lake comes into view, you see a blanket laid out on the ground with another lantern resting atop it.

As you got closer, Marcus ushers you in front of him so you can get a better look of the layout. On the blanket was a plate of dried meats, cheeses, pieces of bread, and fruit; two chalices and a bottle of wine; and a single flower. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were able to come out. Marcus had deemed you speechless, for the first time ever. It was usually always the other way around.

"Now," he gently pushed you closer with a hand on your hip. "I know how imprisoned you've felt in your chambers. And I know things have been hard for you for the past few months. I figured, maybe, you'd want a relaxing time away from your chambers. Now, this is, uh, not something of courtship, I promise you that." The sentence had you laughing quietly. "Think of this as, um, a friend helping out another... friend?" He sounded unsure, mentally kicking at himself for using those choice of words.

"Well... friend," you purposely drew out the word in a teasing manner to make him squirm. "This was definitely a surprise, and it's a beautiful surprise. Thank you, Marcus." He can hear your voice waver with emotion. "I cannot believe you went out of your way to do this for me."

"It's the least I can do for a princess like you," he spoke in a hushed tone, watching you closely as you bend down to lift the stem of the flower and sniff the petals.

Sliding off your slippers, you wiggled your feet in the plush grass, giggling to yourself at the texture between your toes. It had been so long since you felt grass under your bare feet. It was slightly moist from the fog that very slowly made its way across the hills and just barely kissed the lake. Standing at the edge of the lake, there was a moment of spontaneity that washed over you. Maybe it was a bold move or an act of rebellion. The more you stared out into the lake, the more desperate you were to feel the water on your naked skin. As you slid the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders, Marcus was quick to stop you from undressing any further.

"What... uh... What are you, um, doing?"

Why couldn't he form a coherent question? He sees the princess' bare shoulders and he suddenly feels like a virgin boy again. He forces himself to turn away with his hands on his hips when he hears the faint splash of you swimming further into the lake. When he hears your contented sighs, he finds himself turning without realizing. His arms dropped to his sides and his shoulders sagged from the forceful breath he exhaled due to the sight before him. You stood in the lake with the water just below your collarbones. Your hair was wet and slicked back when you dipped underneath to get used to the cold. With the droplets on your skin and the two lanterns creating more than enough light, Marcus would be convinced if you told him you were actually a nymph. Whatever it is that you would tell him, he would hang on to every word as though it would be the last time he would hear them.

"Come on, Knight Acacius!" You swim deeper into the lake, dipping back underneath and popping back up, blinking away the water and swiping a hand down your face to look at him with a sweet smile. "Don't leave me swimming all alone."

He knows it's a bad idea. This was definitely crossing an unspoken boundary of your whatever-your-relationship-was. Once that line was crossed, there was no going back. Marcus knew that. You knew that. Maybe you wanted for him to get in the water as an invitation. He didn't know. The two of you danced around the obvious for three months. Touches got longer and lingered the more time spent together. Goodbyes got harder after spending hours whispering secrets to one another in your bed – nothing ever got past innocent cuddling. But looking at you now, swimming about in your carefree spirit that he feels he lost so long ago, he can no longer ignore his attraction to you. Glancing off to the side in the direction you two came from, Marcus looked at you again and he can see the reassuring smile on your face, silently telling him that it's okay, it's just the two of you.

You watch as he reaches a hand behind his neck to pull off his tunic. Seeing his bare chest for the first time made you look away with a gasp. The lanterns made his skin look so golden and warm to the touch. There was more movement in your peripheral. Your brain screamed at you to not look, but your heart screamed even louder at you to take a little peek. So, you did. Lips parted on their own accord as Marcus slid off his bloomers. From the position with the way he bent over, you weren't able to see his lower half. But as he pulled his bloomers free from his legs and stood back up, you turned just in time to avoid seeing his exposed, private area. You wanted to give him the same respect he had given you when you had undressed in front of him. Whether he took a peek or not, you knew he was respectful about it.

With your back facing the field, you stared further down at the lake. With the moonlight bouncing off the gentle ripples of the water, it really did look like it was sparkling. It had you smiling in awe as your hands gently carded through the water. There was a distant splash from behind you, and then silence. You almost held your breath when you felt Marcus' presence getting closer and closer. It was nerve-wracking, and also almost exciting and taboo. Then, you felt it.

Two large hands gently grip your hips from behind. Your stomach muscles tightened at the feeling before your entire body relaxed. Slowly turning in his grip, a smile pulled at your lips. You and Marcus stood at least a foot from one another. The two of you stood with the water just below your collarbones. His hair was damp and slicked back, the ends looking a lot longer from the added wetness to them, but they still curled no matter how many times he ran a hand through them. Your hands started at his wrists, Then, they slowly slid up his forearms where you felt his arm hair. The coil in the pit of your stomach tightens as you've come to a realization that this was all happening, and it wasn't a dream. As your hands slide further up his strong, thick biceps and rest onto his broad shoulders, you couldn't mistake the sigh of content spilling from your lips for something else. You hoped it was quiet enough for Marcus to not hear, but the little grin on his face says otherwise.

Your hands slide up his neck, briefly brushing over his vein, and your thumbs can feel the hammering of his pulse. When they finally settled on his scruffy jaw, you were at a loss for words. Marcus can see your eyes on his lips. Experimentally, he licked at his bottom lip with barely a poke of his tongue before pulling it back between his teeth. Almost in a trance-like state, you do the same with your own bottom lip. Upon hearing his laugh, you broke out of the hypnotization he had you under and released your bottom lip from between your teeth.

"You are a foul man," you giggle at him, lightly pushing him away and splashing water in his direction. "In all seriousness, Marcus, it's nice seeing you like this."

"Wet, naked, and vulnerable?"

"No!" You laughed a little hard at his annoying answer, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him as his smile grew wider. The two of you start swimming in slow, calm circles. "I mean, it's nice seeing you not so serious all the time. I like seeing you happy and... relaxed, to say the least."

"Are you sure it's not because I'm wet, naked, and vulnerable?" He teasingly asks, reaching underwater to poke at your stomach. You rolled your eyes at him again and leaned back to use your foot to nudge him away. "I know what you mean, dove. There are rare moments where I can unwind, but you've helped me in the process of doing so."

His answer piqued your interest. You stopped swimming in slow circles and looked over at him as he slowly bobbed up and down in the water. There's a ghost of a smile on Marcus' lips when you look at him with those wide, curious eyes. He clears his throat and looks away, hoping that pointing his attention on something else would help the words come out smoothly.

"The time I've spent with you, my princess, has been the most serene I have ever felt in my entire life of being your knight," he tells you in a low voice, afraid to speak any louder to where the moment is ruined by his gruffness. "With you, I am able to not worry about... anything. You make it quite easy to forget about my worries. I could be having the most troublesome day, but the second I look into those eyes of yours, it all disappears and I'm able to be Marcus with you and not Knight Acacius."

You carefully swim closer to where he stands. The emotion is heavy on his face, from the way his eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are darting back and forth as he tries to use the best words that he could think of in order to convey what he's feeling as to not confess too much too soon. Marcus shakes his head and laughs at himself.

"I'm making a fool out of myself, aren't I?"

Hushing him softly, you lean in close and tenderly wrap your arms around his shoulders to further pull him into your chest. Marcus' hooked nose lovingly caresses your jaw and then lowers down to your neck where he inhales deeply, your sweet scent filling his nostrils, further easing the anxiety that was threatening to burst. You card a hand at the back of his head, fingers gently tugging at his damp curls. He was polite enough to keep his hips a distance away from your own as his arms find a home around your waist.

"You are no more a fool than I, Marcus Acacius," you tell him so quietly, your voice cracking when you say his name. He lifts his head from its place in the crook of your neck. Eyes meet eyes, then forehead meets forehead. Noses brush against one another and his hands find your cheeks. You tenderly hold onto his wrists and shut your eyes, wishing there was a way to capture this moment.

Then, Marcus tells you in a tone that borders between heartache and awe, "I guess we are both foolish beings, my princess." And just like that, a lonesome tear rolls down your cheek, one that he lightly kisses away. His lips on your cheek left a warmth that you wished you could feel all over. But at this moment, right here with him, you will take all that he could give you.

"Princess." There was a knock on your door, followed by the latch unlocking. The door opens quietly, the unmistakable creak causing you to wince and bury your face deeper into your pillow with a groan. "The king requests your presence in his chambers." The blanket was yanked off your warm body, the cold, crisp air of your room causing you to shiver and groan even louder in your pillow. "Come on, princess. You know your father is an impatient man."

Celeste busies herself by picking out your morning gown and laying it on your bed by your curled legs. She does a once over at your body and then does a double take. When you hear nothing but silence, you remove the pillow from your face and look over your shoulder. She stands over you with a peculiar look on her face. Her wrinkled fingers gently pinch at the hem of the dark maroon tunic covering your body. It was a men's tunic, one that fell just above your knees.

"Oh, dear child," she tuts quietly, looking up at your eyes and shaking her head disapprovingly. "Please, do not tell me this belongs to you-know-who."

There was a moment of panic on your face. You leapt out of bed and made a mad dash to your bedroom door to slam it shut. Celeste still stands as stiff as a tree with her hands on her hips. Never has she ever looked so disappointed at you. It makes you want the ground to swallow you whole. Timidly striding across the room, you let out a tired sigh and sit on the edge of your bed, your fingers playing with the ends of the tunic.

"Nothing serious happened, Celeste," you speak under your breath.

She rests a hand on her head in distress, her eyes wide and worrisome. "Knight Marcus?!" She hissed. "Do you not know what would happen if your father ever found out about you two?"

"Celeste, there is nothing to even find out about," you pleaded with her, tears already brimming along your waterline. "We... We're just two people that formed a companionship after hours. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less." The words burned your tongue the second they left your mouth. "You need to believe me when I say this, Celeste. Please, I beg of you. Do not tell my father of this, please."

The older maidservant looks at you with pity, her pursed lips in a frown at the sound of your helplessness and fear of what could possibly happen if word were to spread throughout the castle. With another sigh, she takes a seat next to you on the bed. Her left hand grabs a hold of your right one, and you immediately rest your head upon her shoulder. She rests her chin on the crown of your head, sighing once more. The two of you sit in silence, listening to the faint laughter and commotion happening within the garden through the ajar windows in your room.

"Do you love him?"

The question caught your attention. Celeste's tone sounded melancholy, but you couldn't place a finger on it. You didn’t want her to take your silence as a definite answer. Truth be told, you don’t understand what it is that you feel. Were they platonic feelings? Romantic? Sexual? You do know that Marcus is three times your senior. He has a reputation to uphold as your father’s main knight. He has led the other knights into battle between the other kingdoms and always came back unscathed. Marcus Acacius was a frightening man to some and a dangerous man to others. But you never viewed him as either. He’s a passionate man with many ideals that he would hope to spread. Marcus has a sensitivity to him not a lot of men have, which is why he kept himself guarded as best as he could, only showing you the vulnerable parts of him knowing there will be no judgment. 

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, dear child,” Celeste tells you in a somber tone. “You do not know what you are asking for, nor do you understand what it’s like to love someone like that.” 

Pulling your head up from her shoulder, you rip your hand away from her gentle grip. With a fire in your eyes, you stand up before her, glaring down at the old maidservant with betrayal.

“Of all the people, Celeste, I thought you would be the one to understand me the most,” your voice breaks. "I may not be wise beyond my years, but I know what it is like to love someone. Now, I don't know what it is that I'm feeling. Maybe it's love. Maybe it's not. All I know is that I treat Marcus exactly like how he wants to be perceived. If that's wrong of me as his friend and as the king's daughter, then... damn you all!"

Shockingly enough, Celeste laughs. Not a small, polite chuckle she would give to a guest or to your father. But a full-bellied laugh that had her doubling over. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Don't... Don't laugh at me! How dare you make a mockery of me!"

She only laughs harder, frantically waving her hands as she tries to catch her breath. Her face is flushed as she dabs her fingers under her eyes to wipe away the tears. Still standing in front of her, confused and offended, you cross your arms and look away from her with a shake of your head. Much to your surprise, you let out a small oof when she hugs you tightly. You stood frozen in her embrace. Arms still crossed between your bodies; you eyed the side of her head. But then, you heard it. Celeste was crying on your shoulder, tenderly stroking the back of your head. You hesitantly wrapped your arms around her waist, pressing yourself closer into her front. The woman held onto you tighter, one hand still stroking the back of your hair as her other arm crossed over your shoulder blades.

"Gods, you remind me so much of your mother," she lets out a watery laugh. "She was a spitfire, that one."

Stepping away from Celeste when her arms dropped down, she was quick to cup your cheeks in her cold hands. Her thumbs stroked the apples of your cheeks, smiling weakly when you won't meet her eye.

"Before your mother passed, she made me promise that I would take care of you and your brother," she tells you quietly, gently tipping your head up to look into her cloudy eyes. "I may not be your mother, but I will always love you like my own. Do you understand, princess?" You give her a jerky nod. "It is my duty as your caregiver to ensure that your happiness will never wander. And it is my duty as your mother's oldest friend to keep my promise." You open your mouth to question her, but she hushes you softly. "Whatever it is that you may feel for him, do not let it go, understood?" She gives you a pointed look that tells you to not disagree with her. As she sees the tiniest smile forming on your lips, she gives you a wink and informs you to get dressed in your gown.

There was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Celeste? Princess?"

The door creaks open and reveals just who you were talking about. Knight Marcus trudges inside, his lids heavy from exertion but they brighten the second they're laid on you. Celeste doesn't miss the way his shoulders sag and the soft smile that takes over his face. She also doesn't miss the way your own smile turns into one of affection, the confusion and anger on your face now washed away. She hums under her breath, quiet enough so only she could hear it. Marcus clears his throat and gives the older woman a polite nod. She squints.

"The king requests the princess' presence urgently," he tells you both. His eyes sweep up and down your appearance, silently wishing you two were alone so he could take you into his arms and obsess over your beauty and to feel your cheeks warming under his lips. There are a lot of things he wishes he could do with you without facing any consequences. He wishes the life you two share wasn't one of secrecy. His only hope is that you also think the same of him.

Celeste fussed with your hair and did a simple style with a small braid tied behind the rest of your hair that lays against your back. When she's about to pass Marcus, she eyes the both of you once more before leaving the room, most likely to give you two some privacy.

"Do you know what it is that my father wants to talk about?" The question comes out weak, the jitters never once settling as the dreadful questions and 'what if's' are never-ending.

Marcus shakes his head as his hand tights on the handle of his sword. "I'm not sure, princess. But I wouldn't worry much about it. He didn't seem... on edge." Giving him a nod at his answer, he could still tell that it didn't ease your nerves. It's been a while since you last faced your father. He steps forwards, just a hair away. "Dove, you have nothing to worry about, okay?"

The two of you walked in tandem to your father's chambers. As you turn down the long, stoned hallway, Marcus' hand barely brushes along the shape of your hip when you step in front of him. Glancing at him over your shoulder with a barely-there smile, his silent reassurance was something you didn't know you needed, and now you crave it more than ever. As you knocked on the door and entered upon hearing your father's voice, Marcus' hand laid on the handle of the door to pull it shut to leave you and your father alone.

"Uh, Marcus," the king raises a hand to stop the knight from shutting the door. "It is better for you to be here as well to hear what I have to say."

The moment was filled with panic for both you and the knight. With your father's back turned, you glanced over your shoulder at Marcus, your eyes wide and lips parted as your breathing grew frantic. He raised a hand just above his waist, subtly shaking his head, silently pleading with you not to panic. Had your father discovered what you and Marcus had been doing after hours? With Marcus defying your father's orders, you dreaded the punishment that might await you both. Despite never going beyond hugging and handholding, you and the knight continued to dance around the topic of your relationship, fearing that reality would ruin it.

The tension in the room is palpable. Marcus stands by the door, his silence a testament to his understanding of the king's authority. Your father, with his hands clasped behind his back, gazes out the window, the sunlight catching the glint of his rings. You follow him closely, waiting for his words, and cast another glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment.

The weight of his words hung in the air, filled with sorrow and regret. "Ever since your mother passed, I've felt like I've failed you, both as your father and as king. You remind me so much of her. She truly was an extraordinary woman," he said, his voice tinged with a sad, melancholic laugh.

It was unusual to see him in such a vulnerable state. Often, it was hard to understand his thoughts or emotions. He usually maintained a facade for the villagers around the kingdom. The only mask you had seen him wear was the one he donned after your mother's death. Listening to him talk about her felt almost therapeutic. Unsure of where the conversation was headed, you remained silent and let him continue.

The atmosphere was incredibly tense as he spoke, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "I understand that you believe yourself capable of being more than just a wife, perhaps even a queen. But it is quite selfish of you to ignore what this kingdom needs in terms of allies and protection," he said, turning to face you fully. Shocked, you couldn't help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it.

"Selfish?" you echoed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and determination. "Explain to me how pursuing my own happiness is selfish, father. How is my desire to ride with the knights and fight for our people selfish? Go on, explain!" Your breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, but you no longer cared about the repercussions of your defiance. "Were you ever going to tell me that this isn't the life mother envisioned for me?"

The shock on his face was laughable.

"I beg your pardon!" His cheeks flushed with rage. "You don't know what you are talking about, child. You have no idea what your mother wanted for you, and you should not ponder it while you are in my care."

The laughter that bubbled out of your chest was uncontrollable. Marcus, standing by the door, watched the tense scene unfold. He knew better than to intervene or place himself between you and the king. However, as the king's expression grew increasingly stony, Marcus began to worry for your well-being, sensing that you were on the verge of crossing a line from which there would be no return.

Gazing at your father, any sympathy for his struggles vanished, as he remained tethered to his past. Marcus and Celeste offered no assistance, and now, neither could you. The king received no pity. If William were still here, he would undoubtedly strive to alter your father's views on your life choices. Sadly, in this moment, it felt like you were alone against the world. As stubborn as your father was, you now wished you weren't cut from the same cloth.

Now seething and unable to hide it, you stood closer until you were damn near toe-to-toe with your father. "In your care?" The question was spat in his face. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't Celeste been my caregiver since I was born? Hm? Wasn't it my mother that granted her full guardianship because she knew of the ideals you would bestow upon me, and she didn't agree?" Hearing about Celeste had your father shutting up instantly, and he looks away in shame. "Don't you dare try to act like a caring father, after all these years! When it comes to me being married off to a prince with no values, that is when you decided to step up." Lowering your head to try and catch his eye, he only turns away to point his back at you.

The weight of his words hung in the air as he gazed out the window, his voice barely above a whisper. "You do not know what this marriage could do for us, for the kingdom, and for our people," he said. "You are a princess, and I expected you to act as such."

Marcus lowers his head, his heart aching at the sound of your soft sniffles. He wishes he could cross the room, pull you into his arms, and take you far away from all this pain. He would do anything for you, if only you would ask.

"I know I am not like the other princess', father," you cried softly and hesitantly stepped over to the same window he looked out of, silently begging for him to look at you. But his jaw clenches and ticks, a telltale sign of agitation. You want to lay a hand on his forearm, but you'd rather not poke the bear. "I know I don't have the same ideals a woman such as myself may have, but what about me?"

When you don't get a response, you continue.

"What about what I want for the kingdom? Have you ever, for one second, thought about my own happiness instead of your own?"

The silence stretched on, heavy and unbroken. Neither of you uttered a word, except for your quiet sniffles as you struggled to hold back your tears. Marcus despised the look of desperation on your face. The anguish was unmistakable. It only worsened when you reached out to your father, and he stepped away as if a peasant had stepped on his shoes. When he looked at you, you could hardly recognize the man you once knew as your loving father. Now, he was in his kingly mindset and looked at you as though you were a problem.

The king continues to look down at you as if you were nothing more. "You do not want to marry a prince? That is perfectly fine with me," his voice was void of any emotion, making it impossible to decipher what lay hidden beneath. "There will be a carriage waiting for you tomorrow morning at sunrise. I am sending you to a convent where you will live the rest of your life as a nun. If you wish to rebel against me and ignore your duties as a princess, so be it. I will not be made a fool from your disobedience and disrespect."

"What?" Both you and Marcus exclaim, the shock of the situation melting into terror. Your heart races, and you can feel the panic rising within you. Marcus notices your distress from a distance and quickly comes to your side, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you're not alone in this moment of fear.

The knight looks at the king. "Your majesty-"

"Enough, Marcus." The king gives him a pointed stare, raising his bushy, white eyebrows, silently telling the knight to not cross the line and make matters worse. "You will make sure she is gone by the time I have woken."

The tension in the air was discernible. You struggled to find the right words, but they seemed to vanish before you could speak of them. Beside you, Marcus was seething with anger, his frustration almost tangible. Among all the scenarios he had considered, the princess being sent away to a convent was the last thing you expected.

"You are making a grave mistake," Marcus tells him, his voice no longer quiet, but more authoritarian. "Sending her away is going to make matters worse for the kingdom. Please, think about what you are doing. You are going against Maryann's wishes. Think of the heartbreak you are going to bestow on Celeste."

The mention of Maryann, your mother, brought a flood of emotions you could no longer contain. You turned and buried your face in Marcus' chest, clutching the short sleeves of his tunic as you sobbed. It felt like you were submerged underwater, unable to hear the knight and the king's conversation. All you could perceive was Marcus' faint laugh echoing in your mind, Celeste's nurturing smile, and the warmth of Marcus' hands tracing the contours of your body. Those cherished moments are now lost, and you can no longer fulfill your mother's wishes as she had hoped before she passed.

Marcus whispers your father's name. They lock eyes, the silence only broken by your heart-wrenching sobs. Marcus feels a lump forming in his throat, his nostrils tingling and eyes stinging. He repeats your father's name, his voice trembling and barely audible.

"Please," he pleads for you. His arms tighten around your body, wishing you could crawl inside his ribcage and rest upon his beating heart that you have unknowingly called home. Each whimper you released was like a stab to his chest with a poisoned dagger.

The king's frown deepens as he witnesses you trembling like a leaf in the arms of his favored knight. He swallows thickly and turns away once more, unable to face the damage that has already been done.

"My decision is final, Knight Marcus. Now, escort the princess back to her chambers."

The tears had long since dried up, leaving you as a mere shell of your former self, numb and devoid of feeling. The future seemed bleak, both for you and the kingdom. The king's rash decision to send you away to a convent was perilous and reckless. Consumed by his own fury, he had likely set the stage for the kingdom's downfall. The thought of Celeste and Marcus being put in harm's way filled you with dread, as if claws were tearing at your heart. You couldn't bear to think about the consequences of your banishment, knowing it would shatter you all over again.

The sense of helplessness is overwhelming. Celeste's anguished cries in your father's chambers still echo in your mind, a stark reminder of the pain she's enduring. She always saw you as the daughter she never had, and now, with your banishment, her heart must be breaking. Your father's silence in the face of her fury was telling. He deserved every bit of her wrath after all these years of loyalty and care she has shown your family.

And Marcus, Oh, goodness. With a slow, unsteady hand, you grabbed at your chest as the pain in your heart intensified. Being able to grow close to each other the way you've been doing the past few months has felt like a fairytale straight from the stories Celeste would make up when you were just a child. In another world, he was your prince, and you were his princess. Meeting in secrecy wasn't ideal, but it was perfect. Getting to see him become his most vulnerable was one of the greatest accomplishments you've endured. The lingering touches and longing glances given to one another around company always made you ache. The burning heat in your lower half never once weakened around him. He had grown confident in his touches and the occasional kisses that would start at your jaw and trail down to your neck where he would feel the hammering of your pulse under his lips. Knight Marcus Acacius was a man. And now, he will be a man that you would never have.

Enough was enough. There would be no more wallowing, no more pondering over what could have been, and no more drowning in tears. You needed to act, and you needed to act fast. A brief moment of panic struck as you leapt out of bed and hurried around your room. Think, think, think. Cursing to yourself, you finally got to work. Grabbing one of your gowns, you turned it into a makeshift sack by cutting and tying the ends with the small dagger Marcus had given you long ago when you were becoming a young woman.

"A princess is never really a princess without her dagger," he had told you, carefully unsheathing it and showing you the sharp blade with your initials engraved right by the handle. "This was given to me when I was your age, and now I want you to have it. Under any situation where you feel the need to use it, think about me and I will be right there with you."

Oh, Marcus. Not a minute goes by where you're not thinking about the older knight. There would be no more flirtatious banter, no more whispered secrets, no more tender touches. It was now, at this moment, that you've come to a realization your feelings for him are too intense to ignore. Maybe it's because of the desperation you feel or the terrors you're going to face after sunrise. Either way, you can't shake the unmistakable feeling away.

The reflection in the mirror is unrecognizable. The once bright eyes are now dim, and the skin is dull and dry from countless tears. This woman feels like a stranger, and the thought of living as her is unbearable. The idea of being someone you're not, confined by false worship and seclusion, is suffocating. But then, a spark of realization ignites. Not all is lost. A plan forms: escape before sunrise and head north. Whether you go alone or not is up to you, but finding solace elsewhere is better than being imprisoned by faith.

Just as you were getting a head start, a small clack sound came from the balcony. When you turned around to face the wide-open doors leading outside, you saw no one. As you were about to shut them, an object on the ground that hadn't been there before caught your eye.

It was a stone, almost the size of your palm. As you inched closer, you saw a paper wrapped around the stone, securely tied with wool string. Curiosity got the best of you, and you leaned over the edge of the parapet, but saw no one. You had assumed it was Marcus, but when he wasn't standing on the stone bench, looking up at you with that charming smile of his, your worry began to grow.

You bent down to pick up the stone, carefully retreating back into your room as you gave another glance towards the outdoor darkness surrounding your balcony. Untying the string and finally unfolding the paper, a smile slowly formed on your lips. In messy penmanship, it read: Meet me at our spot.

The rope that has been used during your secret little adventures has been kept hidden underneath your bed. After tying one end of the rope around one of the pillars, you hoist yourself down exactly as you've done the many times you snuck away with Marcus' hands held tightly in your own. There was a rush of excitement and nostalgia upon remembering those times. It felt like yesterday you two were on your balcony alone for the first time, tossing grapes at his head and essentially calling him your favorite person and vice versa.

When you reached the ground and adjusted your gown, you noticed a small lantern sitting beside the bench. It was the typical gentleman thing for Marcus to do, not wanting you to travel in the dark. It was very telling of his character and who he is as a man and as a companion. With the lantern held at arm's length from your chest, you never realized just how terrifying it is traveling alone in the dark. If you were going to leave before sunrise, you would have to get over that fear and think like a Dame, not a princess. An owl hooted in the distance, causing your head to sharply turn towards the noise.

Upon reaching the lake, you gently swung the lantern around to cast a glow around the area. There was no blanket on the ground. There was no other lantern in sight. There was no Marcus. In a hushed voice, you called out to him. Crickets chirped in the bushes as another howl hooted close by. In another hushed voice, more frantic than the last, you called out to your knight. When you reach the looming tree, an arm reaches around and yanks your body back until it collides against a sturdy chest.

With a shriek, you drop the lantern and struggle against the arm around your waist and the hand covering your mouth. You kick at the man's shin and jab your elbow into his stomach, eliciting a grunt from him.

"It's me! Princess, it's me!" The man hisses.

"Marcus?!" You whisper-shouted, allowing him to press you against the tree and observing the wince on his face as he sits up the lantern - thankfully the fire hasn't dimmed from your frantic motions. "You are a foolish, foolish man!" Although you did hurt him, accidentally, that still didn't lessen the smile on the knight's face. Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his shoulder and leaned more comfortably against the tree.

With the low lighting of the lantern on the ground and the full moon glowing behind his head, Marcus looked like a dream come true - your dream come true. His thick curls almost form a halo atop his head, making him look more angelic and heavenly than the rugged fighter he claims to be. You weren't a religious woman, by all means. But if heaven looked like this, you wouldn't mind getting down on your knees and praying to the gods above, begging to be put in a heaven where Marcus will look like this for eternity. It almost brings a tear to your eye.

He looks down at you with an unreadable expression. Both of your smiles disappear and transform into something softer and more intimate. Your eyes take in his features carefully, heartbroken at the fact that tonight will be the last night you will be with him again. No man's brown eyes could compare to your Marcus'. No man's hooked nose could compare to your Marcus'. No man's smooth, timbered voice could compare to your Marcus'. At the realization that no man will ever be the same as your knight's, and that he has ruined everyone else for you, you let out a shuddering breath as the tears fall.

"Oh, Marcus," you wept quietly, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, allowing him to lower his upper body down to your height to make it more comfortable. His eyes shut as his own emotions take over. His own arms find their home around your waist. He clings onto you desperately, scared that if he were to let go, you'd suddenly fade away like mist right through his fingers. "This... This is all too much."

He hushes you softly, caressing a hand through your long hair, burning the feeling in the back of his mind of how soft and thick your hair was. His nose curves around the shape of your neck, smelling your sweet scent one last time and feeling your pulse against the tip. When you whimper from him pulling away, he eases your sorrows by using his curled forefinger to tip your head up in order to wipe away your tears of heartache. Neither of you speak, only gazing into each other's eyes lovingly.

"You are the most... beautiful woman I've ever known," he tells you quietly, silently begging for his voice to remain steady. "Your heart, mind, and soul are mesmerizing and addicting." Your lips parted at his words, your arms sliding down his shoulders to gently hold onto either side of your neck. He continues, "When I spend my time with you, it feels as though I'm floating through the clouds, and nothing can pull me back down to earth."

The intensity of the moment made you feel dizzy and lightheaded. Marcus' hands gently cradled your cheeks, and his warmth and masculine scent made your mouth water. You could see his lips moving, but the words were lost to you. Gazing back into his eyes, you pulled him closer. Marcus paused, his eyes flicking down to your parted lips before meeting your sorrowful gaze again.

There was palpable tension in the air as you whispered his name, your heart heavy with unspoken words. "Marcus… I…" you breathed out softly, your voice trembling. "I never told you… how… how much I…" The words caught in your throat, refusing to come out. You shook your head, the confession lingering on the tip of your tongue, frozen and waiting.

He takes that final step, your chests now pressed together, hearts pounding in unison. When Marcus lifts his hand to gently brush away some stray hairs from your face, you notice a slight tremble. You can't help but wonder if he's as nervous as you are, if his mind is racing with the same thoughts.

"Oh, my sweet darling," his voice trembling with emotion. His jaw tightens and relaxes, betraying the storm of feelings within him. The intensity of his gaze leaves no room for doubt—he understands your thoughts, your emotions, and the unspoken words hanging between you. He knows exactly what to do, even without uttering the forbidden words.

A surge of electricity shot through your entire body when Marcus' lips touched yours for the first time. You breathed in deeply through your nose and squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clinging desperately to his shoulders as he kept a steady grip on your face. The scruff of his beard scraped your upper lip and chin deliciously. This was what you had been waiting for, what you had been dreaming about for months, and now you finally had it, even if only for a short while until sunrise.

The two of you kissed like famished beasts. There was no holding back when it came to the knight. He kissed you as if your tongue was wine and he wanted to drink up the last few gulps. He kissed you as if he was drunk off of your taste and needed more, more, more. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to, now that he tasted you for the first time. His addiction to you worsened when your lips parted more to take his tongue into your awaiting mouth. The groan he releases had your entire body buzzing with heat.

With one hand gripping his curls at the nape of his neck and your other hand braced between his broad shoulder blades, you pulled away to take in big gulps of air as you forgot to remember to breathe. Marcus chased your lips immediately, his hands tightening on your face as he lips landed on yours again, and again, and again, until they were raw and swollen with passion. The whimper you elicit against him, the vibrations tingling on his mouth, drove him crazy.

This time, it was Marcus who pulled away.

He licks at his bottom lip, not wanting to waste any of your taste lingering on his eager tongue. Your breathing is heavy and desperate. Your lips tingle and buzz. The heat between you two intensified, no longer able to ignore as you two officially crossed that line that you cannot return from. He kisses you again, seemingly unable to go seconds without the feel of your lips on his and tongues intertwined.

The first kiss was everything you imagined it to be. You had expected it to be frantic, desperate, and consuming, and it was. It wasn't tender or gentle. He didn't kiss you like you were going to break apart. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed in order to breathe. Marcus was a trained fighter and killer. There has been blood drenched on his hands as others on the opposing side have died on the end of his sword.

After a few more minutes of nearly swallowing each other's tongue--maybe even an hour--Marcus pulled away for a moment to allow you a minute to regain composure and recollect yourself. The fogginess in your eyes fades away and you feel less like you're underwater. You can hear the faintness of crickets chirping again. There was a moment of embarrassment of losing yourself in the kiss, but you didn't care because Marcus also lost himself. He brushes away a small sheen of saliva at the corner of your lips with a sheepish, almost shy smile.

The moment slowly transformed when you held onto his forearm to keep his hand against your cheek. With eyes closed and lashes resting prettily on your cheeks, you kiss his palm so gently that he could barely feel it--just a tickle. Neither of you spoke. You didn't know what to say, and he didn't either, but that's okay. Everything that you wanted to say was expressed through your touches.

"Marcus," you whispered his name as your heart was about to leap out of your throat and land in the palm of his hand. He looks down at you with his beautiful, half-lidded, kiss-drunk eyes. You could no longer hold in your secret. "I'm leaving before sunrise."

His brows furrowed before they straightened. "I know you're leaving, sweet girl. Don't you mean at sunrise?"

Gently shaking your head, you release your embrace and lean back against the tree, gazing out over the lake. Marcus notices the struggle you're trying so hard to conceal on your face.

"No, my love," you tell him in a tearful voice. "I mean, I'm leaving before sunrise, getting through those gates, and heading north. I'm going to take myself far, far away from here and settle by the mountains."

Marcus can't hide the shock on his face. He takes a half step back, swipes a hand down his mouth, and distractedly rubs the back of his neck. Emotions swirl rapidly across his face. He doesn't know what to think or feel. An uncomfortable knot forms in the pit of his stomach, the kind he usually gets when something bad is about to happen.

"Absolutely not," the words come out of his mouth without holding back. He realizes his mistake when you jerk your head back and look at him with surprise.

"I beg your pardon, Knight Marcus?" Using his rank as his name was a way to distance yourself from him, to not let your emotions bubble over the surface in a way you'll regret. He sees right through your facade.

"Don't give me that 'Knight Marcus' shit like I'm going to buy it," he sternly tells you, making sure to point a finger down at the ground rather than disrespect you by pointing it in your face. Tensions were currently high, and he doesn't want to make matters worse by accidentally offending you. "You heard what I said, and I'll say it again, slowly. Absolutely. Not."

The silence between you felt almost tangible. You had seen him address the other knights in this manner when they faltered in their training or when a guest made a disrespectful comment about the kingdom. He had a knack for putting people in their place, but you never imagined it would be you on the receiving end.

Marcus took your silence as an opportunity to express his anxious thoughts. He hesitantly cupped your cheeks in his large hands, which easily dwarfed your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at the calloused warmth. He gently tipped your head up with both thumbs placed under your jaw. "Look at me. Please, open your eyes and look at me." He breathed out a sigh of relief when you did just that.

The wavering in his voice was unmistakable as he warned, "Do you know what would happen if the king ever found out that you went off north? Hm? He would find a way to get you back, or worse--kill you." The last part is spoken with such strain, as if uttering it might make it a reality. The horrifying image of your public execution flashes in your mind: your delicate body hanging from a rope, wrists bound behind your back, or your head placed on a wooden block, awaiting the fatal blow of an axe.

You knew there was a possibility of that happening. Your father was an ignorant man, but he was a dangerously intelligent one. Ignorance, the root and stem of all evil.

Your hands slowly slide up his forearms until you're holding onto his wrists, your thumbs tracing the dark hair and veins. Despite his firm grip, you try to shake your head, but he tuts softly, mirroring your motion. As he begins to speak, urging you to stop ignoring the possibilities, you gently place your fingers over his mouth, silencing him with a tender smile and a soft stroke of his jaw.

"My love," whispering to him and doing your best to remember his facial features. "I would rather die by the hands of my father than live a life that I do not want." Marcus' eyes shut tight, and he knocks his forehead on yours, sniffling quietly to keep his tears at bay. "Oh, my dear knight. I wish for a life where I wake up beside you in the mornings and fall asleep beside you at night. I wish for a life where you can kiss me in front of guests and twirl me around in my extravagant gowns." Marcus lets out a watery chuckle and allows his tears to fall onto your cheeks. "I wish for a life where I can fight alongside you to keep our kingdom safe from the enemies that lurk outside these walls. Whatever it is that I wish for, although they may never come true, I need you to know that you will always be a part of them, for you are the greatest wish of them all."

His trembling lips meet yours once more. His breathing is unsteady, punctuated by sniffling. The warmth of his thick tears mingles with your own on your cheeks. Fates of two, entwined. The two of you pull away, snapping the thin string of saliva that stays on your kiss-bitten lips. When your eyes open, you find yourself peering into his own. The confession was stuck on your tongue. You couldn't tell how you really felt. Leaving him with such a goodbye and further breaking his heart would do you both no good, so you thought.

"I, um... I should head back to my chambers, Knight Acacius," you softly tell him, hoping he can hear the teasing lilt in your voice as you speak his title. The barely-there grin on his lips showed that he did catch on to your teasing--just like old times.

"Foolish girl," he whispers, the smile never once fading as his eyes take in the rest of your features, permanently engraving your beauty in his mind to come back to.

"Foolish man," you whisper back, using one hand to brush his curls from his forehead, slowly sliding your hand down the back of his head, down to his neck, and finally curling your fingers through the curls that rest there.

Hand in hand, Marcus leads you both back to your balcony. The rope hangs limp, still tied around the pillar. You stand there for a few seconds, just looking up at your balcony and remembering all of the private conversations and shy touches you and your knight have shared. Turning in your spot, never once letting go of his hand, you kiss his frown away. His other hand cups your cheek again, your jaw now familiar against his palm. Pulling away one last time, you wipe at the stray tear on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Marcus Acacius," you whisper brokenly.

The moment is heavy with unspoken words as he whispers a goodbye, his hand lingering in yours until the distance pulls you apart. You watch his broad form retreat, his hand lifting to his face, likely to wipe away tears. As he disappears around the castle, a sense of finality settles in. Glancing up at the balcony, you do what you've done for the past few months. Climbing up the rope for one last time and steadying yourself onto the parapet, it was bittersweet.

As you stand in the room you grew up in, thinking of all the memories shared in here, there was a small set of knocks on the door. You pause, heart racing, as the knock echoes through the room once more. Who could it be at this hour? You quickly glance around, ensuring everything is in place. The makeshift sack is secure, the rope is still tied and ready for your departure, and your mind races with possibilities. Taking a deep breath, you move towards the door, each step filled with anticipation. As you reach for the handle, you can't help but wonder if this unexpected visitor will alter the course of your journey.

With your hand on the handle, you do an experimental tug. Surprisingly enough, it was unlocked. It wasn't unlocked before you snuck out to meet with Marcus. You pull the door open wider and wider, wincing at the obnoxious creaking and hoping it doesn't wake your father. As you finally pull it open, your mouth drops, and your eyes widen at the man that stands before you.

"What..." You had no time to finish your sentence before Marcus is charging inside, his large hands grabbing your face and kissing you as ferociously as the first time. He kicks the door shut with his boot and shoves his body deeper into the room, your feet desperately trying to keep up with his long strides.

Marcus forces himself to pull away from your lips. There's a metaphorically magnetic force that keeps pulling him back. He stands before you, skin flushed and hair wild. His breathing was fast and heavy. "I just..." He tries to explain himself. "I just... I needed to see you one last time. I needed to... to say goodbye... just one last time, my princess."

The intensity of the moment is blinding. Desperation and longing fill the air as you lock eyes with him, unable to resist the magnetic pull. His gaze, filled with an unfamiliar hunger, grows more intense with each passing second. The tension is almost tangible, and you've made your decision. With a firm grip on his neck, you draw him closer for another passionate kiss.

One kiss turns into two. Two turns into five. Five turns into hands grabbing at clothes and sneaking underneath to grasp at naked flesh. What happens afterwards is a memorable blur. You only wished you could have yourself a private artist to paint yours and Marcus' naked bodies in acts of pleasure. You would've hung it up proudly in the dining hall above your designated throne.

The haziness of sleep enveloped you as you shifted, feeling the comforting weight around your waist and the solid presence of a broad body behind you. His strong chest pressed gently against your back. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you snuggled closer to Marcus, seeking the warmth radiating from his naked body. He was like a furnace, a quality you found endearing. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the sky had turned a deep blue—your favorite "blue hour." It wasn't sunrise yet, so you still had time to savor this peaceful moment.

Marcus shifts behind you with a hoarse groan. His arm tightens around your waist, a gentle reminder that he wants you close. As you roll over to face him, the tranquility of the moment envelops you both. The room is peaceful and quiet, with Marcus' half-lidded, puffy eyes reflecting the intensity of the night before. You can only imagine that you look just as marked by the shared experience.

"You look so beautiful," his voice low enough to almost sound like a hum. It slowly brings a smile to your kissed lips. Laying almost nose to nose, you let out a small sigh as the heartache returns after the momentary distraction. "I know, my darling."

His thumb brushes across the apple of your cheek before gently gripping your chin to place a lazy kiss on your lips. Marcus Acacius was intoxicating. After just a taste, you found yourself craving more, longing to quench your thirst for him. The breeze gently blowing through the sheer curtains had you shivering. Marcus glides a hand up and down your arm, further warming you with his natural body heat.

"Wherever you may end up, my darling, be sure to write to me every once in a while, yeah? And let me know where you stay so that I can visit you whenever I can," Marcus' words, spoken softly, carried a promise of connection despite the distance. His eagerness to stay in touch after your secret departure sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The thought of your relationship possibly growing in the future filled you with excitement and hope.

The confession was pursed on your lips, words ready to be spoken. Marcus could see it on your face, the light in your eyes brightening along with your smile.

A boisterous horn suddenly blew from the outer walls of the castle, followed by another, and another. Marcus sat up with lightning speed, the sheets pooling around his waist. Faint shouting echoed from the halls and outside the castle. Both of you jumped out of bed, sheets wrapped around your bodies, and ran to the balcony to see what was happening. Behind you, Marcus hurriedly dressed, his hair a mess and his clothes wrinkled.

"Marcus, what is going on?" Worriedly asking him and rushing over with furrowed brows. You redress into your gown, watching with wide eyes as the knight makes a mad dash to the balcony once again, cursing under his breath as he sees smoke rising from beyond the trees by the main gate.

The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. "The castle has been infiltrated. We need to go. Now!" he barked, though you knew he didn't mean to be harsh. The blaring horns and escalating shouts only fueled your rising panic, making it harder to stay calm.

As Marcus led you through the chaos, the clamor of the knights' armor and the echo of their hurried footsteps filled the halls, creating a symphony of urgency. You clung to Marcus, feeling the strength and determination in his grip. His protective stance gave you a sense of safety amidst the turmoil, as you both navigated the perilous path ahead.

One of the novice knights spotted you both and hurried over, his close helm lifted slightly above his head to speak clearly. His skin was flushed and sweaty.

The urgency in the young knight's voice was evident. "Knight Acacius! Princess!" he called out, his breath quick and eyes wide with alarm. "The Prince of Ivanard and his army have breached the walls! We must act swiftly!"

Marcus's panicked expression morphs into something far more sinister. His jaw clenches, and a vein in his neck bulges noticeably. He gives the young knight a stern nod before dragging you up the stone spiral steps to the chambers where the other knights sleep. The shouting outside grows louder, and your head darts back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse through the stone windows. Marcus pulls your arm harder, nearly wrenching it from its socket as he slams his shoulder into the door of his chambers.

"You said you wanted to become a Dame ever since you were a child, yes?" He hurriedly asks you as he slides on his armor with urgency. He's throwing a number of clothing items over his shoulder, metal clanging against metal and glass breaking onto the ground. He shoots you an impatient look as he hurries over to his closet.

"Yes, ever since I was a child," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the chaos around you. He nods, his eyes filled with determination as he continues to prepare. "Then let's make sure you get that chance," he says, his tone resolute.

He slides out a rather large chest. It creaks open, revealing a set of armor that mirrors his own, but in a size that fits you perfectly. As he hands it to you, your heart races with a mix of surprise and anticipation. This armor, crafted with care, is meant for you.

"Marcus," you shakily began to speak but the words died on your tongue, fingers sliding over the piece of metal. Attached inside the body armor was a byrnie, with interlocking iron rings. The small-looped chains drooped to cover any open areas. The intricate detailing of the metal molding had you staring in awe for a split second before you remembered the probable battle happening around you.

Looking back up at him, Marcus gives you a singular nod and reaches an arm out to you. Glancing down at what was being held in his hand, tears pricked at your eyes upon seeing it was William's sword. Your father had taken it from you prior to locking you in your room. His focus remains unwavering as he watches you slide on the armor over your gown. You must've looked like a fool, but Marcus looked at you with a proud glint in his eye, though his face doesn't show it. It was difficult to snap back from Knight Acacius to your Marcus during a time like this.

Holding the sword firmly, you feel its weight settle in your palm. You glance at Marcus with a look that speaks volumes. He recognizes that look—the same one you had before the blaring horns interrupted you both. He knows you want to express your gratitude for everything he's done for you and your family, even though you've always considered him part of the family.

There was an intensity that was hard to ignore as he steps closer, his gloved hand gently caressing your cheek before pulling you into a passionate kiss. The kiss conveys all the emotions he has been holding back. As you both pull away, breathless, Marcus places a tender kiss on your forehead and whispers, "You can tell me after we have won the battle."

With that whispered promise, you give him a determined nod and slide on your dirtied boots, which he also snagged from your father. As you both rush out, darting down the steps, turning corners, and navigating the exhaustingly long hallways, you think about Celeste for a split second. As if she could read your mind, she turns the corner and nearly crashes into you.

"Oh, my dear child!" She cried out helplessly, looking back and forth between you and Marcus, her hair disheveled and tear tracks staining her cheeks. You see her face change as she notices the armor adorning your body and William's sword in your hand with your other hand tightly clasped in Marcus'.

The silent understanding was evident in the way her lips parted and her eyes subtly widened. She cupped your cheek with a wrinkled, shaky hand, then looked at Marcus, giving him a nod before doing the same to you.

"You come back to me; do you understand?" The tremor in her voice was unmistakable. Celeste had always been a strong woman. She never once allowed anyone to see her break down. At a time like this, seeing you, the closest thing she has to a daughter, fully dressed in the armor you dreamt of wearing when you were a child at knee-height, made her feel like the proudest mother ever.

Holding onto her forearm, you give her a hasty kiss on the cheek before being hurried away by Marcus. You hadn't thought to ask Celeste about the whereabouts of your father. Considering she was all alone and running around like a chicken with its head chopped off, you assumed your father was hiding like the coward that he was.

"Once we step outside, you follow my lead. Is that understood?" Marcus's command echoes in your ears. With a firm grip on your sword, you mirror his readiness. His reassuring glance and the gentle release of your hand signal the gravity of the moment. Stepping onto the castle grounds, you exchange a final, resolute nod. Together, you advance towards the main gates, where Marcus' knights stand vigilant, their swords and shields at the ready.

The Prince of Ivanard stood opposite your kingdom's knights, exuding arrogance. His smug expression was infuriating. You gripped your sword tighter, remaining steadfast beside Marcus, who straightened his back and took his place in front of his own knights. There was a tense stare down between the two men.

"You have no business here," Marcus declared sternly, his voice resonating loudly and clearly to ensure that everyone nearby and at a distance could hear. "Do not begin what you cannot end, Prince of Ivanard."

The prince's expression contorted as his title was uttered with disdain. The urge to laugh bubbled within you, but you suppressed it, rising to stand tall, fixing a steely gaze on the man destined to be your spouse. Noticing your stance beside Marcus, the prince approached, flanked by his knights, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword.

"Oh, but my business is here, Knight Acacius," he sneered, uttering Marcus' title with the same disdain he had shown him, yet Marcus barely reacted. "I have journeyed far for the princess to become my wife, and I shall not depart without her. Although, it seems like I am looking at a little girl playing dress-up instead."

Stepping forward, you positioned yourself before Marcus. He made a slight move to halt you but restrained himself, remaining behind. This moment was yours, the one you had been anticipating. You faced the prince without a trace of fear.

"As the princess and heiress of this kingdom, it is my duty to announce that you are not welcome here, Prince of Ivanard," you spoke loudly and clearly, silently applauding yourself for keeping your voice steady and stern. "Like Knight Acacius has previously stated, do not start something you cannot finish."

The atmosphere was charged with tension. Neither of you spoke. You and the prince exchanged silent stares, his body practically radiating anger. Despite the thick swallow you forced down your throat, your eyes remained fixed on him. A movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye. The familiar scent told you it was Marcus. In a moment like this, his presence was everything you needed.

"Come with me now, and I won't take any drastic measures. Or continue this little charade and face the consequences," the prince says with a nonchalant shrug. "I advise you to make a wise decision, princess," he adds, elongating the title in a way that causes you to frown.

Taking a steady breath, you turn to look at Marcus and find him already watching you. He has been observing you the whole time. He sees the turmoil in your eyes and the hesitation in your gaze. In a hushed tone, he reminds you, "Remember your promise."

That was enough to light a match under you. Giving him one last determined nod, you faced the arrogant prince once more. "Prince of Ivanard," you announced loudly. "You are nothing more than a fat-kidneyed, crooked-nosed fool." Some of the knights on your side chuckled underneath their breaths, and even Marcus did too. The prince's facial expression grew red with fury. "Now, I advise you to put up a good fight rather than pretend your cock is bigger than most."

A prolonged silence ensues. The prince lets out a chuckle, devoid of any real mirth, as he nods to himself. His grip on his sword's handle tightens before he draws it from its scabbard. Lifting a hand into the air, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you rather than merely meeting your eyes. Abruptly, the unmistakable sound of metal-on-metal rings out as all the knights, both allies and adversaries, draw their swords in unison.

The prince offers an emotionless smile. "May God rest your soul," he declares. Then, with a swift motion of his hand, he signals the commencement of the battle.

Battle cries echo from both sides, including you and Marcus. As allies and enemies clash, Marcus disappears into the throng. You raise your sword overhead and bring it down forcefully across the chest of an adversary knight. He emits a guttural squelch and collapses into a bloody heap on the ground. It feels as if everything around you is moving in slow motion. The only sound you can hear is the heavy, rapid thumping of your heart resonating in your ears. Your limbs ache from the effort as you push through the throng of people.

Swords clash against each other, against armor, and against flesh and bone. The battlefield echoes with the roars of men and the cries of agony as lives are lost. Marcus is known as a formidable warrior; his reputation as Knight Marcus precedes him. There is no doubt in your mind that he will emerge victorious.

Battling through the opposing knights, you weave and dodge until at last, you spot him: the Prince of Ivanard. With a swift motion, he cleaves through the abdomen of one of your knights, then kicks the fallen warrior away to free his sword. The knight's blood stains the sharpened blade, darkening under the glint of the rising sun.

He gazes down at the mangled body, a grin spreading across his face. Sensing a presence, he looks up to find you there, breaths coming heavy and wild, the sword in your hand trembling from the strain of fatigue. As your eyes lock, an unspoken understanding passes between you; you both know what must happen next.

With a battle cry, you charge at each other, swords clashing. Emitting a grunt like a wild beast, you push him back forcefully and swing your sword to the left—he parries. A swift slash from left to right catches him by surprise, and for a moment, as the blade arcs toward his face, he's off guard. He jerks his head back just in time, but not before the blade grazes his cheek.

"You are no more a man than I am," you say to him, your voice quivering with adrenaline and sheer fury. "You are a fool, and I would be an even greater fool to marry someone like you."

With a roar of anger, the prince raises his sword and charges towards you. You swiftly dodge to the side, rising to your feet with your sword gripped firmly in both hands. A glance at William's initials engraved on the blade fills you with a wave of determination to honor his legacy and become the warrior he believed you could be.

The battle with the prince is fierce and draining. Your muscles scream for relief, and sweat stings your eyes as it drips down your forehead. Thoughts of Knight Acacius, your Marcus, flash through your mind. In the distance, you can just make out his voice, yelling commands and fighting with unparalleled vigor, knowing his strength comes partly because you are in the fray as well.

Suddenly, as your attention falters for a mere half-second, your sword is knocked from your grasp. You gasp, watching in a trance-like slow motion as it arcs through the air and lands yards away on the blood-soaked, dirt-strewn ground. Turning back to face the prince, a searing pain blazes across your abdomen, eliciting a piercing scream of agony.

With wide, unfocused eyes and an open mouth, your hands clutched the prince's shoulders. Your bloodied fingers slid down the metal, soon grasping his forearms, tense as he thrust the sword deeper into your abdomen, undoubtedly driving the end through you. Emitting another agonizing wail, you glanced down at the gruesome sight.

Your blood, dark and viscous, spills forth, tainting the prince's hands and your soiled dress. The agony is beyond comprehension, leading you to ponder if William experienced this torment before his demise. As you attempt to utter a word, the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. The prince shows no remorse; instead, his expression reveals a disturbing satisfaction in your suffering. With each turn of the handle, a grotesque sound escapes, and you find yourself beyond the point of vocalizing your anguish.

He leans in close, his breath acrid, almost making you gag—if not for the blood trickling down the corners of your mouth. "You were fated to be my wife," he hisses. "And now, you will meet the same fate as your dear brother, at the hands of my father."

With a feeble, blood-stained smile and your body gradually succumbing to unconsciousness, you teeter on the brink of collapse. As you draw near to the prince, the sword lodged in your abdomen sends waves of searing pain through you. Each cough is a wet, gurgling effort, spattering clumps of blood onto the prince's chest plate.

Gazing into his eyes, your weak smile vanished as you told him in a faint voice, “You’re a coward… and history will forget you.”

The look of contentment on his face shifted to a grim shadow. His forehead creased, and the smile he wore flattened into a grim line. Emitting a guttural growl, he thrusts you back, wrenching his blade, now smeared with your blood, from your midsection. You collapse, the sensation of pain fading into a distant echo. Numbness overtakes you, your senses dulling as your heartbeat echoes, slower and slower.

"Tell William my father sends his greetings," the prince commands, hoisting his sword aloft as blood trickles onto his armor. Through half-closed eyes, you glimpse the blade's gleam, your own heartbeat resounding in your ears. Thoughts of Celeste, William, Marcus, and your mother flicker through your mind in mere seconds. With closed eyes, you resign yourself to your destiny.

Suddenly, a sound like the crunching of bone filled the air. Breathing shallowly, you clear the fog from your vision and look up. The prince hadn't brought his sword down on you as he intended. Instead, a sight unfolded that you wished to etch into memory forever. A sword had been thrust through the prince's chest from behind, piercing his armor with such force that it passed clean through. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and his throat worked spasmodically, spewing thick gouts of blood that darkened his ginger beard to a deep crimson.

A deep, wild scream erupted from behind the prince. Suddenly, his body was hoisted into the air, the sword still impaled through him. His body rose higher and higher until the figure on the sword's other end came into view. The armor was unmistakable. Marcus' arms, now exposed without the protection of his armor, swelled and trembled from exertion and adrenaline. He unleashed another roar, a battle cry of pure fury. His expression was unrecognizable; he was no longer the Marcus you knew. This was Knight Acacius, the fearsome warrior known for his savage prowess in battle and his unwavering leadership in protecting his people. The prince's twisted, lifeless form was now suspended above Marcus' head as he continued to scream, his body almost quivering with the rush of adrenaline.

"Deliver a message to William," he snarls, his voice thick with fury, "Knight Acacius sends his regards." With a forceful motion, he casts the prince's body aside, the sword remaining impaled within.

A sudden rush of emotions swept over Marcus' face. It was evident in the way he gazed down, shaking off his persona as Knight Acacius. His lips moved frantically, yet their words were nearly lost beneath the pounding of your heart. Collapsing to his knees, his hands trembled violently as he placed a gentle hand upon your abdomen. Though he knew no aid could be rendered, the helplessness he offered supplanted the anger with profound heartache.

"No, no, no, no," he wailed, his face contorting as he failed to hold back his cries of despair. He shakily cradled your cheek, now ice-cold against the warmth of his blood-flecked palm. "Oh, my sweet princess. No, no, no."

"Mar…" you struggled to speak, the blood in your throat surfacing repeatedly despite your efforts to swallow it. Breathing became increasingly difficult; each inhale exacerbated the bleeding, soaking Marcus's hand further. "I… I'm…"

He silences you softly, stifling his tears as your breaths become shallower and your limbs grow feeble. He observes your hand dragging across the ground towards him. With a sorrowful heart, he reveals your injury, averting his gaze as he tenderly takes your hand and presses it against his cheek. Your lips quiver into a faint smile. The ongoing battle fades into obscurity; in this moment, there is only you and Marcus.

A lonesome tear trails down your temple. Marcus tenderly wipes it away, maintaining eye contact with your half-closed eyes. He recognizes your effort to stay awake for him. With one hand still cradling your limp hand to his cheek and his other cupping your own cheek, he exhales a shaky breath, the ache in his heart intensifying with each torturous second.

As he gazes down, observing your eyes roam over his features as they always did, he reflects on every shared moment from the past few months. He realized he loved you from the start. Yet, he never found the right moment to declare it. Now, Marcus is burdened with the regret of his silence, only breaking it as you lie before him, on the brink of your end.

"I…" His voice falters as he begins to speak. "I am a foolish man, my princess. I should have told you… how much… how deeply I…" Tears hinder his words, the floodgates of his emotions opening as he watches the light of life dim in your eyes.

The realization that you will no longer be together brings more tears to your eyes. You long to cry out to him, but the fear that your wails would force blood from your mouth, leaving a haunting image for him, holds you back. You do not wish for that to be the last memory Marcus has of you before your agonizing death.

"Come," you whisper hoarsely through the gurgling of your blood. You must tell him before the darkness engulfs you forever. You must tell him before he is left to roam the earth aimlessly without you.

Marcus gently lowers his head and turns until your lips graze his ear. The rattling sound of your breath causes him to close his eyes, his lips pressing a kiss to your wrist against his jaw. He listens intently, deciphering your hushed whispers, understanding at last what you're attempting to convey.

"Love…" you whispered in agony, your lips quivering against his ear as you coughed, inadvertently staining his golden skin with your blood—a skin you would no longer caress with your fingertips or savor with your tongue.

Marcus feels his heart almost cease to beat when he hears the single word that escapes your lips. Your last word, a confession of your feelings for him, irrevocably breaks his heart. He realizes he will never whisper those words against your skin as you both lie beneath the moon's glow, lost in bliss. Nor will he utter them against your lips in a kiss, as if you were the finest wine ever tasted. And he could never whisper them to another, for no one could ever evoke the emotions you stirred in him.

Marcus looks down at you, his expression shattered, knowing it's the last thing you'll see before darkness engulfs you in its icy hold. He kisses you, the blood from your lips staining his. He kisses you one final time, aware that the moment he pulls away, you'll slip into the void.

Finally, he forces himself to break away from your lips. With one last gaze into your eyes, he whispers tenderly, "Now I must remember you for longer than I have known you." Upon hearing his final confession, your vision blurs, speckled with black dots. The roughness of his scruff under your palm fades away. You no longer feel the wound or the blood seeping out, soaking the earth beneath you.

And as your eyes close for the final time, Marcus' anguished scream is the last sound you hear before slipping deeper into the embrace of death.

[madhatterbri]

Challenges | D.P.

Summary: If I may request - Liv holds a celebration for herself in the ring & calls out Dom to join her but instead it’s Fem!Reader (ex member of TJD who still has a soft spot for Dom & feelings for Damian). She calls out the lack of open challenges since Liv’s been champion & Liv should focus on finding a challenger rather than a “daddy”. Liv thinks the reader is jealous & hits a nerve when she brings up Damian..then all hell breaks loose. Thank you.

Requested by: anon

Author's Note: I am digging Liv currently. 😂 Please do not see this as me hating on Liv. Also, did you send me this before Monday cause um... this happened with Zelina, didn't it? Anon, spill who gonna win MITB so I get some money? 👀

Damian Priest Masterlist

Taglist: @plentyoffandoms @mrsarcherofinfamy @brideofinfamy @theworldofotps

"Come on out, Daddy! I have new gifts for you," Liv squealed in the microphone and giggled. She twirled the microphone in her hand. A silence hung in the air. An entrance theme played in the arena, but it wasn't Dirty Dom's.

Y/N walked down the ramp with an extra pep in her step. The funny business with Liv and Judgment Day had to stop. She may have been an ex-member, but she still cared about them. Well, mostly Dom and Damian.

"You must be confused little ho, ho, ho. This isn't Christmas time," Y/N told her. The crowd laughed as Liv rolled her eyes. She entered the ring and stood in front of her. "Although I can see why you are confused. You have been living on the high side of life, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry. I want to talk to someone who is a current member of The Judgment Day. Not the one that no one remembers was in the Judgment Day. Go back to your little lonely hole now," Liv smiled and waved her hand to shoo her along. Y/N slapped her hand away.

"I'm here looking for a fight. You. Me. Next week on RAW," she demanded. The crowd cheered. "I beat you, and you stay away from Judgment Day for good,"

"Why would I do that? Unlike you, they want me around," Liv shrugged and smiled.

Y/N sucked her teeth and looked at the ground. She looked up at her once more. "If you want to be Little Orphan Annie looking for a daddy, then give me the title. I'll be a fighting champion,"

"You care a lot about a group that kicked you out. Stalker much?" Liv asked. Her eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth. The horrible fake laugh emitted from her body. "You can't still be into him after everything that happened, right?"

Y/N felt herself blush. She was the only one who knew about her crush on Damian. Now, it sounded like she was going to announce it to the world. Liv saw her nervous reaction and knew she had to go for the kill.

"Leave them alone and fight me. Let me give the title the respect it deserves,"

"Why? Are you jealous of this?" Liv asked and looked at the championship belt on her shoulder. "Or are you jealous of something else? Do you think this will help you get Damian? He doesn't want you, Y/N,"

"It isn't him,"

"Seriously, it's been years. Move on. He doesn't want you. He made that painfully obvious when he didn't keep you around," she sneered.

The crowd quickly turned to her side. Y/N glared and paced in the ring. She suddenly lunged at Liv. The microphone in Y/N's hand connected to the current champion's head. Liv fell to the ground.

Y/N quickly jumped on top of her. She grabbed the blonde's hair and started to punch her. All the hurt she experienced over the past few months started to bubble over. She told her in secret about her crush on Damian back when she returned to Royal Rumble. She never expected her to admit it.

As expected, the refs and security guards ran out to separate them. Adam Pierce stood at the top of the ramp with a microphone. He was telling the women that this wasn't how RAW conducted business. The championship match for next week was granted. Meanwhile, the two women continued to fight to reach each other.

[whereforarthur]

Brother’s Flatmate

Request: anything that starts angsty but ends fluffy PLS

Pairing: Arthur Hill x George’sSister!Reader

Category: Angst to Fluff

Word Count: 4.3k

*****

"Real love doesn't meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess." – J.S. Park

In the bustling heart of London, where the Thames River curved its ancient path, there was a man named Arthur Hill. He was known to many as a charismatic YouTuber with a velvety singing voice, yet to his closest friend George, he was simply Arthur, the bloke who was always there for a pint and a laugh. Arthur's flat, a cozy sanctuary tucked above a quaint bookstore, reflected his unassuming nature—a blend of vintage furniture and the faint scent of dusty pages that spoke of quiet nights spent reading and recording his latest vlogs.

The flat was often filled with the sound of George's raucous laughter as the two friends bantered over cups of tea. However, the dynamic changed whenever George's sister, Y/N, was around. She was a sharp contrast to Arthur's laid-back demeanor—ambitious, driven, and often blunt to the point of discomfort. Her visits were met with a tension so palpable it could be sliced with a knife.

Today was no exception. The moment she barged in, Arthur felt the atmosphere shift. He set aside his camera, knowing that the evening's vlog would have to wait. Y/N's eyes narrowed as she assessed the cluttered room, a clear judgment of his lifestyle.

"It's not just a bit of mess," she retorted, her voice laced with frustration. "It's a health hazard. And it's not like you don't know how to clean up after yourself, Arthur."

The unspoken hostility between them was a constant thorn in George's side. He had no idea what had caused the rift, only that it had grown wider with each passing year. Arthur and Y/N had never seen eye to eye, and it was clear that their dislike for each other was deeply rooted.

"Look, I've had a long day," Arthur said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Could we not do this now?"

Y/N scoffed. "I'm just saying, if you want to be taken seriously as an influencer, you should start by taking your living conditions seriously."

The comment hit a nerve. Arthur's success had always been a sore spot for her, a constant reminder of her own unfulfilled aspirations. Her words stung, and he felt his temper begin to flare.

"And what would you know about that?" he shot back. "You've never had to chase your dreams because you've always had everything handed to you on a silver platter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing he had crossed a line. "I didn't mean it like that," he said, trying to backpedal. But the damage was done.

"You don't get it," Arthur said, his voice tight. "You never have. You think because I make videos and sing songs, I don't have a clue about hard work?"

"I didn't say that," Y/N replied, her voice equally as tense. "I said you should take better care of yourself. This place is a mess, and it's a reflection of your priorities."

The accusation stung, and Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. He had always prided himself on his authenticity, his willingness to show his true self to his followers. Yet here she was, suggesting he was a fraud.

"You think I don't know what real work is?" he spat out, his eyes flashing. "You sit in your fancy office all day, sipping lattes and bossing people around, while I'm out here, trying to make a difference in the lives of my fans."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not curing cancer with your videos, Arthur."

The words hung in the air, a challenge that Arthur couldn't ignore. "At least I'm not living a lie," he retorted. "Pretending to be someone I'm not just to climb the corporate ladder."

Y/N's job was a sore subject for her, a constant battle against the expectations of their family's legacy. He opened his mouth to intervene, but she was already responding, her voice icy.

"You wouldn't know the first thing about hard work, Arthur," she said, her eyes glinting. "You play dress-up and make jokes for a living. It's easy to be liked when you're not actually doing anything of substance."

The words hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. He had always felt a little guilty about his chosen career path, especially compared to Y/N's high-flying corporate job. But he also knew that his content brought joy and comfort to millions. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his cool.

"You don't know anything about what I do," he said, his voice measured. "You think it's all fun and games, but there's a lot more to it than you see."

Y/N folded her arms, unmoved by his defense. "Oh, I know all about it," she said. "You sit here, making videos that people watch to forget their own lives, and you think that's meaningful?"

"It is to them," Arthur said, his voice rising. "It's more than you do, stuck in your ivory tower."

Y/N's eyes flashed. "At least I'm not living in a fantasy world," she snapped. "At least I'm not chasing after something that's never going to be more than a hobby."

"It's not a hobby," Arthur said, his voice strained. "It's my life."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Your life? More like your escape," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're afraid to face the real world, so you hide behind a screen and pretend you're important."

*****

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at her, the words cutting deep. He hated her—no, he didn't. He didn't hate her. It was something else, something more complicated. He hated the way she made him feel, the way she brought out his insecurities, the way she questioned his very existence. He hated that she could do that to him.

But he didn't hate her. She was George's sister, and George was his best mate. He couldn't hate her. Could he? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he felt was closer to fear. Fear that she might be right. Fear that he was just a glorified clown, dancing for the amusement of the masses.

He took a step towards her, his hands balled into fists. "You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "You think you're so much better, but you're just as lost as I am."

Y/N's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes flickered. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw a glimpse of vulnerability, a hint of doubt. But she quickly masked it with a sneer. "You're pathetic," she said. "You're wasting your life on this nonsense."

Arthur felt his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He didn't hate her, not really. But her words stung because they echoed his own fears. He had always wondered if his career was just a facade, a way to avoid the responsibilities of adulthood. Yet here he was, standing up for what he believed in, for the community he had built, the fans who looked up to him.

"You're just jealous," he spat out, the anger giving him courage. "You're jealous that I found something I love, something that makes people happy."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "You think you're so special," she said. "You're not. You're just a pretty face with a decent singing voice."

Arthur felt his anger boil over. "And you're just a cold-hearted bitch," he said, his voice shaking. "You don't know the first thing about love or passion."

Y/N's eyes went wide with shock at the venom in his words. For a moment, she looked as though she had been slapped. Then, she laughed—a bitter, harsh sound that rang through the flat. "Love and passion? Is that what you call it? A bunch of teenagers worshipping you?"

The room was a battleground, the air thick with animosity. The line between love and hate was paper-thin, and it was clear that they had both danced upon it for too long. Arthur's heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice, the weight of her accusations crushing him. Yet, amidst the anger, there was something else—a strange warmth that he couldn't quite explain. It was as if their shared disdain had kindled a spark of something more.

Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of doubt in her gaze. The mask of superiority slipped, revealing a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath. She had always been the successful one, the one who had everything figured out, while he had stumbled into fame almost by accident. Yet here they were, both lost in their own ways.

"Shut up," Arthur murmured, the words barely audible. He didn't know if he was speaking to her or to the voice in his own head, the one that whispered doubt and fear.

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes flashing. "Make me," she challenged, her voice low and dangerous. The air between them crackled with tension.

Arthur's hand shot out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. It was a gentle touch, a stark contrast to the harshness of their words. Y/N's eyes widened, and she took a sharp intake of breath, as though she hadn't expected the softness. For a second, they just stared at each other, the electricity between them palpable.

Then, before he could think better of it, Arthur leaned in and kissed her—harshly, desperately. He kissed her as if he was trying to prove a point, to show her that he was more than the sum of his YouTube views and singing talents. He kissed her as if he could erase the years of contempt with one fiery gesture.

Y/N's body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. It was a strange, intoxicating dance of anger and attraction that neither of them had seen coming. The heat between them grew, the air in the room thickening until it was almost suffocating.

*****

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Y/N's cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with a mix of anger and something else—desire? Arthur couldn't tell. He felt as though he was drowning in confusion, his chest tight with emotion.

"I hate you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But the way she said it, the way her breath hitched, told him she didn't mean it. Not entirely.

Arthur's chest tightened. "No, you don't," he said, his voice low and intense. "You're just scared."

Y/N's eyes searched his, a storm of emotions raging within them. "Scared of what?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Scared of admitting that maybe, just maybe, we're not so different after all," Arthur said, his voice low and earnest. "Scared of what this could be."

Y/N stared at him, her eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was joking, that this was all some twisted ploy. But Arthur's gaze was unwavering, his expression raw and vulnerable. The truth of his words hit her like a tidal wave, and she felt the walls she had built around her heart begin to crumble.

"We're nothing alike," she whispered, her voice shaking. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. They were both chasing their own versions of success, their own ways of making an impact on the world.

Arthur stepped closer, his hand still resting on her cheek. "We're more alike than you think," he said softly. "We both want to be seen, to be heard, to matter."

Y/N's breath hitched. She didn't hate him, not really. But she had spent so long pushing him away, hiding behind her sarcasm and scorn, because the alternative was too terrifying to consider. If she let him in, if she allowed herself to care, she might just get her heart broken. And she had been down that road before—she wasn't sure she could handle it again.

"I don't do feelings," she said, her voice a feeble attempt at the armor she had worn for so long. But Arthur's hand remained on her cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles that seemed to be unraveling her very soul.

"Well, you're doing a bloody good job of hiding them," Arthur said with a sad smile. "But I can see right through you, Y/N. And I think it's about time we both faced them."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of a bluff. But all she found was honesty, a stark contrast to the barbed words they had exchanged just moments ago. Slowly, she reached up and placed her hand over his, her touch tentative yet filled with a spark of hope. "What are you saying, Arthur?"

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words before speaking them. "I'm saying that maybe, just maybe, we should stop fighting and start understanding each other." His thumb continued to caress her cheek, his gaze never leaving hers. "We're both just trying to find our place in this world, and maybe we could help each other do that."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the walls she had built around herself feeling more fragile than ever. The idea of letting Arthur in, of admitting that she might need someone, was as terrifying as it was tempting. Yet, she couldn't deny the undeniable pull she felt towards him, the way his touch made her feel seen, understood.

"I don't know if I can do that," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've spent so long pushing people away."

Arthur's eyes searched hers, filled with a gentle understanding that seemed to see right through her tough exterior. "I know," he said, his voice equally soft. "But maybe it's time to try something new."

The silence that fell between them was heavier than any of their previous barbs. Y/N felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, and the sincerity of his words. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded their interactions, a gentle reminder that love could emerge from the most unlikely of places.

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of a lie or a hidden motive. But all she found was a mirror to her own confusion and yearning. Arthur was right—they were both lost in their own ways, but perhaps together they could navigate the tumultuous waters of life.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with uncertainty. "Okay, let's try."

Their kiss was not gentle this time, but it was not fueled by anger either. It was a kiss of understanding, of two souls colliding in the messiness of their shared existence. Arthur's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she melted into him, her own arms snaking around his waist. It was as though they had been holding onto this moment for years, waiting for the perfect storm of words and emotions to bring it to the surface.

As they broke away, both panting, they stared at each other with a newfound appreciation. The hostility that had once dominated their interactions was now replaced with a strange, thrilling anticipation. They had both been hiding behind their own fears and insecurities, throwing jabs and insults to keep the other at bay. But in that one moment, they had found a common ground—the mess of their lives.

Arthur knew that real love didn't emerge from a perfect, pristine environment. It grew in the cracks of doubt and the weeds of imperfection. It was in the chaos of their shouting match that he had seen the real Y/N, the one who was just as lost and scared as he was. And in that chaos, he had found something beautiful—a spark of connection that was more real than any of the scripted moments in his videos.

They stood there, in the silence that followed the storm of their words, their hearts racing in unison. The tension between them had shifted, no longer a barrier but a bridge, a delicate yet solid connection that neither wanted to break. Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, looking for confirmation that this was real, that she wasn't just imagining the tenderness in his gaze.

*****

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, his thumb still tracing circles on her cheek. "For everything."

Y/N nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Me too," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I've been a bitch."

Arthur's hand slid down to her neck, his thumb brushing against the rapid pulse in her throat. "You've had your reasons," he said, his voice gentle. "But let's leave them behind now."

Y/N nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's start again."

Arthur wiped the tear away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. "We don't have to start over," he said softly. "We just have to start… differently."

Y/N took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against his chest. "Differently," she echoed, the word feeling strange and yet incredibly right on her tongue.

Arthur's gaze searched hers, his eyes filled with a warmth she hadn't seen before. It was as though he had just discovered a hidden treasure, something precious that had been buried beneath layers of anger and misunderstanding.

"I didn't know," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "I didn't know it could feel like this."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searched his, and she could see the realization dawning in his gaze—the raw, unfiltered understanding of what love truly meant. It was as if he had just stepped into the sunlight after years of darkness.

Arthur's eyes searched hers, the weight of his realization heavy in his gaze. It was a look that spoke of a thousand unsaid words, of moments of doubt and fear that had led them to this precipice. In that instant, she knew that he saw her—the real her, not the armored version she presented to the world. He saw the vulnerability she had worked so hard to hide, the softness that lay beneath the sharp edges of her sarcasm.

"Neither did I," she murmured, her voice shaky. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, the steady beat of his heart under her palm. The tension between them had transformed into something new, something that made her heart flutter in a way she had long ago convinced herself she was immune to.

They stood there, in the quiet aftermath of their confrontation, the air charged with the electricity of their newfound connection. It was strange, terrifying, and yet, somehow, it felt more real than anything she had ever experienced. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly understood her.

"We'll take it slow," Arthur said, his voice low and soothing. "We'll get to know each other without the baggage of what we've always thought we knew."

Y/N nodded, the tightness in her chest slowly easing. The idea of taking it slow was both comforting and exhilarating. She had always rushed into things, eager to prove herself, to conquer and claim. But with Arthur, she felt the need to be gentle, to tiptoe around the fragility of this newfound bond.

"Okay," she said, her voice a whisper. "We'll start tonight."

*****

They decided to order takeout, a simple meal of fish and chips from the chippy down the street. As they waited, Arthur suggested they watch one of his videos together, one that had a special meaning to him. Y/N agreed, her curiosity piqued.

The video was of Arthur singing a cover of an obscure indie song, the melody haunting and beautiful. As he watched her reaction, he explained how the lyrics had resonated with him during a particularly tough time in his life, how the words had given him the courage to keep going. Y/N listened, her eyes never leaving the screen, and for the first time, she saw the depth of his passion, the raw emotion that fueled his art.

When the video ended, she turned to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I had no idea," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I never knew you felt like that."

Arthur took her hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her skin. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he said, his voice gentle. "And I want to show you."

The night stretched out before them, a canvas of unexplored possibilities. They talked, shared stories, and laughed—the kind of laughter that washed away the years of tension and left them feeling lighter, freer. It was a tentative start, a delicate dance of opening up to each other.

As they sat there, on the couch in Arthur's cluttered flat, surrounded by the detritus of his life, Y/N felt something within her shift. It was as though she had been holding her breath for years, and now, finally, she could exhale.

The kiss that followed was not driven by anger or spite. It was born of a newfound respect, a tentative curiosity that grew into a blaze of passion. Their lips met, and it was as though all the words they had left unsaid were finally finding their voice.

When they parted, Y/N's heart was racing, her cheeks flushed. She looked into Arthur's eyes and saw the same wonder reflected in his gaze. They had crossed a line, stepped into a place neither had dared to tread before.

"I don't know what this is," she murmured, her voice husky.

Arthur leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Neither do I," he said. "But I know I don't want to let it go."

And so, with the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, they embraced the uncertainty, the thrill of the unknown. They had found something in each other that was more than just friendship or rivalry. It was a connection that defied logic, a bond forged in the fires of their shared pain and doubt.

As they sat there, holding each other tightly, Y/N felt the first stirrings of a love that had been buried beneath layers of contempt. It was a love that had been waiting for the right moment to emerge, a love that was as real and as raw as the music that filled Arthur's soul.

The future was uncertain, fraught with the potential for either heartbreak or a love that could surpass their wildest dreams. Yet, in that moment, all that mattered was the here and now. They decided to take it one day at a time, to build their relationship on a foundation of honesty and mutual respect.

The weeks that followed were filled with tentative smiles and gentle touches, as they both learned to navigate the new waters of their blossoming relationship. Y/N began to see Arthur not just as George's friend, but as a complex individual with his own fears and aspirations. She admired his dedication to his craft and the way he connected with his fans, bringing joy to the lives of so many.

Arthur, in turn, discovered the strength and resilience behind Y/N's sharp exterior. He saw the passion she brought to her work, the way she fought for what she believed in, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her ambition was no longer a source of irritation but a quality he found himself drawn to, a reminder that there was more to life than just his own small corner of the internet.

*****

Their first date was a simple walk along the South Bank, the Thames reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. They talked about their hopes, their fears, and the moments that had shaped them into the people they were today. The conversation flowed as easily as the river beside them, and with each step, they grew closer.

Holding hands, they stumbled upon a small jazz club, the music spilling out onto the cobbled streets. Arthur looked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Dance with me?" he asked, leading her inside.

The intimate venue was crowded, but they found a spot near the stage. As the music swelled around them, they swayed together, lost in the rhythm and the warmth of their bodies. Y/N felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced in a long time, as though she had finally found a place where she truly fit.

Their relationship grew steadily, each moment revealing a new facet of the other. They discovered shared interests, like a love for obscure British sitcoms and a passion for long, meandering conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. The flat that had once been a battleground of snark and sarcasm now echoed with laughter and whispered secrets.

Yet, as much as they enjoyed their time together, the specter of their past remained. George, caught in the middle, watched with a mix of bewilderment and happiness as his sister and best friend grew closer. He knew the history of their animosity, the depth of the scars that still lingered beneath the surface.

One evening, as the three of them sat around Arthur's kitchen table, the tension grew thick. Y/N reached for Arthur's hand under the table, a silent plea for support. He squeezed it gently, a reminder that they were in this together.

"Look," Arthur said, breaking the silence. "We've all said things we regret. But we're trying to move forward. Can't we just… be happy for each other?"

George studied them, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "I just want you two to be happy," he said. "But don't expect me to understand it."

Y/N and Arthur shared a look, a silent promise to navigate this new chapter with care. It was a step forward, a small but significant one. They knew they had a long way to go, but for now, they were content to simply enjoy the dance they had found themselves in.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @pookietv

[supercap2319]

"So. How's life as the crowned prince of Domino?" Sky asked through a FaceTime call. Y/N was currently in the royal gardens, trying to escape the responsibilities as Domino's future king.

Y/N shrugged his shoulders. "I still think Sparks is a better name for this place, but it's been challenging. The royal dress people woke me up at dawn, and having try on all these tailored suits and jackets. I've never been more violated in my life. And for breakfast, they tried to feed me live fish."

Sky chuckled as he listened to his boyfriend's plight. "Sounds like a typical day for a royal prince."

"I honestly don't know how you stand it. Bloom was fighting for her sneakers back. She's not much of a high-heeled person."

"It'll get better. Promise. You just have to get used to it."

"And what about you, almost king of Eraklyon? The coronation day is next month. You ready for that?" Y/N asked. Sky's face frowned at the mention of that. Ever since his dad died, he's had to take on more responsibilities other than just being a good specialist at Alfea.

"It's been... honestly, it's not great. Mum has been back and forth with the council. Convincing them that I'm ready to take up Erendor's responsibilities as king, and I don't know if I'm ready for that. Or even if I want to be king." Sky said.

"It's hard, isn't it? When your whole life has been planned out for you and you have no say. It can be taxing. Now, I can understand why Stella was a bitch when we met. It'd make anyone coldhearted." Y/N said, rubbing his fingers over a nearby flower that hung down.

"It is. It's shit. But that doesn't mean that today has to be so sad and gloomy. How about I come over and show you how to ride?" Sky smiled.

"Really?"

"Yeah. With all the things Jakub's learned on Zenith, he's made me a watch that let's me travel to different kingdoms." Sky held up the watch with a purple blinking center. "So... see you in a few?"

"Sure." Y/N smiled as he hung up and waited for his hunky prince to show up.

[imagineinside]

Eternal Claws (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

A/N (PLEASE READ): Hey guys! This is my first time writing for Wolverine... so please be nice, I am at your mercy lol. This is also an A/O/B fanfic, where the mutants also have a secondary gender that would have developed at the same time as their mutations (this is not the main part of the story though). My intention is for this to be a longer running fanfiction, as well as a verryyyyy slow burn :). If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, then I will also be working on some oneshots soon, which you are more than welcome to give me some ideas to write about! Please let me know your feedback, I sincerely appreciate it!! :D

Summary: At a young age of 16, you find yourself saved from a group of hunters by no other mutant than The Wolverine, who reluctantly becomes your protector during your first heat. As weeks pass and you recover, a complex bond forms between yourself and the powerful mutant who had saved you.

Seven years later, now a confident young woman with refined mutant abilities, you encounter Wolverine again. Despite your growth and newfound strength, old feelings resurface as Wolverine returns from a secretive mission. As you navigate the challenges of your powers and your unspoken connection with him, you must come to terms with your past and the burgeoning feelings that might redefine your future.

Current Applicable Warnings: 18+ (not an explicit story yet, but there are hints of things in the upcoming chapters), canon-typical violence, age gap (like 200+ with a 25 yr old), Alpha!Logan, Omega!Reader, a/o/b universe, more to come.

Word Count: 2,884 we just getting started pookie

It was your unlucky day that The Wolverine was the mutant to find you alone out in the woods.

But it was lucky he got to you before the four hunters found you first, the sour tang of their arousal burning his sensitive nose. When he saw you laying in the fresh layer of snow, your body coated in sweat from your first heat (at least he guessed it was your first by how small and frail you were at the time), and your own honey-sweet scent drifting through the trees, he knew he was already in too deep with you.

“No,” you groaned, pushing against his chest in an attempt to protect yourself. The Wolverine would never admit it, but he actually felt a surge of empathy for the frail thing he held in his arms. 

He would definitely give Professor X a piece of his mind for selecting him of all mutants to go on this fetch quest to get you. Of course, there was no way of knowing you were on the brink of heat with a hoard of hungry men after you.

“The snow…” you mumbled as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt with what little strength you had. You were so precious, your face flushed a bright pink, an image he would never forget. “It’s too hot…”

The Wolverine groaned in frustration as you pushed yourself out of his arms and flopped back on the cold, hard forest floor where the four hunters' dead bodies lay not far from you now. He watched as you slowly made a circle of snow around yourself, most of it melting to the touch with the heat of your body temperature. He had seen this dance too many times to feign ignorance.

“Hey, bub,” he called out as he squatted on a nearby fallen tree, “I need to take you out of here before more charming men come to find you.”

It was as if you didn’t even hear him as you continued your work on the ground, bunching the snow up to help with your heat.

The Wolverine sighed and hung his head, accepting his fate as your caretaker for the next week in the unforgiving Alaskan wild…

* * *

It’s nearly an exact week later by the time you are back to your full senses. And it isn’t alone, either. From behind you there’s a rhythmic breathing and a cold presence sedating the still-burning embers inside you. All your joints are sore and there is still an empty aching from deep inside you, though you do your best not to focus on that specific ache.

In one quick flourish of movement, you quickly grab your shirt that you had at some point ripped off from excess heat and shuffled away from the… beast laying next to you.

“Relax,” the giant man groaned, rolling onto his back, “I was just here to prot-”

Acting on pure instinct, having just woken from a daze, you reached out and slapped him–hard–across the face. Enough to make the man, who is at least a good foot taller than you, stop dead in his tracks.

You watched as the muscles in his jaws flexed over and over before he slowly flicked his eyes back to you, “Fuck you sure got a powerful slap on ya there.”

Catching your breath, you looked around at your surroundings. There were deep gouges in sets of three on the nearby trees, on the ground, markings left in the general area… the smell of a strong male everywhere. “You were protecting me…” you mumbled more to yourself than him, yet he still caught the comment from under your breath.

“Glad you caught on, sweetheart,” he grumbled as he stood and slung on his leather jacket that was laid across a nearby stump. “Listen, I chased you and those four guys,” he said, gesturing with his shoulders to a group of four very dead men on the outskirts of your nest, drawing a gasp from your lips, “through these woods to save your sorry ass. And now I’m going to take you back so I can be done with this mission.”

“I am not going anywhere with you,” you all but growled as you slung on your shirt in as much grace as you could muster with how your legs and arms still felt as if they were made out of Jell-O. 

“Uh, yes. You are.” The man insisted, quirking his thick brow at you.

“Listen, whatever you came here for, you obviously got the wrong person–” a sharp pain to the back of your head is the first thing you registered as you were shoved up against a nearby tree at what felt like the speed of light. Despite knowing it’s futile, you fought against the hold he held across your chest, wriggling to be free.

“I’m gonna cut right to the chase. You just presented as a young Omega, which also means you are a mutant. Now I don’t need ya’ to show me what you do or whatever, I don’t really give a fuck, I just need to get you to safety since. That. Was. My. Job.” He growled back at you, spit flying in your face with each punctuation.

He must have watched as the fire in your eyes died out, since his grip loosened and he set you back onto the ground, turning slowly to retrieve the rest of his belongings.

“You’re The Wolverine, aren’t you?” You called out after him, just as you moved to gather the remaining's of your bag’s contents which had been spilled out across the ground–a hairbrush, tampons, two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and you’re only reminder of the life you once had before your mutant abilities took it away from you, a picture of you and your brother. 

You heard a deep grunt sound off behind you before an even rougher, “I am.”

A shiver ran down your spine at knowing who you were in the presence of… who had taken care of you during your first heat.

“We didn’t,” you cleared your throat as you turned to look at the mutant behind you, “we didn’t… do anything, right?”

“No,” came the quick response as The Wolverine lit a cigar and leaned up against a tree. He must be waiting for you to follow him, most likely. “I don’t find satisfaction in taking advantage of people. Not like those four over there.” He once again gestured towards the four rotting corpses lying face down in the snow.

A gag threatened to spill what little food and water you had ingested over the past week all over the ground.

Heaving your bag over your shoulders, you took a few steps towards your savior–captor?–and began following him through the dense trees, out towards either your salvation or your doom. You weren’t sure which it was going to be yet.

* * *

It ended up being about an hour walk to a beat up old Chevy that was parked on the side of the road. Following your captors lead, you slipped into the passenger seat and watched as the world you knew went by in flashes of snow and trees.

It took another three or four hours–you weren’t really sure how long, since you were in and out of sleep for a lot of it–to reach one of the few airports in Alaska. Along the way, you also learned The Wolverine was taking you to a school for young mutants like yourself, where you could learn more about your abilities and how to use them. 

You weren’t sure you really liked the idea of using your powers ever again…

“Does it ever get easier?” You asked quietly with your head resting up against the window as you pulled up to the rental car return.

You heard him pull the parking brake and let out an exasperated sigh. Yeah, well I’m not a huge fan of you either, you wanted to snap at him. “What does?” He asked with a sidelong glare.

“Killing,” you whispered, as if the mere mention of it would bring death upon you. Flashes of your brother's screaming face play behind your eyelids every time you blink.

There was a long beat of silence, so long that you ended up looking over at the driver seat just to make sure he hadn’t gotten out of the car and left you there alone. “No, it doesn’t,” he whispered back.

You grabbed your only belongings and followed after your captor onto the tarmac, where the classiest and sleekest silver plane you have ever seen was waiting for you. If you weren’t so damn terrified of flying, this would probably be one of the coolest moments of your so-far short life. The second you boarded the private jet, The Wolverine beelined for the crystal jar full of some type of whiskey. You mentally gagged at the mere thought of the terrible taste of that amber liquid.

“Want some?” your captor asked as he poured himself a generous quadruple shot.

You shook your head violently as you took a seat towards the front of the plane against the wall, so you had a clear line of sight of the rest of the aircraft. The Wolverine sat on the opposite side of the small cabin. Or maybe he just made it look small with how his head scraped the top of the ceiling, and his broad shoulders were spilling over the seat.

“What will happen to me when I get there?” You dared to ask.

“Professor X will take care of you.” Perhaps he heard how your heartbeat picked up its pace as your hands gripped the armrests tighter, making the leather squeak under your sweaty hands. “Relax, not like that.” The man sighed in frustration as he chugged down his liquor and went for a second glass. “Here’s what will happen. Professor X will give you a chance to go on special mutant-safe inhibitors for your new…” the man flicked his gaze to you, “secondary gender, if you so wish. He’ll ask to see your abilities to see the extent to which we will need to keep you and others around you safe.” Once he finished pouring his glass, he returned to his seat, staring at you from across the cabin.

“There’s no one around me that I care to keep safe anymore, sir.” You whispered to him. “I failed all of them.”

The Wolverine seemed at a loss for words after your admission, instead he simply said, “Best for you to get some rest.”

And flicked off the lights.

* * *

You weren’t necessarily sure what you were expecting, but a giant mansion that looked like it was born for the Old-Money-Rich generation was not it. It felt like your head was on a swivel as you drove towards the complex. You saw people–mutants, like you–out playing in the spacious yard, in the pond, others in the sky. Which made you suddenly jealous of your own powers.

An even greater surprise were the friendly greetings thrown your way, or rather to The Wolverine standing beside you. You knew he was a well-respected mutant, but you thought it was in the way of “don’t cross me and I won’t kill you” way. Not in the, “six year old's love me” type way. Which was very much the case with the way the younger mutants were running up the grisly man and crawling up his legs.

“Not now, alright,” he grumbled as he peeled them one-by-one off his legs and proceeded to guide you towards a large door hidden in an alcove to the right. “Professor X is just through that door.”

He said it in a way that had your alarm bells ringing, and as he turned to walk away you reached out and grabbed his arm without thinking. “Stay.” You demanded, and then thought better of yourself and added, “please.”

You watched the debate go on behind his eyes, but with a deep sigh, it appeared this gentle giant decided to be your protector a little longer. Reaching forward, you balled your hand into a fist to knock. But before you could, a gentleman's voice called from behind the door, “Come in.”

Swallowing, you reached for the handle and strode into a quaint office room. The man who sat behind the desk was not at all what you had expected. You were expecting the monsters… the men who had taken your best friend… You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought. “Professor X, I’m–”

“I already know who you are,” the elderly man said, moving a joystick on his wheelchair to maneuver around his desk. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod.

“I can sense your unease, but I promise you do not need to hide here. We are mutants, just like you.” The Professor moved his wheelchair further forward, until he was within reaching distance. “I know you have a power that is greatly sought after. May I see?” He asked, and tapped his head.

You quickly pieced it together he must be one of the psychic mutants, and you dully nodded your head. You closed your eyes as he reached forward, his pointer and middle finger coming to rest against your left temple. For a brief moment, you are fearful you will have to relive all the memories he is about to see. But when nothing comes flashing behind your eyelids, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

After a couple moments passed, the Professor dropped his hand and opened his eyes, “I am sorry for the pain you have experienced in your short life so far.”

“I didn’t know at the time…” you began, but a sob threatened to come up your throat.

“You don’t need to talk to me about it, only if you are ready.” You nodded to him in gratitude before he turned back around to grab something from behind his desk. “I believe Logan should have told you about this,” Logan, that must be Wolverine’s real name, you thought to yourself, “but these are inhibitors for your secondary gender which would have presented the same day as your mutation. Please, only take these if you are comfortable. If not, we can make separate arrangements for your safety from other mutants.”

You reached forward and grabbed the small silver tin of round white pills and stuffed them in your bag. “What do you mean for my safety from other mutants?”

Professor X let out a sigh and eyeballed Wolverine–Logan–from over your head, “I see you left some of the harder questions for me to answer.”

“She wasn’t asking these questions to me, Professor,” was the snarky remark Logan bit back.

Professor X began calmly, “Well, you see, other mutants will have also displayed a secondary gender. Most of us are Betas, we do not experience heats or ruts and we are normal for everything but our mutant abilities. However, others are Omegas and Alphas. Omegas, such as yourself, need extra protection such as the inhibitors or being placed in a separate wing from the Alphas. The Alphas may also go on inhibitors, like Logan there, so an Omegas heat will not affect them.”

You shook your head violently, the words becoming jumbled in your mind. “I don’t understand. So I’m some fucked up other breed?”

“You are not ‘fucked up’, you are an additional step to evolution. Omegas are…” the Professor clears his throat, “meant to be very fertile, same with the Alphas.”

“I don’t want this,” You murmured, a single tear sliding down your face before you were able to swipe it away.

“I know,” the Professor replied solemnly, as if he could feel your pain and still-fresh grief. “All I want is to keep you safe.” Your mouth felt like it was running dry, your brain throbbing with all the information. “Now, would you be willing to show me what you can do?”

* * *

You had agreed to show the Professor your ability. He and Logan had taken you out to the courtyard, where a dead and brittle rose plant lay amongst the foliage.

“All I need you to do is revive the rose plant.” The Professor called out to you. Him and the Wolverine had stayed a good few yards away, upon your request. You didn’t need another person standing near you while this happens.

“Surely she can’t revive a dead plant…” came a response from Logan that had you gritting your teeth together. “That would mean she could revive a dead person.”

“With enough power and training,” you heard the Professor reply calmly, “perhaps she could.”

Little do they know, you thought spitefully.

Kneeling down to the ground, you placed one hand on the grass beside your feet, the other reaching upwards towards the rose bush. You let your mind fall somewhere between your burning rage and the feeling of cold serenity. As the flow of life began pouring through your arms, you saw flashes--images--of a younger Professor X. A younger garden. When this rose bush would have still been alive. You saw flashes of a blue girl with red hair and…

You felt your connection snap before your eyes opened, the rose bush now blooming with flowers and life. Revived from its grave.

But underneath you… the ground was withered and dead. The dirt like rough sand to the touch.

Your power. A life for a life.

[slayfics]

You get in an argument with Katsuki.

Warnings: Intimate Partern Violence (you slap Katsuki)

Katuski had finally come home after a long patrol day. You were still working on your computer trying to finish what you needed for the day.

While you focused hard on trying to finally get done, Katsuki explained the events of his day enthusiastically to you. Over dramatizing and playing out the events as usual.

"Wow, that happened? That's wild," You responded half-heartedly.

"Hu?" He noticed your lack of excitement. Usually, you hung on every word of how his day went, but today you seemed to only be half listening and unmoved by anything. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"Just a tough day I guess-" You responded, still not looking away from your computer.

"Hey! Look at me!" He yelled. You let out a sigh and turned to face him.

"Yes?"

"Well tell me what happened!" He demanded.

"It doesn't matter Katsuki, continue I'm listening." You responded.

"No! I'm not going to continue until you tell me!" He retorted stubbornly.

"I already did! It was just a rough day ok!" You responded, beginning to become agitated.

"It must have been for you to be sulking so much." He rolled his eyes.

You ignored his response and turned back to your computer hoping to defuse the situation and indicate to him that you didn't want to talk at the moment.

"HEY! I'm not done talking to you!" He yelled, fuming at you turning your back to him.

"OK fine! Continue, and then what else happened on patrol?" You asked, feeling your frustration peak.

"No- YOU tell me what happened. What about your day was so tough?"

"I don't want to talk about it Katsuki!" You yelled back at him. The truth was you often found it challenging to talk to Katsuki about your tough days. How could any of your struggles compare to what he did on a daily basis? Compared to risking your life every day to save others it seemed pretty pointless to complain about things that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Further, you always found it hard to be truthful with him when things didn't go your way. Katsuki was so ambitious and had accomplished so much already. Wouldn't he look down on you for hearing that you had failed at something important to you?

"Oh I'm sorry was your day so rough you can't even talk about it? You act like you're the one who risked your life today to save someone," He spoke, crossing his arms.

"What the fuck did you say to me?" You asked, spinning around in your chair and standing up to face him feeling fury flash in your own eyes. It hurt worse than you could describe to hear him speak out about your own worst insecurities.

You didn't have an amazing quirk like he did, you didn't risk your life every day like he did. The things important to you didn't come naturally to you as they did to him. You knew that, that's what made it so hard to tell him you failed at something very important to you today.

Katsuki's eyes flashed in surprise at your harsh words before responding. "I know you heard me," He spat. "You were here safe all day but you're going to sulk as if your day was so hard."

The red-hot anger that flashed over your eyes caused you to react much like a child pushing Katsuki in his chest. "Don't you talk down to me!" You yelled at him.

Katsuki just laughed barely budging at your push, "What was that? That was pathetic," He continued to laugh. Your next action released from your body before you could stop it or think it over. Your hand raised and slapped Katsuki across the face with as much strength as you had.

Katsuki's next action came quickly, but it didn't feel like it. The moment seemed to stand still as your slap echoed across the room and a look of pure shock spread on his face. At that moment, you felt your heart drop as you realized you had gone too far.

Katsuki's hands reached up, one grabbed roughly around your wrist and the other wrapped around your throat. He pulled you down onto the bed in the room and straddled you.

Still pinning one hand down and the other wrapped around your throat, his face was just inches away from yours now. Reflected in the fury of his own eyes was the look of pure terror in yours. You wanted to believe he would never hurt you, even after you had made such an assault, but your heart beat out of your chest nonetheless at the possibility. There was no question that you were at his mercy now.

The few moments that he held you down seemed like they lasted for hours as his breath washed over your face. Finally, bringing an end to the horrifying anticipation, Katsuki crashed his lips hard onto yours. A forceful kiss like you have never felt from him before.

It felt as though all the air had left your lungs at the intensity of the kiss. Tears started to swell in your eyes from the guilt you felt at hitting him and the second doubts that hung in your head about whether he was going to hurt you. Of course, he wouldn't of… how dare you ever question it.

Katsuki was no doubt furious at you, but instead of retaliating, he took his anger out on you in the form of a passionate kiss.

As quick as he crashed his lips to yours, he pulled away leaving you alone on the bed, and walked out of the room.

"Katsuki!" You yelled after him, but he did not turn around. You tried desperately to yell out for him again but he was intent on walking away.

You jumped off the bed to run after him and wrapped your hands around his waist hugging him from behind.

"I'm so sorry- I," You began to cry. "I just- I don't care what anyone else says to me but- not you- you can't talk down to me like that," You sobbed into his back.

Katsuki threw your hands off around his waist, for a moment you were sure he was going to keep walking away. However, he turned around and picked you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms instinctively draping over his shoulders.

In this position, he kissed you once again, then rested his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he mumbled in his husky voice.

"I love you too, Katsuki."