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naeverse · 5 months ago

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Fortis Et Liber (1/2)

A/N: Hi guys, this is my first story back from my 'hiatus', I guess I'd call it, lol. But I hope you all enjoy it, I enjoyed writing this a lot and was heavily inspired by my recent binge watching of Game of Thrones and now partaking in watching it's prequel, House of Dragons. After finishing watching GOT, I knew I had to write Miguel as a Kingsguard. I hope the story is enjoyable, and thank you once again for your patience!

👑⚔️staring: Kingsguard!Miguel x Fem!princess Reader

🔷 Preview: You were the future of Valoria, and he was but a Kingsguard sworn to protect you—the very duty he had accepted when he was given his cloak.

His hidden desires and thoughts for you needed to cease.

They must…

“Let us…put our swords away, Your Grace,” Miguel stated, his voice hoarse, deep, and strained, but unable to break his gaze from yours. He waited for you to remove his sword from his neck, his body tense, heart pounding in his chest, with a silent plea to the gods to keep him from making a grave error here—far from the Kingdom and in the seclusion of this very forest.

You gulped, almost missing his suggestion. Nodding slowly, you drew his blade away from his throat, setting it on the grass nearby; but you found yourself incapable of moving from the spot atop him.

Your eyes roamed his face once more, finding the Kingsguard of age eight-and-thirty years old to be exceptionally alluring. You’d always found him attractive, often marveling that this was the man chosen to protect you until the end of your days.

Yet, despite your constant fascination, he seemed to have a new glow to him—a glow that made you meet his conflicted amber orbs, and your own eyes to flood with desire.

“I-I believe…I deserve a reward for my victory, Sir Miguel,”

💜summary: Being the Princess of Valoria comes with expectations of being proper, respectful, caring, and, above all, perfect. However, such a title is one you detest. You seek escape to your hidden meadow in the forest to indulge in your favorite yet forbidden pastime—swordfighting—a hobby you grew to love from observing your Kingsguard, Sir Miguel O’Hara, practice in the training yard. With this adoration for the blade, nevertheless, come taboo feelings towards the one meant to safeguard and protect you until the end of his days.

Sir Miguel O’Hara, since his early days as a knight, has learned the importance of remaining dedicated to his duties and keeping his cloak unsullied. With a raging temper, brooding aura, and an undefeated reputation in combat, the Kingsguard takes his duty seriously and handles any misdeeds with an iron fist. Yet, he harbors improper feelings for his charge, you, the Princess of Valoria. Upon discovering you training once again in your secret glade in the nearby forest, Sir Miguel finds himself torn between his duty and his own desires once more.

💎tw/cw: Age Gap, Body Worship, Cockbulge, Class differences, Cunnilingus, Desperation, First time (kinda), Forbidden love, Oral Sex, Outdoors Sex, Power Difference, Virgin Y/N

🪻Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Mi Amor (my love), Alteza (Your highness), Princesa (princess)

💙 Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

💜 Word Count: 5.8k

Heavy footsteps and the clank of metal rang through the quiet castle of Valoria, a scowl adorning the always stern Kingsguard, Miguel O’Hara. But this morning, he was angrier, more furious than usual.

Like normal, Miguel awoke at the hour of the bird, the sun just rising to kiss the peak of the tallest tower of his glorious kingdom where he began his morning routine. Waking up from his bed, stretching accompanied by a few strength exercises and combat training, a quick bath, inspection of weapons, application of his armor, and lastly, to check upon you, the Princess of Valoria, his charge until the end of his days. However, upon reaching your chambers, knocking on the door, and asking if you were awake, he didn’t hear a reply.

Miguel’s jaw clenched, his mind wandering to the possibility that your adventurous spirit had grasped you once more this morning, as he called out to you again, only to be met with silence.

A growl escaped the Kingsguard, announcing his intent to force entry before kicking the door open with his metal boot. As he feared, you weren’t there.His amber eyes narrowed upon the sight of your disheveled sheets that were missing your presence. With a huff, he spun on his heel and charged down the hall.

“Out of my way! Mudarse!” he shouted, roughly pushing servants from his path, annoyed that no one had noticed the princess’ disappearance. When his eyes made contact with the guard standing duty at the front entrance, his fury blinded him.

“You.” The word was a growl as in two long strides, Miguel grasped the collar of the man’s armor, hoisting him off the ground like a ragdoll. A surprised yelp escaped the lad as the Latino’s infamous temper engulfed him.

“The princess is missing, and here you are oblivious to it. A damn jackass could guard better than you,” Miguel gritted out, his jaw clenched harshly. The man’s stammered excuses went unnoticed as Miguel couldn’t bother himself to listen.

How could he when his sacred charge, the fucking princess, was the one missing?

With a snarl, Miguel slammed the guard against the pillar behind him, knocking the air out of him and instantly silencing the male. Harshly, the Kingsguard yanked the man close, his metal hands tightening on the collar of the younger lad's armor.

“I want six guards searching every nook and cranny of Valoria for the princess, or I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons for your incompetence. Is that clear!?” Miguel shouted, his anger getting the best of him as his gaze alone was enough to melt wax.

Hurriedly, the distressed guard nodded, his body shaking in fear in the eight-and-thirty-year-old man’s grasp. Miguel’s stern amber eyes glared at the trembling man for a moment longer before dropping him to the ground at his feet.

“Good,” The Latino muttered, turning on his heel, not sparing the troubled knight a glance, his blue cloak swaying behind him.

The older man hastily transverse outside of the castle, the morning sun beaming down upon his face and only stoking the hot scorching ball of rage that was rampaging inside of him. He moved down the stairs of the kingdom, his mind spinning with a tumultuous mix of emotions: fear, concern, irritation, and anger.

‘The King is going to be furious if I don’t find her,’ Miguel could only think.

The mere image of the troubled and disappointed face of his Highness hastened the Kingsguard’s pace, his metal boots leading him to the stables of the castle where his horse resided.

Secretly, Miguel already knew where his princess had run off to. You were an adventurous woman who hated the life of royalty and the suffocating vice it seemed to have on you. The Latino knew your troubles well as you spoke of them often; but he’d prefer if you didn’t cause such an uproar in the kingdom every time you decided to play the role of daring rogue.

“You better be there, princess. I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re not,” Miguel whispered under his breath, knowing you’d surely hear a mouthful from him when he found you.

Slinging a leg over the saddle and snapping the reins, Miguel’s black stallion raced through Valoria’s gates, into the city, and beyond to hopefully find you.

In the heart of a secluded forest, the clear swish of steel and the occasional sigh of exertion could be heard, accompanying the natural melody of chirping birds and rustling leaves. In the clearing, bathed in dappled sunlight, stood you, the princess, defying all laws of royalty, titles, and societal expectations. However, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

You detested the lavish life of being a princess, from dancing with suitors to kissing babes and even the simple act of donning a corset. The entire castle knew of your disdain, especially your father, the King.

Your father despised your rebelliousness, always desiring you to be what the Princess of Valoria was meant to be: kind, respectful, well-mannered, ladylike, an inspiration and hope for the people, and most importantly, perfect.

Perfection wasn’t exactly an expected trait of being the Princess of Valoria, but you figured it should be, as one slouched back, faltered smile, or ignored suitor would instantly bring scandal upon you from the court. And you were certain any scandal would ruin your father, turning him into a madman. You always believed that in his deranged state, he might do something he’d never believed himself capable of doing to you, his beloved daughter: enforcing abdication upon you—leading you to give up your royal birthright and heir to his throne to become a mere commoner in Valoria.

The idea always made you shiver in terror; but you also deemed it quite vast, hoping your father’s love for you would overcome his need to erase the soot upon his once shiny reputation if a scandal did arise.

But one would believe the fear of abdication would deter you from sword fighting— from running away from your duties to chase a dream that was truly of imagination and fairytales.

But, honestly, you could not…

Cutting arcs of silver through the air, the wind brushing through your hair, and the exhilaration you felt with each precise stroke of your sword was everything to you. Although you had been training with your sword for only two years, the weapon felt like an extension of you—taking it away would leave you hollow, dull, and lifeless.

You were sure of it…

At the age of seven and ten, you encountered sword fighting for the first time when venturing down to the training yard of the castle, your adventurous spirit leading you all the while. At the time, you were merely escaping your handmaiden, Lady Mary Jane, who was seeking to fetch you to begin your early piano lessons; so seeking refuge behind the nearby wall of the training yard would be the least likely place you’d be found.

Peeking around to check if the coast was clear, you saw a duel—a battle between Sir Miguel O’Hara, your Kingsguard, and four soldiers. What seemed initially like a serious sparring match between four exceptional guards quickly turned into a farcical display.

Your Kingsguard, a man known for his raging temper, ability to strike fear into any being—man or beast—with just a glance, and always holding a deadly red glint in his amber orbs when his longsword was in his grip, easily evaded, parried, and played the three guards like fools.

Like playthings, the three men were handled just as quickly as the battle began, ending with them in beaten heaps on the ground all without Sir Miguel moving an inch out of his initial position.

From that day onward, your protector awakened something inside of you, but you were unable to figure out what; so every day, at the hour of the bird, you watched your Kingsguard train with the guards. And after training, which was your favorite, was the dueling with Sir Miguel O’Hara.

During these matches, you became engrossed in your Kingsguard’s strategies and fighting techniques. And slowly, you fell more in love with sword fighting and the idea of defending oneself.

But there was one memory of observing your guardian fight that was held closer to your heart than others.

Mostly because that time was different…

Sir Miguel was always known for challenging himself, pushing his very limits to ensure his capability of protecting you. You had never seen him sleep and if he did, it was only a little, as he was always glued to your side like a hornet’s nest to a branch.

At times, you found the older Kingsguard’s presence overbearing, until that night when you discovered him in secret.

It was long past since the final birds tweeted their final messages for the night and the stars rose in the darkened sky when you heard Sir Miguel leave his rooted post outside your bedchambers. You knew your Kingsguard slept at some time of the night, but he never just…left.

Not this soon.

It felt…odd.

Being awake due to restlessness, you decided to discover the mystery of where your Kingsguard had wandered off to. Slipping out of your bed, you adorned your royal slippers, slung a thin cardigan over your nightgown, and followed him.

It wasn’t surprising that you found him in the training yard, sword in hand and cutting invisible intricate patterns into the air; but it was how he looked that shocked you.

Taking your usual hiding spot behind the wall when spying on the guards’ training, your innocent eyes took in your shirtless Kingsguard in the yard, practicing in his mere trousers under the moonlight.

His burly muscular arms wielded his large longsword with ease, and his pecs adorned with a pair of dark nipples seemed to tighten with his every swift and powerful jab. The massive male moved in a manner similar to a dance, however, different from when he sparred with the other guards.

Despite taking in the sparring methods of your protector like you normally did, you found yourself noticing everything else. His flexing olive abs of eight, sharp jawline of stubble, concentrated gaze, deep and occasional grunts of exertion, parted lips, and the happy trail of coarse hair that descended from his perfect navel to slip under his trousers like a cunning serpent.

A shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding while admiring your Kingsguard escaped you. Your face flushed a deep red at the mere thought of how long Sir Miguel had been hiding such a sculpted form underneath his layers of armor.

You couldn’t help yourself, continuing your spying, but this time, peeking your head out further than before, needing to see more.

Your Kingsguard swung his sword again, his footsteps light yet purposeful upon the gravel. His every movement calculated in taking down his invisible opponent. Following his counter, he swiftly dodged, his dark brown hair flapping in the wind.

Every gulp caused his defined adam's apple to bob, and your Kingsguard’s slender waist twisted to evade with practiced ease. The sheen of sweat coating his muscular chest and backside shimmered under the moonlight, causing you to begin to find your Kingsguard rather attractive…

This memorable moment was a complete shock to you as you had never seen a man so…exposed before. Your father was certain to remove any paintings and stories that expressed erotic or sensual displays of any sort with the intention of keeping his royal daughter pure for any eligible suitors. So seeing him like this was as if you were taking a bite of a forbidden fruit that opened your eyes to the wonders of man and…

Sensations…

Seeing Sir Miguel in such a state, practically unclothed before you made you feel things—feelings that you hadn’t noticed but felt familiar in a way.

Perhaps, being the same sensation that engulfed your being when seeing Sir Miguel spar for the first time—his ability to fight, defend, and protect in such a powerful and courageous manner being what led you back here, each and every time to see him train again and again.

Perhaps these feelings were love like in fairytales?

Did you hold affections for Sir Miguel?

The idea felt absurd, especially with him being a member of the royal guard—meant to protect and serve Valoria until the end of his days. Indeed, love between a Kingsguard and a princess would be a grand scandal, so why did your heart palpitate at the possibility?

Why did your body heat up at the thought of the older man kissing your knuckles, not in respect for your title, but in adoration for you?

Why did your stomach stir with butterflies at the desire to know what your Kingsguard’s torso would feel like under your fingertips? His bulging arms? His chiseled face? Perhaps…

Lower?

But, it didn’t matter what you felt—what heinous and disgraceful ideas plagued your mind just from that one memorable moment.

It was forbidden.

You, the Princess of Valoria, could not fall in love with your Kingsguard.

Right…?

Since seeing him in such a manner for the first time, your respect for your Kingsguard grew. From that day forward, you greatly admired your protector and most importantly, the thrill of fighting; so instead of simply watching Valoria’s knights spar from your hiding place, you began to take notes. Engrossing yourself in the techniques of wielding a sword, and weaknesses and strengths in opponents, and how to outwit them.

After nine moons of observation, you waited until the castle was asleep and the last bell for midnight to chime before donning your commoner’s attire, to blend in with the people of Valoria and sneak off to the local blacksmith.

You desired to purchase the creation of your sword, believing it was time to put your knowledge of sword fighting into action. After some bribing, you paid for the requested price from the blacksmith and handed in an additional gold coin pouch for speedy labor and your desired stylization list of your masterpiece of defense.

Due to this being your first sword, you wished it to be the grandest, so you wanted it to be perfect. You had thought of the blade for moons, considering how the steel would be decorated, the comfortable hilt, and how light yet balanced the sword would feel in your palm.

You wanted it to be the finest and precisely how you’d envisioned it.

The next day, you waited in anticipation, and when night fell, you traversed to the blacksmith in town once more. There, you were able to hold your sacred weapon in the palm of your hands and see it styled just as you had requested.

To ensure a firm grip, the hilt was skillfully wrapped in dark leather, with a crossguard intricately designed with floral motifs and blue gemstones that caught the light with every movement. At the end of the hilt, the pommel was shaped like a blooming rose, crafted from polished silver that was as beautiful as you had imagined.

Reaching approximately thirty inches, the blade itself was made from high-quality Damascus steel, renowned for its durability and distinctive wavy patterns along the length. The edge was razor-sharp and honed to perfection, capable of slicing through even the toughest material with ease.

Yet, your eyes lingered upon the engraving elegantly inscribed along the fuller of the blade, near the hilt. The words, written in an ancient language of Latin, resonated deeply with you: ‘Fortis et Liber,’ or ‘Strong and Free.’ This flowing script was a mantra personal to you, symbolizing your inner strength and desire for freedom from your constricting royal life.

Indeed, the blade was a masterpiece…

In that moment, holding the sword, you felt a surge of empowerment. The weapon was not merely an instrument of defense but a manifestation of your will and determination. Each detail, from the rose-shaped pommel to the shimmering Damascus patterns, spoke of the silent promise you had made to yourself: to fight for your freedom and protect yourself and those you held dear.

Just like Sir Miguel does…

From there, with sword in hand, you traversed to the forest on horseback—your desired destination just on the outskirts of Valoria that you used to run off to in your younger years before watching the guards spar. There, in the hidden clearing of your sanctuary, you began your training in secret.

Like all things, initially, you weren’t good at it, but after endless training and some assistance, you became what you are today…

Holding your sword lightly in your palm, you moved gracefully, each step and turn like a waltz that your father ensured you knew to perfection. Your blade’s soft swish through the air was like music to your ears, the whispers of steel guiding you further in your dance.

Whipping your blade through the air, your unladylike boots moved featherlight upon the grass. Your form of elegance and determination, along with your focus, never wavered, staying engrossed in your training until the rustling of bushes behind you disrupted the usual chatter of the forest and the crunch of leaves under your boot heels.

Despite the interruption, you continued practicing. A smirk adorned your lips, already knowing the identity of such a disturbance. Spinning in your morning gown, the blue hem twirling with your movement, and your unrestricted breasts underneath swaying with the motion, you turned to face the newcomer, your blade aimed at their throat.

“Here to lecture me again, Sir Miguel?” You asked with a grin, the playful tone in your voice contrasting greatly with your raised sword.

Miguel O’Hara, your Kingsguard, who had raced here on horseback as swiftly as possible, stood before you. Miguel knew where his princess' secret training ground was, as he was the only one with the knowledge of it. He always found your desire to sword fight like some commoner conflicting, but he knew where he stood when you decided to escape your royal duties to partake in the forbidden activity.

Your protector’s height and build always made him appear massive compared to you; perhaps he truly was. His metal armor only brought more width to his being as you peered up at your Kingsguard. Despite always holding a scowl, the evident glare upon his features was simply hard not to notice.

“Scolding, perhaps.” He agreed, his voice a low rumble, pushing the blade of your sword away from his neck with a shove of two fingers. “You’re not in the castle, I found your bedchambers empty, and you’ve done all this before the morning bells of the Kingdom have rung.” He stated sharply, his anger clinging to every word. “You’ve no idea the trouble you’ve caused by vanishing like this. I’ve had the entire city turned upside down in search of you.” He scowled in irritation down at the Princess of Valoria, whom he surely knew didn’t care how much he would rip the city apart for you, as your adventurousness would never cease.

“And I not only find you in this secluded glade once more, sword in hand, but clothed—” Miguel’s eyes drifted down your body, taking in your mere sleeping gown that you didn’t bother asking the servants to undress you out of and into proper clothing before escaping here. But what really caught the older male’s eyes was your lack of a corset.

It wasn’t the first time the Kingsguard had seen his princess without a corset. It was practically something one must become acquainted with inside of the castle. You detested the constricting undergarment, choosing to not wear it even outside of your chambers, which was greatly improper but not uncommon to the Kingsguard.

Yet, every time his amber orbs caught sight of those beautiful, perky tits practically begging for one’s attention through the fabric of your dress, the Latino felt somewhat similar to a starved beast.

Clearing his throat and shifting his narrowed eyes back onto your face, he continued the scolding that he had thought of on his travels here. “—But clothed less than appropriately,” he continued, making sure your eyes were on his, his face moving with your wandering one whenever you turned your head.

“This forest is no place for a princess, much less the future of Valoria, and you are hardly dressed as one should be for combat of any sort,” Miguel lectured, searching the princess' gaze for any sign of defiance, only to find bucketfuls of it.

His attention faltered down to your distracting breasts once more before quickly looking away, heaving a sigh of exhaustion. “Your Grace, I only implore you to think of your safety. What have I incessantly told you about that?” Miguel inquired, looking down at the princess, hoping to not hear any words of rebuttal, but simply a straightforward answer.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, lowering your sword to your side. “You’ve always told me that my safety is top priority, but you and I both know I despise being locked up in the castle, dancing and conversing with individuals that only wish to be in my place.” You retorted, sheathing your sword to your hip, the soft hiss satisfying to your ears.

“As you've stated time and time again, Your Grace,” Miguel muttered in irritation as you pressed on. “And I will not be forced to endure the torture of the corset. Women of Valoria do not wear one, why must I?”

“But you are not a mere woman of Valoria, princesa, you are Valoria!” the older man of eight-and-thirty- years shouted.

Miguel ran a hand through his dark brown curls, trying to control his temper at the sight of furrowed brows and slight jump at his sudden outburst. He had frightened many people countless times because of his temper, but never did he desire to scare his charge, you, his beloved princess.

After taking a deep breath and recollecting himself, the Latino spoke once more. “The corset is a symbol of your station, a reminder that you are Valoria’s future. It’s not for your enjoyment—nor discomfort, but it is necessary for the protection of your person, and indeed… your honor.” Miguel stated, unable to stop himself from glancing down at your free bosom. The breeze of the clearing seemed to make your nipples more prominent—noticeable, seen.

An annoyed snarl escaped the Kingsguard, mostly in anger with himself for his insistent and dishonorable staring. “Please, simply tell me what I can do to assist? What must be changed to make things better suited for you in Valoria, because this,” he growled, pointing at the blade on your side, “this cannot be your outlet, Princesa.” He insisted with a shake of his head, his wavy curls swaying with the motion.

You always found your protector’s voice to be deep and soothing to you, but currently it was only causing the burning feeling of frustration to bubble up inside. “Why must everything be so… constricting?!” You exclaimed in agitation.

“Why must I feel content in a garment meant to tightly squeeze me like a grape whilst damaging the very bosom it’s meant to conceal?” You asked, running your disheartened fingers through your wild hair, free from the usual royal styles of Valoria to take on a more free look—a look you adored.

You met eyes with the alluring amber orbs of your guardian, your gaze begging for acceptance. “Everything in Valoria only further distresses me—only this helps, Sir Miguel. Please, I implore you to understand that.” You tried to get him to see, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You hated arguing with your Kingsguard, as it always led to doubt.

You very much respected Sir Miguel, always finding him wise, and his dislike of your ‘hobby,’ as he called it, constantly made you believe it wasn’t right to choose it over your life in the palace, no matter how despicable it was to you.

Silence filled the space between the two of you, the chatter of animal life and the rush of the passing wind replacing the lack of words. However, to your surprise, this time it wasn’t you who broke the silence.

Miguel stepped up to you, his heavy boots crunching the soft grass underneath him as he closed the distance. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, and his normally hardened face softened upon seeing your troubled expression.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten everything I’ve taught you, alteza.” He uttered, wishing to calm the situation. A rare smile graced Miguel's lips as he cupped your chin to lift it, wishing to meet your gaze.

When you reluctantly did, Miguel’s eyes roamed your soft features, his metal thumb giving your chin and cheek a stroke. “You are strong, Y/N, no doubt about that, but you must be wise as well.” He advised, his gruff tone a tender rumble throughout the clearing.

“Your safety and our kingdom’s security should be your utmost concern, not the… discomforts, no matter how hard they might be.” Miguel stated, his thumb lingering longer than it should upon your face, tracing the line of your jaw slowly as if trying to imprint it to memory. “You are Valoria's future, after all, princesa. I implore you to behave as such.”

You thickly gulped, his words and touch striking your heart sharply. When his hand left your cheek, the coldness of his gauntlet seemed to leave a cold handprint upon your skin, ensuring your remembrance.

Despite how crucial Miguel’s advice was, it just didn’t settle correctly in your mind, in your skin, nor your bones.

Valoria’s future.

This title was the cause of your escapes—the reason you sought refuge outside of the castle. That title was too much to bear—too much for one to hold, especially a princess like you.

Slowly, you shook your head, watching the handsome features of your Kingsguard fall. “I did not request nor ask for such a title, Sir Miguel.” You admitted. “I do not wish to live the boring life that has been planned out for me. I desire fun, freedom, and happiness—something that isn’t of attending balls nor forcing a smile at every suitor my father brings me!” You exclaimed in exasperation, heaving a sigh and turning away from him.

“I am Valoria’s future. I am Princess of Valoria, yet, I am never, simply Y/N.” You whispered, feeling like it had been forever since you had uttered your own name. “My father, the people of Valoria, and even you want perfection, someone to hope for, but that is something that I cannot give.” You confessed, grasping the hilt of your sword tightly for comfort.

“And I try, goodness, I try. I wear a smile, I try to go to gatherings, luncheons, gosh, I even try going on simple walks through Valoria just so the people may see me, and I…can’t handle the pressure.” You declared sadly. “The need to be perfect, to always smile, stand straight, speak properly—it's too much.” You said, shaking your head as your Kingsguard was so quiet, one would believe his presence behind you nonexistent.

“But this,” you said, tapping a thumb upon the rose pommel of your sword, “this doesn’t require me to be Valoria’s future. This doesn't require me to be Princess of Valoria—to be perfect. It just needs me…

Y/N…”

You acknowledged aloud, the thought making you smile. “And sword fighting isn’t structured; it can be wild and free, and that’s what I yearn for.” You concluded softly, running your finger along the ridges of the perfectly shaped flower of your sheathed sword, the action always calming you.

Miguel’s gaze roamed along your backside, your being showcasing a blend of sadness and delight that he’d never seen in any other being; but he couldn’t shake his annoyance with you.

He felt for you, his princess, he truly did. The Kingsguard always believed your duties were too much for you—too demanding on anyone who must hold such standards upon their shoulders.

But what you desired instead wasn't any better.

It was his duty to protect you, the Princess of Valoria, and what you wanted would only get you hurt…

Or worse.

With the clanks of his metal boots, Miguel approached you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you to face him once more. “You do not want sword fighting, Y/N, you want adventure—that’s what you truly seek.” The Latino told you sternly, his features returning to their usual stoicness.

“And adventure comes with a price, Your Grace. There are dangers in the world, and I won’t have you waltzing into them without a thought.” He said, his piercing eyes holding a silent plea behind them, hands caressing your shoulders under your ruffled sleeves.

“Your safety is the most precious thing I guard. I’ve seen men die from a well-placed dagger, women kidnapped into slavery, children left alone in this world without a mother nor father to protect them.” The Kingsguard stated, hands moving to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, the idea of anything happening to you tugging greatly at his cold heart.

“The life of a commoner—the one you seek when you run off with your blade—is a harsh one, and one no being with their right wits would go seeking if they knew it well.” The older male told you in a sharp tone, wanting you to understand that his duty was to protect you, even if that meant protecting you from yourself.

Your lips trembled, your frustration and overbearing feeling of entrapment engulfing you like smoke filling a pair of lungs. “Then why teach me even a quarter of sword fighting if I am never to use the skill?” You demanded. “Tell me, Sir Miguel? Why broaden my knowledge on a skill you deem dangerous?”

Your protector’s jaw clenched, hating to see you in this way. Eyebrows knitted together, nostrils flared, fury found in your beautiful eyes. This wasn’t a look he liked upon his princess' features, always finding himself wishing to erase it as swiftly as possible.

“Your tutelage in combat is to ensure that if someone wanted to harm you, you’d have a fighting chance, not for you to run into battle with a head of iron.” He scolded, letting the gravity of his words settle. “And I would remind you, I’ve only taught you the basics, so while you’re skilled, you are not of high standard. Not like a normal guard. Not like a soldier.

Not like I.”

Your guardian emphasized, needing you to know the hard truth, hoping to ease the hurt of his words with a gentle squeeze of your shoulders. “And I advise you that it goes against my cloak to teach anything of the sword to a woman of royalty—especially, the princess,” He reminded. “If the King so happens to discover your fascination in the sword and further knows I had a hand in it, my head would be upon a spike by next sunrise,” The older male warned, his last words cutting you deep, your hand tightening upon the pommel of your sword.

“I…acknowledge the reasons and importance of my learning of the sword isn’t for entertainment, and that it is dangerous for both of us to be here, but I can't help but want more, Sir Miguel.” You implored, looking up to him with furrowed brows.

“You said so yourself, the adrenaline one feels from danger is exhilarating, did you not?” You asked, watching a flash of regret cross his features for a moment before disappearing as you continued. “I understand the danger of adventure, and like you, I wish to feel the same, even just a mere moment of it.” You tried to coax, the wind lapping up at your disarrayed strands of hair.

Your guardian’s lips twitched at your recollection of his own words, feeling like a fool for saying such a thing in front of you. “Adventure…does have its allure, my lady, but that thrill of danger pales in comparison to the terror of losing the one I swore to protect.” He said, pulling away from you with a final stroke to your shoulders.

You scoffed, shaking your head in defiance. “A small trip to a neighboring village to purchase mere trinkets is too much?”

“Sί, I cannot and will not risk putting you in harm’s way, my lady. You being in this meadow so far from the kingdom is already too much a risk.” Your protector replied sternly, his words bothering you further.

You couldn’t help feeling upset—upset that your skills felt like a waste. Upset that you’d never be able to use them truly, and even further upset that the man you secretly adored was the one to tell you these things.

As you stood there in silence, his scolding of the day resting heavy upon your chest like a boulder. The highlights of the lecturing on danger, scandal, trouble, entrapment, duties, and being Valoria’s future came rushing in like a tidal wave. And once more, you clung to sword fighting as your escape. Hand gripping the handle of your sword, you allowed your mind to wander.

All the memories of your secret retreats here, your discreet practices with your blade filled your head.

You knew you were an exceptional fighter, believed so anyway. You just had to get your Kingsguard to see that too.

‘One small adventure, that’s all I wish. If he witnesses my skills in person, perhaps he’d feel more comfortable joining me in just a small task.’ You pondered, meeting his gaze that was already staring back at you. Giving the rose pommel of your sheathed sword a final squeeze for good luck, you expressed your proposal.

“I do wish to express that despite your teachings of the basics, sword fighting is extensive, Sir Miguel.” You explained with a small smile, eyes tracking every feature upon the older male’s face. “One can learn uniquely and expand upon the skill on their own, and with the many times I ran off to practice…

I have no doubt that I can take you, Sir Miguel.”

A/N: I know, I know, cliffhangers are the worst, but I promise it's worth it! I hope you all enjoyed the first part of Fortis Et Liber, like mentioned previously, it was quite fun to write and I adore the two characters so very much!

If you also found this part just as delightful as l did reading and writing it, comment down below some of your favorite parts or what you liked most about it! I adore reading all of your wonderful comments!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message or submit an ask! Don't be nervous, your idea could be really good!

I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe!!

Want to read the second part of Fortis et Liber? >> Click here

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k-nayee · 14 days ago

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CHAPTER 3. ATHENA'S CHALLENGE

❝It is not the blade that shapes destiny but the hand that wields it.❞

Warrior M.List

Previous | Next

˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

The sparring session had gone longer than usual.

You stood shoulder to shoulder with Penelope, both of you panting from the exertion of your nightly routine. Sweat dripped down the side of your face as the sun's first rays began to stretch across the horizon.

Your arms ached, muscles trembling from overuse—but the satisfied burn in your limbs made you smile.

"Enough for tonight," Penelope whispered firmly. She tucked a stray braid behind her ear as she breath ragged yet steadily.

You nodded, panting as you dropped to one knee to catch your breath. The coolness of the grass beneath you was a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of the practice sword in your hand.

Around you the secret clearing, just outside the palace walls, was bathed in hues of purple and gold; a hidden refuge away from the heavy gaze of duty and expectation.

Penelope crouched beside you, her expression softening as she glanced at the sword in your hand.

"You're getting better," she said with a faint smile. "Soon you won't need to butter up the soldiers for practice tips anymore."

You laughed though the sound came out weaker than intended. "And lose the free ego boost they give me? Never."

Her smile widened briefly before she pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt and grass from her tunic.

"Come on. The guards will be changing shifts soon. If we're caught out here again..." She trailed off, but the weight of the unspoken consequences hung in the air.

You didn't need reminding. The punishment for wandering beyond the palace walls without permission would fall harder on you than on her.

You were just a servant after all—a servant who had no business training in secret alongside a Spartan prince's daughter.

Rising to your feet, you followed her back toward the palace, careful to tread softly as the two of you slipped through the secret entrance hidden behind a crumbling section of the outer wall.

The path was second nature: each step carefully calculated, each breath measured to avoid detection.

Penelope's movements were precise, her grace as a noblewoman seamlessly blending with the agility of the warrior she was becoming.

You followed closely, your senses sharp and your heart pounding in rhythm with your hurried steps.

When you reached the servants' quarters Penelope hesitated. Her hand on the doorframe as she glanced back at you with furrowed brows.

"Be careful today," she said quietly. "I don't trust him."

She didn't have to name her father for you to understand. You offered her a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. Go on."

With a final nod, she slipped inside, disappearing into the labyrinth of corridors that made up the palace.

You waited a moment longer, scanning your surroundings before stepping inside yourself.

The familiar scent of stone and polished wood greeted you as you made your way to your small bed in the shared room, changing quickly into the plain garments of a servant.

It was a transformation both physical and mental; you shed the role of Penelope's confidante and sparring partner to become her obedient attendant.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The day unfolded as usual.

By mid-morning you were at Penelope's side, arranging her hair and adjusting her gown as she prepared for a small gathering in the main hall.

Her expression was composed, the perfect mask of a dutiful daughter. Though you could see the tension in her shoulders.

"Does it look acceptable?" she asked, her tone devoid of the warmth she reserved for your private moments together.

"More than acceptable," you replied softly, stepping back to admire your work. "You'll outshine them all."

A faint smile touched her lips but it didn't reach her eyes.

With a graceful nod she left and you prepared yourself for your next task—tending to the soldiers during their midday combat session.

The clang of swords clashing filled the air, accompanied by the barked commands of the training general.

You moved among the soldiers with practiced ease, a clay jug of water balanced on your hip.

"Water anyone?" your voice called out cutting through the noise. Several soldiers turned your way, their expressions brightening.

"Don't spoil us too much," one of the younger soldiers teased as you approached with the water jug. "We might start fighting over who gets to see you."

You rolled your eyes but your grin gave you away. "Careful now or I'll start charging you." you replied, pouring water into his outstretched cup.

As the men laughed, your attention was drawn to a pair of soldiers standing a little apart from the rest, their conversation hushed but intense.

You moved closer under the guise of offering them water, straining to catch their words.

"...Athena's test," one of them said. "The Erymanthian boar—said to be monstrous. A beast even seasoned hunters would hesitate to face. But the reward..."

The other soldier whistled softly. "Riches beyond imagining. Enough to buy a small kingdom they say."

Your heart skipped a beat. Athena's test? A boar? Vast riches?

You kept your expression neutral, pouring water into their cups as though you hadn't heard a thing.

"Do you really think it's true?" the first soldier asked.

"About the gold? Who knows. Men wouldn't risk their lives if there wasn't something worth fighting for."

The conversation moved on but the words lingered in your mind.

Riches beyond imagining. Enough to buy a small kingdom. The possibilities swirled in your thoughts, each more enticing than the last.

If you could claim the prize, everything would change. Penelope could finally escape her father's control.

She'd be free—free to live without fear of a forced marriage, without the constant shadow of Icarius looming over her.

And you...you could leave too.

You'd no longer have to live under the thumb of a household that valued you only for your beauty and your servitude. The thought was intoxicating.

That evening, as you prepared to leave the courtyard, the beginnings of a plan took root in your mind: You would take the test. You would kill the boar and claim the riches. But Penelope couldn't know.

She would never agree to such a dangerous scheme.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

By afternoon you found your opportunity.

Soldiers were preparing for a mild campaign, their gear being loaded onto carts near the palace gates.

It wasn't uncommon for you to be assigned as a wine bearer during such events; your exotic looks often made you a favored choice for such duties.

It was a role you had played before—especially at lavish events hosted by Icarius himself.

When the evening came and the sun began dipping below the horizon, you were in Penelope's chambers helping her with her hair.

She sat before her vanity, her reflection serene but distant as if lost in thought.

"You seem quiet tonight," you said, brushing a stray curl into place.

Penelope met your gaze in the mirror, her expression softening. "Just tired. Father's been...demanding."

You didn't press her further, knowing the weight of her words. Instead, you mustered the courage to set your plan in motion.

"I've been ordered to accompany the soldiers for their campaign tomorrow," you said casually, keeping your tone light.

Her hands stilled on the hem of her nightgown. "Ordered? Why? You've never mentioned it before."

"Wine duty," you replied with a shrug and force a playful smile. "You know how much your father loves showing me off at these things."

Penelope's frown deepened, and for a moment you worried she might protest.

"Do you have to go?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with concern.

Your heart clenched but you nodded. "It's not for long. Just a few days. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"I can't go against Father's wishes. So just—" She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. "be careful."

You hesitated, then leaned down to press a reassuring kiss to the top of her head. "Always."

As she climbed into bed, you tucked the blankets around her, your heart heavy with guilt. But it was necessary.

This wasn't just about you—it was about Penelope, about her freedom, her future.

Once she was asleep you slipped out of her chambers and made your way to your own quarters. It was nearing dusk when your preparations were complete.

Your small satchel held everything you could manage: a few plain garments, hard bread, some dried figs, a stolen waterskin, and a carefully hidden knife.

The sound of soldiers bustling near the gates had masked your movements. Their leaving for campaign, crates of supplies, and clinking armor provided the perfect cover.

Common to see servants moving about during such times to fetch items or following orders; you had played that role expertly, head bowed and demeanor meek as you slipped unnoticed past the guards.

With the gates behind you and the endless horizon ahead, the weight of your decision settled on your shoulders.

The gravel path beneath your sandals crunched with every step taken as the palace became a silhouette in the distance.

You would face the boar, no matter the risk.

And you would win.

══════════════˚･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･˚═══════════════

The route to Gytheio was treacherous in parts—dry fields and rocky hills as far as the eye could see.

Occasional distant bleating of goats and cries of hawks circling above; the landscape was otherwise eerily quiet.

You paused only briefly to sip from your waterskin or take a nibble of your food stash; heat from the sun of the day and cool reprieve from the moon of the night were your only telling of the passing of time.

Two days...

Two days of walking on foot.

The sandals on your feet—once sturdy—now felt thin, the sharp pebbles on the ground a reminder of how far you've gone.

By the time Gytheio's sprawling port came into view your legs felt like lead. The smell of salt and brine hit you first, strong and stinging after hours of dry dusty air.

The port was alive with movement: fishermen hauling nets, vendors shouting over one another, and travelers haggling for passage aboard ships.

An overwhelming but welcomed cacophony. Much easier to blend in.

Keeping to the edges of the bustling market, you scanned for a ship heading north along the coast until a modest vessel caught your eye.

Its crew was busy loading crates of salted fish and the deck was crowded.

Your heart raced as you approached, the sailor at the gangplank gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering on your skin.

The baggy cloth you wore—a threadbare tunic and trousers that pooled slightly at your ankles—helped mask your figure along with the thick sash tied around your waist to made you look weaker than you were.

It wasn't the first time you'd relied on this disguise. Dressed like this, you were often mistaken for a young boy. You'd learned to wield that misconception to your advantage; using it to move unnoticed or to deflect unwanted attention.

"Need passage?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You nodded. "To the western coast."

He scratched his chin. "Can't promise comfort, but we leave at first light."

"I'll sleep on the deck," you said, glancing toward the ship. "Just get me there."

You handed over the few coins you had snagged before leaving, your fingers trembling as he tucked them into his pouch.

He shrugged and gestured for you to board. "Suit yourself."

The gangplank creaked beneath your feet stepping aboard. It wasn't luxury, but it was freedom.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The ship rocked gently beneath your feet, the rhythmic creaking of its wooden beams blending with the distant cries of seagulls and waves against the hull.

Wind tugged at your loose clothes, the fabric brushing against your skin as the air smelled of salt and damp wood.

You had boarded the ship without incident—unnoticed amidst the soldiers and seasoned travelers.

As the clouds slowly moved across the clear sky, you leaned on the ship's railing, gazing out at the endless stretch of blue sea.

It was then your mind churned with a mix of anticipation and unease. Yes, you knew the plan was reckless.

But the thought of the riches and what they could mean for you and Penelope was too alluring to resist.

If you succeed, you could finally free her from her father's oppressive grip, from the looming threat of a forced marriage.

The vision of a life far from the palace, far from the shadows of power and control was worth the risk.

A burst of laughter drew your attention. Nearby, a group of passengers had gathered, their animated conversation louder than the ship's hum.

Among them was a man with the confident bearing of a King. His armor gleamed under the sun as his voice carried easily over the crash of waves.

"A boar," he says with a smirk. "Athena's test they call it. I thought it might be fun to try my hand at it. What's life without a little danger, eh?"

You recognized him immediately: Iphicles, a minor hero often—overshadowed by his more famous brother Heracles.

Despite his less illustrious reputation, he carried himself with an air of bravado. Almost as if desperate to prove himself.

Before the others could reply a voice flits through the air. "Fun? You mean another chance to fail spectacularly and remind everyone why you're always in your brother's shadow?"

The group's laughter faltered, their expressions shifting to awkwardness and unease. Iphicles's confident smirk hardened into a scowl as he turned toward the source of the comment.

A boy—appearing to be the same age as you—casually leaned against the many crates. His wiry scrawny and unruly dark hair giving him the look of a stray cat that had wandered into the wrong territory.

Yet despite his slight build, he moved with an easy cocky confidence. As if the entire world amused him.

He looked like trouble.

"Who are you to speak?" Iphicles demanded low and dangerously.

The boy grinned, unbothered by the tension. "Oh no one important," he said, shrugging. "Just someone who knows better than to play hero when the odds are stacked against him."

You found yourself watching the exchange with reluctant curiosity. The boy's blunt tongue and the way he seemed utterly unfazed by Iphicles's growing anger caught your attention.

His words, while biting, carried a cleverness that hinted at a mind far sharper than his scruffy appearance suggested.

"You're lucky I have bigger concerns than a whelp like you," Iphicles growled before turning back to his group and moving someplace else on the ship.

An older soldier—more daring and clearly more experienced in battle to not cower before Iphicles—laughed. "You've got a mouth on you. I'll give you that."

The boy shrugged unbothered. "Just calling it like I see it."

Another soldier, a burly man with a scar running down his arm frowned. "Iphicles is still a son of Zeus," the scarred man reminded gruffly.

"And Heracles is still his older brother," the boy countered. "What's your point? That he's good at being second-best?"

The older man laughs once again and claps the boy on the back, his gruff voice carrying a hint of approval. "Careful now. He might just knock you overboard if you keep on smearing his name."

"Then he'll prove my point. Heracles wouldn't waste the effort."

The laughter this time was louder, though some glanced nervously toward where Iphicles was presumably resting.

You frowned. His presence stood out against the hardened warriors around him—his youthful energy, his easy confidence.

"Who's that?" you asked one of the sailors passing by in a forced low voice.

The man glanced toward the boy and snorted. "Some brat of a King from a small island in the Ionian Sea. Says he's here for the challenge, but I'd wager he's more interested in showing off than hunting Athena's beast."

Your stomach tightened at the mention of the Goddess.

You'd been careful not to speak of your true purpose to anyone. The idea of competition hadn't crossed your mind until now.

As if sensing your scrutiny, the boy turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. His grin widened—lazy and wolfish—as he gave you a small nod in greeting.

You stiffened and quickly averted your gaze. Your heart beating faster—not out of fear but out of annoyance.

Of all the people to notice you...it had to be him.

Deciding to move away from the railing, you soon found a quieter spot on the deck near the barrels of supplies and settled onto an overturned crate with a sigh.

The salty breeze tugged at your hair as you stared out at the horizon while trying to gather your thoughts.

"You know," a familiar voice drawled, "it's not polite to stare."

You whip around to find the boy standing a few feet away with his arms crossed.

With him closer you can make out his eye color—well colors. They were...different; a striking blue on the left and warm brown on the right.

His grin was still there, playful and teasing like he knew something you didn't.

"I wasn't staring," you said flatly, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

"Hmm," he hummed, tapping his chin as though considering your words. "Maybe not. But you looked interested. Couldn't help but notice."

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to the waves. "I'm not interested. Go bother someone else."

He chuckled and stepped closer. "Now why would I do that? You're far more entertaining than those louts."

"I'm not."

"That's exactly what someone entertaining would say."

You cross your arms. "You're very annoying you know that?"

"So I've been told." His grin didn't falter, but his gaze flicked to your wrist, where a braided leather bracelet peeked out from your sleeve.

"Nice bracelet," he said, tilting his head as he studied it. "Where'd you get it?"

You immediately yanked your sleeve down and cover it. "None of your business." your tone was harsher now.

"Woah, easy there. Didn't mean to offend."

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression shifting slightly. It wasn't predatory nor was it entirely teasing.

If anything it was...curious.

"You're unusual," he said finally, his tone more thoughtful. "But in a good way. Pretty even...for a boy."

Your head snapped up, your glare hot. He met your gaze with a raised brow and a smirk that dared you to retort.

But when you didn't speak he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. Don't want you throwing me overboard."

He takes a step back and bows theatrically. "Odysseus of Ithaca, Son of Laertes if you must know," he said, his voice dripping with mock grandeur. "And you are...?"

You barely sent a glance out the corner of your eye, still staring out at the open sea. "I don't have one." The lie slipped easily past your lips.

His grin sharpened, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Everyone has a name. But if you want to be Nobody I won't argue. Nice to meet you Nobody."

Without waiting for your response, he turned and walked away, weaving effortlessly through the crowd of sailors and soldiers like he belonged there.

You watched him go, your irritation simmering beneath the surface.

There was something about him—something too clever, too perceptive. You made a mental note to avoid him as much as possible.

Whatever Odysseus of Ithaca wanted, it didn't matter. You had bigger things to focus on—bigger risks to take.

So let him play his games with the others.

There was a test that awaited you. One you wouldn't let anyone—least of all him—get in your way.

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bardic-tales · 3 months ago

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10.21.24: Meet the Character: Bianca Moore.

Meet Bianca Moore, a mesmerizing figure that blends the realms of Final Fantasy 7 and original work bringing together love and devotion that transcends time and space.

👄 Appearance

After Bianca was infused with the S-cells and Jenova cells, she underwent a transformation.She stands five feet tall with an hour-glass figure (36-24-36) and waist length wavy black hair tied with a white (cream) colored ribbon. There are times when she wants to shake it up and appears with wavy brown hair instead. She has glowing indigo eyes with feline-like pupils. Her wings are black (and indigo not pictured above) and can spread to 9.92 feet. She has kept her small fangs and long, slender demon tongue that most of the succubi in the Abyssal Realm has.

Bianca likes to wear light pink lip gloss, as well as ‘elite’ eyeliner, and a smokey eye-shadow. Her face claim is Eliza González.

💫 Powers

All abilities are corrupted and either have either shadow or life draining nature to them. She has spatial, temporal, and reality bending abilities, along with being able to converse with departed souls since she is a celestial being.

At the height of her powers and only with her infusion of Jenova cells, she is able to summon a hypernova. She still has to master this.

NOTE: Weaknesses

Bianca’s abilities are severely corrupted, leading to emotional instability, reduced combat effectiveness, and vulnerability to manipulation. Her powers fluctuate unpredictably due to Jenova’s influence, shadow corruption, and life-draining effects, which impair her focus, endurance, and defensive capabilities.

⚔️ Battle Attire

Bianca wears a tight-fitting biker vest. It’s complemented by tight leather pants, while shiny silver triple-plated spaulders which are covered with Sephiroth’s fallen feathers adorn her black trench coat. A large leather obi with two large belt belts are tied over her trench coat. A black sword frog secures her weapons, including the Solstice great sword on her back and the hilt of the tachi at her hip. She summons the blades of both Solstice and Noctemaris from the space between time and space.

Note: She always wears her ribbon in her hair, as this was given to her by Sephiroth before the Nibelheim Incident. She views it as his last act of sanity before the descent into madness. Along side the ribbon, she wears a leather collar -- black with a chrome heart. This symbolizes both the strength and vulnerability that is at the core of their relationship.

👗 Everyday Attire

Bianca’s every day outfit consists of oversized knitted sweaters, mirrored sunglasses, and open-toed stiletto sandals (or boots if she is in the crater). She often pairs dark beige trousers cinched tightly with a chocolate colored leather belt. Her signature outerwear is her cream-colored trench coat. Her overall every day color palette ranges from white to earthy browns.

#creators club #cc: meet the character / project #oc: bianca moore - ff #ff vii oc #long post

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yukaro353 · 1 month ago

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What are your ATLA poly ships?

I'm back, now hold on to your chairs, there are several of you.

🔥Zuko🪨Toph🥩Sokka

This is a very personal headcanon about the parentage of Toph's daughters. It then evolved into a scenario of these three taking things too far. It doesn't have a pleasant ending in most of the drafts I have archived, but what they experienced was intense and left its mark on them forever.

🗡️Mai🎪Ty-Lee❤️‍🔥Azula

A classic, a relationship that was born in the halls of a school and that took root over the years, unfortunately those roots rotted and the tree gave way under its own weight. For Azula there will never be an explanation that justifies their breakup and for the others there was no way to rescue Azula. Tragic but sweet, a ship that slowly sank.

🌀Katara🪨Toph🪭Suki

They are a combat group that covers each other's backs, cleans each other's wounds and gives each other smiles. They all have their goals and work shoulder to shoulder to achieve them. They could share anything, from the same roof to the same bed.

Their love is like that, unconditional.

🌀Katara🔥 Zuko🌪️Aang

After a hard fight of egos between Zuko and Katara they agreed that making war would not get them anywhere, they both loved Aang and Aang loved them both, they could give in if that allowed them to build a home with the Avatar... Since they both love each other too is a bit greedy, but time (and Aang) make their efforts to guide them to a sweeter path.

🪭Suki🔥Zuko🗡️Mai

This also has a very specific context. Mai's strings have been pulled through the palace and she has found that the heat of her emotions ended up dragging Zuko into a complicated relationship with her most loyal warrior. Mai could have gone down the path of feud and used that against her now husband but... Where would the gain be there? Suki was, after all, valuable in many ways.

🌀 Katara❤️‍🔥Azula🎪 Ty-Lee

An alternate ending where Ty-Lee desperately seeks help to find Azula, wants to lend a hand at all costs, to heal her, and can't think of anyone to ask for help when Mai turns her back on her, Katara is the one who, against her better judgment, offers herself.

⚔️Jet🔥Zuko🕯️Jin

After the war, Zuko takes a step back to clear his head. He is now the Fire Lord and wants to make amends for some of the things he did wrong during his exile, such as properly honoring his uncle and, of course, recovering that sweet smile that illuminated his stay in Ba Sing Se.

Jet was not in his plans, but that's how spirits are, they work in mysterious ways.

🪭Suki🥩Sokka🌕Yue

Yue survived and joined Team Avatar to travel and try to overthrow the Fire Lord, on the way they meet Suki again and well, the drama serves itself: Sokka was kissed by a girl who is not his girlfriend in front of his girlfriend! Yue definitely doesn't want to know about him for a while... But the powerful and beautiful warrior who later joins the team is a different story, Yue can open her heart to her and trust her.

Sokka has to work hard to be forgiven, but he manages to do it, he's not such a bad guy after all.

🪨Toph🌪️Aang🌹On-Ji

This also has a very specific context because it's from another unpublished fic.

With Katara's passing there are so many things that feel disconnected, superfluous, Toph embarks on her own mission to drag Aang along with her to remind him that the world they fought for is worth it, that living for what he has left is right.

She uses everything she thinks is appropriate, even reuniting him with old acquaintances, time alone won't do the job so once the wounds heal perhaps love will spring forth from where blood once oozed.

🔥Zuko🥩Sokka🕯️Jin

Simple, Sokka offered to help his crush find her crush in the Earth Kingdom, things get a little complicated during the trip and Zuko has to sit back and rethink his emotions while Jin just watches them drown in what for her is a glass of water.

🍥🍥🍥

I forgot about the image limit so I had to sacrifice the banner TT

#avatar the last airbender #atla #aang #avatar aang #katara #toph beifong #zuko #suki #sokka #jin #jet #azula #mai #Ty-Lee #princess yue #on ji #gaang

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 2 months ago

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🧛‍♂️Vampires of the Universe

This universe has some truly nightmarish creatures, but few are as chilling—or as significant—as the Great Vampires. Accidentally unleashed during the Dark Times, these creatures were facets of a demonic, malevolent force called the Yssgaroth, and they left chaos and devastation in their wake.

🧬 What Are the Great Vampires?

The Yssgaroth, a demonic conscious entity, created beings of pure horror, each able to take on forms shaped by the fears of those who looked at them. Some saw them as suffocating clouds of smoke, blood-soaked thorns, or 'blind, screaming abominations made of leather wings and shredded muscle.' No matter the shape, one thing remained constant—their power to drain entire planets to feed their insatiable hunger.

The Great Vampires' hypnotic powers could enslave whole civilisations, leaving their victims as nothing more than husks. And with their extreme regenerative abilities, they could easily absorb energy weapons and heal almost any wound.

⚔️ The Eternal War

To combat these monsters, Rassilon waged the Eternal War. He developed bowships specifically designed to target their one known weakness—the heart. Even so, entire worlds were lost, and the cosmos trembled as the Great Vampires and their servants spread terror far and wide. After much sacrifice, the Time Lords finally managed to push them back, sealing the dimensional rift behind them.

🩸 Vampiric Legacy

The Yssgaroth's influence lingers around this universe, manifesting in countless lesser vampiric species—yes, even the folklore of Earth. Rumours swirl that this 'Yssgaroth taint' somehow influenced the regenerative abilities of the Time Lords themselves. Some even say that Rassilon accepted the bite of a Great Vampire... but surely, that's just a rumour.

👻 Still Lurking in the Shadows?

Despite the Doctor's defeat of the last known Great Vampire, some legends suggest the Yssgaroth and its servants are still out there, pressing against the boundaries of our universe, waiting for a moment of weakness. With enough power, that ancient presence could break through once more.

So, as you sleep tonight, remember—the Great Vampires are not entirely gone. They're just... waiting.

(State of Decay et al.)

Whoniverse Facts for Friday by GIL

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

#doctor who #dr who #dw eu #gallifrey #GIL #gallifrey institute for learning #GIL facts #TOTW: Halloween #whoniverse #gallifreyan lore #gallifreyan history

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imkittyjustkitty · 2 years ago

Text

① all that's dead and gone and passed

🔱 — i'd meet the sea ༄ ⠀finnick odair x tribute!reader series ⚔️ 🔖) CHAPTER ONE [two] [three] [four] [five] [six] [seven] [eight]

chapter summary; Your backstory. Growing up in District 10, training for the games, being reaped... And coming home. warnings; unhealthy family dynamics/childhood, knives/weapons, blood & mild wounds, mentions of animal death & reader killing them, missing persons, mentions of reader killing several people, like one swear word A/N; this chapter is just to establish reader's backstory and set up the timing for everything. it's pretty heavy but i don't describe anything too graphically so even if you're a bit squeamish this should be fine!!

The Hunger Games are an entertainment show in all the ways that matter, if anyone plans on surviving them that's how they need to view it. Yes, they serve the purpose they're stated to — they keep the districts at bay, they keep the people's ambitions down and their behaviour in-line — but that's only for the districts.

For the Capitol? When it comes down to it, It's the entertainment event of the year - and a tribute intent on survival needs to treat it like one.

Growing up your mother would teach you how to wield knives and other weapons on the weekends. The memory of losing her brother to the games when she was only 14 and he was only 13 stayed fresh in her mind every time when you were growing up that you'd watch the reaping each year with her, lectures reaching your ears about how one day that would be you, one day you'll be sent off and she'll be damned if you don't make it back.

She'd grip tightly onto your hand every time, almost drawing blood as her nails duck into your soft skin and her hold on you strong.

She would whisper to you in those moments everything about combat she had taught you, mere minutes before each year's reaping she was no longer your mother but rather someone who had known loss and refused to meet it's merciless face yet again. You were not a warrior, you were a soldier who would hang intently onto her every word and order as you would stand with your mother, understanding that in only a few years you would be stood with the other kids your age, waiting to see if you would finally be thrown into the war your mother had been preparing you for.

She treated it like an unavoidable reality, you had been anticipating being reaped your whole life.

Your father on the other hand, saw the games for what they were, entertainment. He'd heard tales passed down generations of family's, friends, brief acquaintances who whispered of the Covey — of the singing girl — how the people of the Capitol latched their claws into her innocent flesh and ate away at her like she was some sort of idol to be held in the limelight and shown off to the world.

Your father understood that what the Capitol wanted was a good show, keep the eyes of their people on the drama and the 'plot'-twists as they punished the descendants of rebels generations after the damage had already been long-since done.

After you'd come home from your mother's training sessions, slight smears of blood grazing along your fingertips and creeping across your warm cheeks, your father would pull you aside as you both would tend to the livestock. He would recall previous tributes, the Covery girl's story always on the tip of his tongue during the lessons, and other young girls who played the part of innocent daughters who were just so excited to be in the Capitol to experience it all - and thus grabbing for the hearts of the Capitol and holding them gently in their grasps. He spoke of the sisters and brothers who simply 'wanted to get back home to their family, please', and who would tear up during their interviews as they recalled all the loving details of their upbringings.

Your father would mention all the facades that tributes tried their desperate hands at, going into detail into every single one and encouraging you to mimic the attributes these children would put on to find any angle that would endear the audiences to themselves.

As you grew, your preparation for The Hunger Games became a second nature. Wake up, feed the cattle, train with your mother, have dinner, practise your act. You were okay with most of the weapons your mother would drop into your hands, you were cool and calculated and never once let it get to you - you hadn't been phased by the fact that this was training for a life-or-death battle since before you'd started middle school.

You and your father had agreed on an act you both had labelled 'The Capitol's Misplaced Jewel', he described it to you like a needle in a haystack. A young farm-raised child that embodied everything that the Capitol citizens would imagine a District 10 citizen to be like, thick accent, crooked smile, but a twinkle in their eyes, all the attributes of a kid who'd grown up in a place where they'd early-on had to learn how to snap a chicken's neck — but without those details, no-one would root for you if they thought you were anything but the digestible image they'd created in their uneducated little heads. You would play the part of a young child who yearned for the glitz and glamour of a world that felt just so tragically out of reach.

And then you turned 12.

Your first proper reaping felt like the end of worlds, you stood among your peers perfectly still. You waited, for your name to be called, to be sent off to the Capitol to do what you'd been taught to do, at twelve years old you closed your eyes for a moment and waited for the rapture, knowing deep down that this was your moment.

And then it all went back to normal, exactly one day went by where it was like you were a five year old just helping out on your family's farm again — and then it was back to the training and acting practice.

Your father was relieved — but even then at only twelve, you could see the confliction in your mother's eyes. She'd given you all of her time and energy to train you to survive something she was so sure you'd get reaped into as soon as you were of age... And yet?

This repeated the next year. It was like the world had ignored your call, forgetting what you were meant for and just dropping you on the side-lines without a care.

Your mother left the next year when you yet again failed to be reaped. She left in the night with almost sign of her departure, not even a note, just a brand new knife stabbed into your bedside table and an air of injustice sweeping through your home that was now only shared between you and your father.

Year after year you were denied your passage to the Capitol.

You stopped waiting for it, you stopped staying up late at night wishing for your name to be plucked out of the signature glass bowl. You moved on.

18 years old and still you lived in the same old farm-house with your same old life that seemed to never change with the tides.

You remember the day vividly - something you're not used to being able to do anymore — you remember the scratch of the over-all's you'd worn to every reaping since you were sixteen, the collared shirt you'd borrowed from your father sticking to your rough skin in the dry summer air as you slowly moved with the flow of other District 10 citizens to the town hall.

You hadn't been listening, well aware of the safety net you'd been granted that seemed to decide you would be free of the games forever.

And then several of your classmates were pushing you away, towards the makeshift stage in front of the town hall. Your eyelids were heavy and confused as the peacekeepers had grabbed you by both your arms and practically dragged you up to the podium.

A man was talking to you, his skin was pale and paper-thin, makeup caked on his slim body and an air of superiority that made you view him as a seventy year old who'd just taken his first dose of morphling and had yet to experience the actual effects — the paper-bag of a man looked like he felt he was above it all, and you bet he felt like such a charitable person for lifting you up to there with him.

The other tribute was fourteen years old and rather good at pretending they weren't scared shitless — you were pretty sure you'd never seen them before in your life.

Your goodbyes consisted of your father reminding you of your 'ditzy farm-raised persona' and how you should act as them. You didn't know how to feel about that at that point, the act you and your father had curated fit a small chubby-cheeked wide-eyed twelve year old, not the hardened closed-off eighteen year old you'd grown into.

One other person came to say goodbye, an old woman who you were pretty sure had been an enemy of your mother's after she had taken too long to find the right amount of hay one winter's day.

She simply reached out to you and held your hand, nodding to herself more than to you. The moment was silent, until you'd grown suffocated by her presence and pushed the frail woman away. She smelt like your mother, she probably thought like her too, probably only came to wish you luck because of some guilt she had felt in the past.

You didn't help her back up after she'd tripped over the carpet and hit the ground harshly, but you didn't kick her while she was down.

You found yourself wishing that your mother would join you for one last time, and perhaps even sneak a knife into your pocket for good measure.

She never did of course, she was long gone and you knew it.

Stepping out of the town hall towards the train that would be your ticket to the Capitol was easy for you, you felt a déjà vu that told you you were doing what you had meant to be doing in all those years prior.

Everything from there was crystal clear, from the chariots to your interview to every single moment spent in the arena. You remember every single kill, everything you said, every gasp you elicited from disgusted Capitol members during your three minute interview with Caesar Flickerman. You had dropped the idea of the farm-girl act, you were eighteen and looked even older — not a single person would believe you to be a bright-eyed bushy-tailed girl who just dreamed to indulge in the glitz and glamour of the Capitol.

No, you had the rough blistered hands of someone who could be gossiped to be a cold-blooded murderer back home and people would believe it, the sunken eyes that should belong on the face of a worn-out single mother who refuses to let go of her dwindling hope. You were a ghost of who you were meant to be, so you took a different angle in curating a Hunger Games Persona.

You told Caesar the detailed story of the first time you'd had to kill an animal, staring right into a camera lens or right into his bright eyes. You fabricated a story of countless friends you had lost due to your violent inclinations, of your yearning for blood. The Capitol hated you, they were your villain, the one everyone wanted gone.

But you were the one who refused to 'just die already!', who in turn took up a considerable amount of screen-time just for the shock-value of it all.

You'd struck up an alliance with your district partner — Aleks — they turned out to be somewhat capable with tracking setting traps. You immediately 'befriended' them, noticing the merit in having a sort of ally by your side would up your chances of survival.

You spent 2 days in the arena with them, they grew to trust you, you were almost like an older sibling figure to them. You didn't make that mistake, of forming an attachment to someone who was only one of the pieces in the puzzle that would get you to winning the games. Their back had been turned to you as they walked carefully in front of you, their assumption being that the two of you were searching for food. You drove a dagger right through their chest and could practically hear the cries of indignation flying from Capitol citizens' mouths.

Winning the 68th Annual Hunger Games, to you, was inevitable — it had to happen — it was what you were always meant to do.

You had heard wind at one point of some Capitol citizens protesting against your victor's tour, but when you stood in front of the crowd of all the colourful people, they cheered. You were their ugly duckling, someone who's name would be mentioned followed by a statement of 'I can fix them'. You'd even heard of the odd citizen who found you morbidly attractive in a sense, dedicated fan clubs flocking to your bloodied feet with giddy squeals.

You were spared the 'opportunity' of staying in the Capitol, no matter how crazed your 'fans' were, they were few and a bit of a guilty pleasure that Capitol citizens mostly hid, the larger population lightheaded with fear at the mere possibility of you walking their streets.

You returned home to find your father dead and your childhood home shattered, years of life lost to ruin.

And so, with your past all but burnt to the ground and your purpose fulfilled, you supposed the victor's village became a sort of tomb.

But it seems even the dead don't get to rest, not with the third annual quarter quell stalking right around the corner.

series taglist: @universal-s1ut @stitch-lele @starrgirl4444 let me know if you want to be added or removed!

#finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick odair #hunger games x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x you #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #hunger games finnick #hunger games fic #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games fandom #i'll be a leading lady if i get my shot — my writing

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catiuskaa · 2 years ago

Note

Bestie, am taking revenge :D (not really)

Dropping here to make your fist request too! Let's do the same idea and see what happens :3

Bang Chan flirty rivals/crushes to lovers + dancing

Let's see how it works :]

Bring it on babes >:]

Level up: fencing for dummies.

sum. soulmates don’t exist, but why are all these corny memories suddenly in your head, and why is your rival the main character?

wc. 3.7K

cw. soulmate AU (past life kinda deal but it's a mess) mentions of anxiety, swords, swearing, angst if you blink too fast, technical fencing lingo (explained).

[☆☆⚔️☆☆]

Like a punch in the gut, almots and you couldn’t hold back the need to curse.

Shit. That didn't feel good. What did this even mean?

You sighed, getting angry at yourself. Was it already? Would this be the time that, like your pent-up anxiety sometimes whispered, the day you would finally go down in history as the world’s biggest idiot?

Close, but not just yet. Let’s get back to when the disaster initiated.

You shook your head sideways, shoving unwanted thoughts about the person in front of you to someplace far away in your mind, wanting to fight without emotions taking the best of you. You put back on your fencing helmet.

Striking the straightest pose your back could handle, you faced your rival.

Christopher Bang. ‘Chan’ for his mates.

Fencing, top class. Majored in music, again, top class in most of the career’s subjects. At 23, he played more instruments than you could remember, and between his job (one that you hadn’t found out) and fencing, you’ve heard he still produces music on the side with some people.

Yeah. But you didn’t care much. Nope.

You disliked the man. Why? He was rich. Stick-stuck-up-in-his-ass level of rich. And he used it. Not like you could prove it, but you still believed that he, along with the other wealthy members of the old fencing club, were paying for victories to the referees in competitions.

No wonder they were all so nice to him.

You couldn’t complain about it, though. These people had basically sustained the entire club for years, and, surprise surprise, there was no way you could pay for the expenses the club required. The coach could think likewise, but when Chan was named, he would always pick his side and run away before you could even react.

To be honest, Chan wasn’t your favourite person.

You hated his cockiness, how he teased and invaded your personal space, wandering about and spitting whatever thought he could come up with. It was much easier to not pry on why he annoyed you, not wanting to know if he just bothered you because he could, meaning that making him stop would be thrice as tough.

Or worse, that he hated your guts. Unfair from your side, ok, but when you first met, you were stupidly hoping to acquire a solid friendship, someone you could count on to have your back, someone whose skills you admired. It felt like a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie. Banter and teasing lines were thrown, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you, but when you saw a pretty girl entering the locker rooms with him that day, your heart cracked a bit.

He made you remember that whatever could happen between you two, he could make it happen in a flash with anybody, anytime. He had all the money and skills anyone could wish for.

And he knew it.

“Scared I might pinch you, buttercup?” He said, his helmet resting on his head and striking more of a suggestive pose than a defensive stance.

“I’d suggest you watch out. I might just stick this sword up your refined ass, Mr Bang,” you snickered, not sounding as playful as he had, the nickname rolling off your tongue before you could rethink it.

Chuckling, he prepared his pose, sword ready for any attack or defence when he nodded to the referee, ready to start.

Seungmin signalled, and the combat started. Sounds of the material of the swords clicking reverberated in the old building, along with the others from the remaining fights other students were having.

You tried looking for weak spots, aiming here and there in hopes of finding something, when instead, he grinned, a Chesire-like smile on his features as the tip of his épée touched your ribs.

Fuck.

Before you could notice, you were already falling behind.

“13-12. Next round,” Seungmin stated, waiting for both of you to return to your positions.

You stood as calmly as you could in fourth position as he came to attack right after signalled, surprising enough for you to be too late.

Or so he thought, because for some reason, through the masks that protected your faces, he felt your stare burn right into him.

Moving turned to a less crucial problem because the criminal violence that was suddenly happening in his body made Chris extremely confused and awkwardly flustered. He could picture those so-called ‘butterflies’ people often talked about being destroyed by some flamethrowers.

That’s the intensity I’m talking about.

With him frozen, you stopped for a second, wondering if he could’ve stepped wrong or if something had happened. You wouldn’t play an unfair fight just for the sake of mere decency. You felt a deep sensation trailing up and down your body, which awakened you enough to counterattack.

“Match point,” the referee managed to add.

Seungmin was perplexed, to say less. He had been a referee on several duels between you two and separately and never had seen such a quick build-up of a mysterious tension that magically appeared out of the blue. It was no secret to you, one of his closest friends in the club, that he was 100% sure you’d end up befriending Chris, but this?

Damn, he was proud of his intuition. Something was happening, and he had first-row seats!

“Hey, you ok?” You murmured low enough for Seungmin to not notice, approaching Chan just for him to realize how close you were and blush right away.

“D-duh.” He mumbled. You frowned.

Seungmin gave Chan a look before starting the following round. You couldn’t miss how his attacks looked weaker, his defence opening in front of you like a walk-in closet, his overall control getting smaller and smaller.

“13-14.”

You were… actually? Scratch that. You couldn’t really word it, but an anxious feeling crept inside you.

You were winning. Against Mr Bang Chan.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? No teasing, no flirty comments? He couldn’t… no, he wouldn’t just let you win, right?

That would be an ugly ass move from his side.

But unbeknownst to you, his side dealt with plenty of other issues.

Sudden flashes of unlived memories with a certain someone popped into his head.

“Your hair is so soft…”

“Can I sit on your lap till you’re done…?”

“You’re so beautiful it's breathtaking.”

“What’s a place like this doing around a pretty boy like you?”

“Shh, you’re safe, my love. You’re strong, plus I’m with you, and I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not a delicate flower, c’monnn…! Kiss me like you mean it.”

“Uh?” His eyes almost watered, equally astonished as scared, because what were those memories? How could they be there?

“Did something happen?” You whispered, baffled as to why he had lost all the cockiness in his manner and tone, sounding defenceless, like a small child.

“N-no? I think I just…”

Chris froze. What was he going to say? ‘Hey, I know you sorta hate my guts, but I suddenly feel like you’re the love of my life…?”

Because that sounded perfect. He almost snickered. What the fuck was going on?

“Guys,” Seungmin interrupted with a warning tone.

He hated to be that guy, but flirting in front of the building owner and the coach wouldn’t look too great on the club’s side.

You and Chan stepped out of the tense bubble that formed around you. Quickly, you took off your protective gear and smiled warmly at the two persons.

Chris’ chest tightened, his heart skipped a beat.

Since when did he find you… so…?

“Cute.” He whispered, before realizing his surroundings and quickly taking off his helmet too.

“Good morning,” Coach greeted kindly, to which you both smiled. “I’m guessing both of you have already met Mrs Delaney.”

“Of course, Mike.” She smiled, small wrinkles appearing in her eyes. “Glad to see you fencing.”

You felt a stone on your stomach when you quickly noticed how she stared at Chris, much different to when she looked at you. You hated that.

Chan smiled awkwardly. The last thing he needed right now was someone who looked at him like a sexy, filled-to-the-brim bank account. Fuck that.

“Is there any reason as to why you’re here?” Seungmin questioned, curious.

Mrs Delaney smiled. “ I was speaking to Mike about organizing a fencing competition as fundraising. It’s getting trickier to maintain this building, plus it could attract more members to the club. And you two are the star athletes, so what do you think?”

You blinked, surprised that she had acknowledged your presence and valued it as much as your opinion. It was evident she was there for the money, but let’s be realistic. You would do something similar in her situation.

“I’m up for it. That sounds fun.” You simply stated, not wanting to annoy the woman with anything else so she wouldn’t stare at your soul meanly again.

Chan gave you a look, then shrugged. “Why not. But I think that the more the merrier, so why not put up an add?”

Mrs Delaney’s eyes sparkled. “Such an inteligent young man. I’ll make one right away.”

Coach and her eventually left, but you felt a shiver run up and down you back when her last words before exiting were “See you next week, good luck!”

“Not to throw anyone under the bus, but I’m not the one explaining that to the rest of the club,” Seungmin flew away.

“Good luck then, Mr Bang!” You laughed teasingly as you left with your friend.

[☆ ☆⚔️☆☆]

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m telling you, either he stubbed his toe with thin air or his muscles were cut with an invisible thread,” he slurped his noodles, concentrating on his explanation.

Kim Seungmin wouldn’t need to go to military service because he sure served in every scenario in his life.

“Guys like Chan don’t just freeze during a fight, girl. I’m surprised you’re not all ‘panties in a bunch’ about it.”

You deadpanned. “Ok, gross. One more of those, and I’ll puke my fried chicken.”

“But actually, why, though? Do you owe me money?” He grinned.

“You owe me. I’m winning that bet cause there’s no way in hell that Chan and I can get along. But, just look at him.”

Seungmin turned around shamelessly, staring at the dining table Chan’s friend group had picked. He was laughing at some joke you hadn’t caught, allowing you to notice his dimples. Cute.

Another intense shiver gave you chills.

"If that's supposed to be a hate stare, I'm going to start thinking my landlord is in love with me," Kim laughed cruelly.

"What? Shut up! Your landlord is such a bitch, don't even try." You threw bread crumbs at him, giggling. "Besides, me, in love with him?" You couldn't hold back looking at him again, in some way that felt different than before, and perhaps it would be the first time of many because you liked what you saw. The man's beautiful brown eyes focused on you, his brown hair naturally curly for a change, a bit shorter, enough so that exposed the white and sensitive skin of his neck, and although from the angle where you were standing, you couldn't see him fully, you felt amazed.

Shutting down. Rebooting.

"I mean, look at the way he slurps up his soup. What an asshole."

[☆ ☆⚔️☆☆]

The competition had arrived before you could notice. Several members had signed in, and the crowd felt bigger than on its opening day. You sighed, nervous. The semi-finals were today, so of course, several curious people would pop their heads to see what all the noise was for. For even more spice to your mood, your opponent wasn't 'Mr Bang' yet, but someone who was even more unbearable than him.

Lee Soomun.

He had no discernible personality, but if you had to say anything about him, the only thing that made him stand out from the rest of the rich gang is that the stick up his ass would probably be the thickest.

You tightened your fist around your épée, the fencing sword, and stared at it blankly.

"Hey, you are up next," A guy named Felix mentioned, his voice as deep as anyone could imagine. "Go there and make him shut his stupid ass mouth for once."

You high-fived him. "You bet."

Getting out of the locker room, a silhouette suddenly appeared in your way.

You sighed. "Do you mind?"

He smiled sheepishly, showing his stupidly cute dimples. "Mind? In my mind? You, all day, all night."

You weren't sure if that made sense or not. You frowned. "Well, I fucking mind." You almost walked past him when he grabbed your arm in a gentle yet decisive move.

"Don't get your eyes off his grip, Yun."

You were frozen. The fact that your surname had been mentioned by him, who you doubted even cared enough to remember... only his cold tone made you wake up again. You scoffed, shrugging him off in hopes to regain your lost focus.

"I know how to fence, dummy, but thanks for the pro tip."

He stared at your back as you walked away.

"Oh, fresh meat,” your opponent greeted.

Lee Soomun.

You may dislike Chan, but this guy was even worse.

"How many points should I let you have so you get your hopes up?" His snicker could've made you sick. "Seven? Nine? Oh, maybe you've never reached so many points in one fight..." He gave you a condescending look that was so infuriating. "Let's agree on six, then."

Fuck. Breathe in, breathe out.

The referee settled on his place, and you both stood en guarde.

The fight started. You weren’t holding back, you were trying your best right from the start.

But it just wasn’t working.

You were on your second minute-long break, and if the score didn’t change in three minutes…

“10-6”

Then you were going to lose. Game over.

The referee called you back to your spots. You felt pressure on your shoulders, the grip in your épée felt weak, and the mask felt heavy.

“Yun!”

Your body stiffened. You looked towards the source of the sound, confused to see Chris, who was entering his last round for the day.

What? Chan couldn’t just forget that screaming in a fencing fight was considered really rude.

But his raspy voice that said your surname so differently from others had made you aware and catious of your surroundings, his words repeating in your head.

What could he have noticed that was important enough for him to say it?

You shook your head sideways, in hopes of getting out of your anxious state and slowing down your heart rate. The referee called you up again, and you faced your opponent again.

“I told you. No more than six. So be good, yeah?” His tone made you feel repulsively small. You hated it.

You stood en guarde when suddenly you felt a stare piercing into you. It made your entire body shiver, and the rush was so intense you couldn’t even think about the fight anymore.

You felt heat hit you in your face, and the sudden intense emotions made you too dizzy to react before Soomun’s sword was right in front of you.

And just when you thought you had almost seen it touch your chest-

Wait, what?

It… didn’t.

You moved suddenly, facing the scoreboard.

Why did it score?

“But I wasn’t touched,” you whispered.

He laughed, a rather menacing sound coming from him.

And in that moment, something clicked. That’s what Chris was trying to tell you before.

He had a rigged épée.

You see, with electric épée fencing, which was the chosen one for the competition, scoring is done in the following manner: the tip of the épée has a push button on it with wiring that, when combined with the wiring on the body cord and box of the opponent, would form a circuit, which would then signal that a hit has occurred. But what Soomun had probably done was to rig his épée so that he could close the circuit himself. But how…?

"Don't get your eyes off his grip, Yun."

Of course.

He probably had some pressure-related device hidden in the grip of his épée whenever he would appear as though he got close enough to an opponent to register a hit then it would count as a hit.

He was cheating.

“12-6.”

And he was fucking winning.

Anger stroke you through your veins. You couldn’t deal with is. You weren’t going to lose against some cheater, you didn’t care who was going under the bus because of him because it wouldn’t be you.

That was your motto during the fight, but then, weird memories started appearing in your head.

“Mmm... your hands are warm."

"You're such a tease..."

"I'm not flirting... or am I?"

"I really can't get you out of my head."

"Kiss me."

"If you stick your tongue at me again, you might as well be prepared to use it."

"Who did this to you?"

The confusion hit you hard, an impulse making you shiver in a sudden motion.

"12-7."

You had scrunched your eyes in hopes of understanding what was going on in your head. You opened them in a sudden motion.

You had fucking scored? Holy shit. Holy shit!

You smiled, feeling the anxiety's pressure lighten on your shoulders, a piercing stare that could have burned holes in your mask, not even having any sort of effect over it.

"You had one instruction."

You couldn't see his expression because of the mask on his face, but solely his voice made you tremble.

No. It wasn't anxiety now.

That thing you were feeling as soon as the next round started was pure fear.

And it was seconded when not only was he one point away from winning but, when in a dirty move, he made you stumble in your stance, faking another touch.

"15-7."

You felt a sharp pain in your chest, the bitter taste of knowing you had lost because the contrary cheated felt worse than ever. The match had ended.

Game over.

You both had to step out of the competition place together. He took his mask off and smiled gently.

"Does it hurt?" He asked in a mocking tone.

Asshole. He had gotten closer on purpose, which made you stumble in the first place.

"Not as much as how it must hurt your mother to feel your disgusting presence." You murmured, a sentence filled with poison.

He frowned, angry again. "I'll fucking kill you. I'll fucking kill you. I'll fucking murder your face, fuck you."

But suddenly, he took a quick glance behind you to just tsk and smile a cruel, dirty-rotten smile. "Have fun!"

Fuck him. Fuck him.

You walked back to the most hidden corner of the locker room. Everyone was outside, probably celebrating with whoever they believed would be the champion of tomorrow's finals.

Then, the door opened quietly. A silhouette with broad shoulders approached your sulky corner in small steps and silently sat close to you. You hugged your knees close to your chest, tearing up silently, feeling somewhat mocked.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked in the softest, most soothing tone you've heard in a while.

You turned to face him with red, watery eyes that made Chris' heart tighten in his chest.

Instead of doing what his heart was screaming, he had to ask again.

"Do you want me out?"

When there was no response, he sighed and stood, ready to let you cope however you wanted, respecting your decision.

But he hadn't walked even two steps to the door when he felt a hand on his forearm, your sobbing not silent anymore.

"You won't laugh, right?" You whispered in between your cries.

His presence had felt like a sun ray shining through a snowstorm. Just by standing close to you, his sweet tone of voice almost lulling you to sleep, he made everything suck less.

Fuck, since when were you both so screwed?

He held you close, in the warmest embrace you had felt in a long time, so much that it allowed you to break into pieces in his arms, knowing that just by his side, you would be able to reassemble.

"It's ok, you're safe now. I'm so proud of you." Chris didn't know what to say, his hand mechanically running calming strokes through your hair.

After you had calmed down, still in the same position, you mustered your courage to ask what had been on your mind for a while.

"Why did you tell me about his rigged sword? And why be here, with me crying in some old locker room?"

Chan sighed. "I know... we have never been close, but I still worry about you. Maybe I have that because I always have taken care of my sister, but I care about everyone that I love." He shrugged, and you blinked.

God, a fucking sister. Of course. You felt so stupid.

He continued. " I thought you would've done the same if it was me, and I would have wanted to know. No one deserves to be left alone, princess." He explained, the nickname rolling off his tongue before he could rethink it.

You snuggled closer to him in a silent motion. He smiled sheepishly as he kissed the top of your forehead.

He gently swiped away your tears.

"I suck."

"You certainly do not, princess. It's not bad to cry. It proves how strong you have been." He said, tracing soft shapes on the back of your hand until he raised it and kissed your palm. You left it there, cupping his cheek, poking his dimple when he smiled. You smiled too.

"Princess, I think...?"

You interrupted him and gave him a small peck on his lips. You laughed as he stared at you wide-eyed. You grabbed his hand and stood, but he just kept looking at you from below.

"Get up, silly."

He smiled, grateful that you had cheered up.

"Is this kidnapping?" He joked.

"No. Let me grab my stuff and get changed."

"I'm scared."

You giggled. "You should be. I'm taking us both on a date."

"Where?"

"At this time, I would just go to my roommate's dance studio... care to join?"

He smiled, kinda excited. "If you insist..."

[☆ ☆⚔️☆ ☆]

~Kats, who is currently procrastinating five different projects, all due this week.

@iszaranothere because your absolute genius prompt list came right through a block like idek but tysm it made me laugh a lot T-T<3

P.D I KNOW THERE IS NO DANCING BUT YK LETS COUNT THE SWORD FIGHT AS A CHOREO + HC THAT THEY DANCED IN THE DATE LIKE IK IK BUT IT WAS TOO LONG ALREADY I STILL HOPE YOU LIKE IT THO

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #soft hours #bang chan #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz soft thoughts #answered #first ask #chris bang #skz bang chan

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silverselfshippingchaos · 1 month ago

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I wanna smooch f.elix

#ash rambles 💚#heart-to-heart combat ⚔️#that's it thats the post #it's like 2am cut me some slack #f.elix pretty..#been with him the longest out of all my f/os and hehe my feelings are still so strong all these years later #save me handsome sword boy save me #it's always so cute to me how he's so pricky and ash is all sunshiney and he's just soooo in love #hdjehdnwjdn f.elix..

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ariellewm · 10 months ago

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Character Profile: Prince Edlin Silverleaf, The Moon Prince of Nem Naalore

!! Note: Please do not use my character for roleplaying or fanfiction. (with the exception for Ycey Narrates). He is still a developing character. If you wish to draw him out, please contact me for more information !!

"Those dazzling eyes of yours. Why, even under the moonlight, turly its like gazing into a galaxy of stars. Now, what's bothering my star?" - Prince Edlin from "Under the Moonlight" Part 1

Full Name: Prince Edlin Amadeus Silverleaf

Aliases/Other Titles: Moon Prince of Nem Naalore, The Silver Prince, The Clumsy Elf (from his beloved)

Gender: Male

Race: Elf

Age: 20

Height: 6'1 ft (185cm)

Eye Color: Amethyst

Hair Color: Snow, long length sometimes in loose braids

Skin Color: Soft Beige

🌛💫About/Backstory💫🌛

With the great war between humans and elves coming to an end, King Lafvan and Queen Saevanna decided it was time to bring a child into the new world. Edlin, however, was very weak when he was born. He was barely breathing and had very pale skin. If it were not for the mysterious maiden that Saevanna allowed to heal the child, Edlin would not be part of this world. No one, not even the Moon Queen herself, knew what ancient powers the maiden possessed. And so Edlin was raised just like any ordinary elven boy throughout the years.

Edlin, while still learning his place as Moon Prince of Nem Naalore, took a liking in swordsmanship. As a youngling, he learned from his uncle and learned everything that he knew. When his uncle wasn’t around, he had others teach him. His uncle would even send him swords, which sparked a new hobby in collecting swords, which Saevanna didn’t like the influence Lafvan’s brother was having on her only son. His sword play would be limited as he still had to learn prince etiquette and the lectures Saevanna scheduled. Edlin, however, would still sneak off during those lectures, riding upon his great albino elk, Cloud, into the forests.

The elf had shown great connections with humans, especially with the sun princess of Sol Estrela. He was first introduced to the human princess when both royal families wanted for them both to promote peace amongst humans and elves. Over time, this friendship blossomed, and they became close.

However, elves, at the age of twenty, begin to slowly age. This is why elves don’t normally bear many children due to this revelation that Edlin discovers from the sun princess. It would prevent their relationship from growing further. So, they would keep their relationship a secret from their families.

💜🌌Personality🌌💜

Edlin is a kind-hearted, charming elf. Many female elves have gawked over his friendly personality, most especially his good looks. Royal lines from around the continent (even beyond the shores) wanted to marry off their elven daughters to the resilient moon prince of Nem Naalore, but he had refused every contract with the other kingdoms.

He's been known on many occasions for helping Naalorians in the kingdom. He’s brave, going off against dangerous monsters that invade his home (most of the time he gets assistance from his friends or palace guards). His mother, Saevanna, gets worried every time he runs off to assist his people that he may not return. But he does come back, ruining his princely wardrobe every time.

The elf is clumsy, often falling off his great, large elk Cloud or being around the love of his life, the human princess of Sol Estrela. He trips, falls, and stumbles. He almost broke his back once when falling off the princess’ balcony one night after the Sunset Gala; however, he was just overreacting that one time when he did (it wasn’t that large of a fall).

🦌⚔️Abilities⚔️🦌

Swordsmanship – Skilled in sword fighting in combat. Edlin owns a large collection of handcrafted swords, from scimitars to long swords to short swords. He switches them out occasionally, to be sharpened and placed back upon the wall until switched out again. He prefers to have one sword in hand; however, his kind is known to duel with two swords instead of one.

Darkvision – Edlin can see through the darkly lit forests and caves. This has proven to be useful when returning to the Moon Palace or searching through the dark forest for lost creatures.

Heightened Senses – The elven prince has keener senses compared to humans. He is graceful on his feet (most of the time) in dueling and has excellent eyesight.

Riding – He rides not only horses but also great elks. Cloud was taken in as a calf after its mother abandoned it in the rain one night. Both bonded, and Edlin would ride upon him every sunrise and sunset for his “walks”. Edlin also likes to give Cloud treats after riding, such as sugar cubes (which he shouldn’t have, but Edlin gives it to him anyways, seeing as it has no effect on him) or special tree leaves he’s gathered in the forests.

Understanding of Creatures/Talking with Beasts – Although this doesn’t work on all animals, he can speak and comprehend all sorts of creatures, such as his elk Cloud. His mother found Edlin’s ability to be useful when having him get serpents and other reptiles out of her gardens, as she hates scaly reptiles.

⭐Concept Art⭐

Artwork by Shio

📖Stories✏️

🌙 Under the Moonlight Series 🌌

Part 1

Part 2

SFW Valentine's Day Special Headcanon

Summertime with the OC's

More Stories TBA

Inspired Spotify Playlist: TBA

Inspired YouTube Playlist: TBA

#elf oc #original charcter #oc #elf prince #my oc stuff #my ocs #under the moonlight #elf #sun moon and stars #moon #fantasy writer #writers life #writer

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clumsydragon28 · 7 months ago

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Let's bring back fun ask culture one ask at a time! 😁 ❤️

The last popular ship you drew/wrote/thought about is fighting the last rare pair you drew/wrote/thought about! 😱

Who's winning?!💪

Sensing good vibes frienddddd! 🎇

Hello friend ❤️

So, I have not written anything that isn’t Shikajin or a rare pair in a very long time so…gonna do this a bit differently hehe

Instead of two couples fighting, let’s talk about what would happen is Shikadai and Inojin fought eachother 🤭

To answer that, I will include a little snip from my pirate au 🏴‍☠️

So before Shikadai could utter a single word after crawling his way up onto the ship, Inojin sprinted across the deck, sword drawn, and clashed weapons with his secret lover.

After all, who doesn’t love a little foreplay?

He felt Shikadai push back with his steel fan, an annoyed expression gracing his otherwise beautiful features.

“Inojin! This was not part of the plan.”

Inojin gave away no hint of remorse as he shrugged his shoulders in response.

“Your plan was good, but I couldn’t help noticing a few flaws. So, I felt the need to improvise.”

Inojin jumped back to slash his sword at the other. The ringing of metal hitting metal echoed throughout the air. He heard Chocho in the background command her crew to hold their stations, confident in her first mate’s abilities just as Inojin knew she would be. He then lunged back in to cross arms with Shikadai once more.

“After all, we’re enemies, remember? Don’t you think it’s about time we acted like so?”

At that, Shikadai leaned in more, his breath hot and sticky against Inojin’s face. Being this close in combat, he could make out more clearly the grease paint surrounding those emerald green eyes. He loved how the makeup accentuated their shape. Whereas Inojin’s were large and round, Shikadai’s were more oval and almond shaped. Inojin imagined that if the sirens he’d heard tales of were truly to exist, their beauty could not be half as much as the man standing before him.

Inojin had to consciously bring his thoughts back to the fight lest his body betray his true motives. Unfortunately for him however, Shikadai was much more astute than his crewmates and had noticed the change in Inojin’s demeanor.

The smirk he shot sent a ripple down Inojin’s spine.

“You want to give them a show, huh? Well then. Let’s give ‘em a show.”

To find out who wins the fight, you can read the whole fic here ⚔️

#thanks for the ask spell 🥰#shikajin #shikadai x inojin #shikadai #inojin #fanfiction #ask game

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naeverse · 4 months ago

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Fortis Et Liber (2/2)

A/N: Hi everyone, here is the second and final part of, 'Fortis et Liber.' The love expressed for this story has been greatly appreciated so I hope you all enjoy the conclusion of it. Also...I might have something in the makings for you guys so...stay tuned. 😏

👑⚔️staring: Kingsguard!Miguel x Fem!princess Reader

🔷 Preview: You were the future of Valoria, and he was but a Kingsguard sworn to protect you—the very duty he had accepted when he was given his cloak.

His hidden desires and thoughts for you needed to cease.

They must…

You gulped, almost missing his suggestion. Nodding slowly, you drew his blade away from his throat, setting it on the grass nearby; but you found yourself incapable of moving from the spot atop him.

Yet, despite your constant fascination, he seemed to have a new glow to him—a glow that made you meet his conflicted amber orbs, and your own eyes to flood with desire.

“I-I believe…I deserve a reward for my victory, Sir Miguel,”

💎tw/cw: Age Gap, Body Worship, Cockbulge, Class differences, Cunnilingus, Desperation, First time (kinda), Forbidden love, Oral Sex, Outdoors Sex, Power Difference, Virgin Y/N

🪻Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Mi Amor (my love), Alteza (Your highness), Princesa (princess)

💙 Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

💜 Word Count: 7.9k

The first part of Fortis et Liber >> Click here

I have no doubt that I can take you, Sir Miguel.”

The statement was utter idiocy; no guard, being, or man of their right wits would challenge Sir Miguel O’Hara, Valoria’s Kingsguard and royal guard willingly, and yet, here you were doing so.

You couldn’t help feeling brave for saying such a thing, but also like a fool, already seeing your future with you on the ground just like the rest of Sir Miguel’s past opponents.

Miguel eyed you for a mere moment, wondering if he’d misheard your words.

‘A challenge with the Princess of Valoria? A sword fight, no less?’ The idea was not only audacious but foolish to agree to. The mere thought of a speck of dust tarnishing your dress was enough to worry the Kingsguard, let alone a fight aimed at victory.

The Latino Kingsguard rested a hand on his sword hilt, mirroring your stance subconsciously. An amused smile graced his normally scowling lips despite his reluctance about the duel. “I admire your courage and confidence, my lady, but my duty is to protect you, not to harm you in any way,” he said with a grin, tapping his metal thumb on the pommel of his sheathed blade.

“And I stand by my words. I taught you the basics, alteza. The techniques I’ve shown you are the most rudimentary of what the royal guards learn. There’s a vast chasm between the knowledge I possess and what you’ve acquired without my tutelage,” he continued, stepping closer to you.

The natural scent of grand berries and flowers enveloped his senses—an aroma he secretly adored. As anticipated, his words made your beautiful eyes roll in irritation.

“Why must you always see me as the Princess of Valoria?” you asked with a sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, causing your bosom to push up over the collar of your dress. “There is no one here, Sir Miguel.” You gestured to emphasize the empty clearing of grass and trees.

“The Kingdom is a horseback ride away, and here, in this clearing, Sir Miguel,” you said, stepping closer to him and looking up to meet his eyes.

“Here, I’m simply Y/N.”

The smirk that spread across your lips stirred something in Miguel—different from the usual interest he felt when you made contact or brushed too closely. This smirk wasn’t of the princess he’d always known; for once, he believed he’d caught a glimpse of Y/N…

The sight made his heart race and his gauntlet hand grip the hilt of his sword. As if enchanted, Miguel said something he would never have said before to his princess.

“Fine, draw your sword, Your Grace.”

The words slipped from his mouth, and before he could retract them, he saw the huge grin that overtook your face.

Never had he seen you beam so brightly as when he offered to be your first opponent—the first person to challenge your skills.

Mierda, what a monster he would be to take away that happiness from you.

So instead of worrying and being, as you might call him, a lump on a log, Miguel gave you a smirk of his own. His eyes locked with yours, the challenge clear in his gaze. “You can’t just bare your teeth and not show action, Your Grace. Show me you can take me,” he taunted, pulling his longsword free from its sheath with a hiss of cold steel.

Your heart beat rapidly against your chest as your breath hitched at his gaze. Never in your life had you imagined being on the opposite end of your Kingsguard’s blade, and oddly, it filled you with excitement.

You grinned, drawing your own sword from its sheath on your hip. “Why, would you like to stretch first, Sir Miguel? I wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle,” you jested playfully. To your surprise, your Kingsguard laughed, his deep chuckle echoing through the forest clearing, warming your heart.

“I believe my muscles should be the least of your worries, Princesa,” he teased. “I’ve had years of experience, fought in countless battles, and faced real enemies.” He acknowledged with a prideful sneer.

“So let us see if your practice alone can overcome my years of training, alteza.” He took his fighting stance before you—a stance you had seen many times before, his longsword drawn and poised, the sun’s dappled rays reflecting off his raised blade.

“Ready when you are, Y/N.”

A warmth engulfed you at the sound of your name on his lips and the playful wink he gave you. Normally, his speech was harsh, every word delivered roughly and authoritatively, but now, he spoke your name gently, almost delicately, as if safeguarding you even through simple utterances.

Your eyes traced Sir Miguel, noting his stance and attributes that you had observed many times before—his towering height, burly arms, and the strength that could take one’s breath away with just a jab.

After a brief but thorough observation, you gave your Kingsguard a curt nod, showing your readiness.

Taking a deep breath, you assumed your stance—a quitte different one from your Kingsguard and teacher. You placed a foot forward, the other back, slightly bending your knees and relaxing your posture above the waist. Your body showcased an air of control and readiness as your sword was held lightly in your palms, angled downward but prepared to strike at any moment.

Every muscle in your frame was coiled like a spring, ready to unleash the skills you had learned over the past two years before the male who had inspired and taught you. Without a word, you pushed off the ground, sprinting towards that very man.

Your footsteps were featherlight, racing across the grassy field to strike his blade with your own. For a brief moment, your eyebrows rose at his speed, meeting his gaze to catch sight of the rumored red glint in his amber eyes. The sight only encouraged your efforts.

Pouncing away, you followed up with a series of attacks, your swords clashing and echoing through the trees like a recurring melody played upon a music sheet—occasionally faltering only to be picked up again, following the same notes repeated once more.

Miguel’s eyes tracked your movements, noting how graceful yet lethal each of your strikes was. Every swing of his sword met another from you, but always in a different location than the last.

The Kingsguard was pleased; your speed and agility impressed him. He could see faults and errors he could exploit, but to his surprise, your defense was as exceptional as your offense.

Miguel’s heavy footsteps moved across the grass, parrying your attacks with ease. His face remained stoic, but the corner of his mouth twitched in admiration. His arms moved like the wind, countering blows with fluid precision.

Suddenly, he crashed his blade against yours, halting your movements. His eyes locked with your determined ones through the clash. “Impressive, Y/N, but I will not hold back any longer. You’ll feel the full force of your Kingsguard, so prepare yourself.” He growled, tossing your sword back with his own, causing you both to separate. The force made you stumble, but you quickly regained your balance.

You breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath while circling your protector. “Then I shall await your full force, Sir Miguel.” You replied with a grin, noticing how his amber eyes seemed to darken to a scarlet at your words, his bushy eyebrows knitted together and his face devoid of all emotion.

Instead of awaiting your attack, you watched as your Kingsguard lunged. Briefly, your eyes widened as you countered his powerful strike with your own blade, feeling the force of his attack send you staggering back.

Miguel hummed in approval, watching you hold your own against his overwhelming jabs. Using his size, speed, and strength, he attacked you fully, promising to not hold back any longer. When he saw an opening, he took it without hesitation.

Pushing your steel away from him, he lightly jabbed the leather hilt of his sword into an unguarded spot on your side, surprising you. In that moment of shock, he spun his longsword in his massive hands, delivering a heavy blow to your weapon, sending it flying into the grass and leaving you unarmed. Miguel smirked, landing the final blow with a low swing of his blade, tripping you in one swift motion.

Everything happened in a blur—the attack to your torso, your sword escaping your grasp, and the sweep to your ankles that sent you crashing to the ground. You landed on your back with a groan. Your world felt dizzy for a moment, eyes screwing shut in pain from the rough collision with the grassy surface underneath you.

You figured this would be the end of your duel with Sir Miguel—tasting defeat and him victorious. But despite anticipating this, you couldn’t help feeling disappointed..

After the adrenaline wore off and the competitive red glint in his gaze disappeared, Miguel’s eyes widened, unable to celebrate at the sight of his princess laying on the dirt. “Your Highness!?” he exclaimed, rushing over and hastily sheathing his sword.

“Mierda, I shouldn’t have fought you so harshly. Where the hell did my wits run off to?” The Latino scolded himself, his voice filled with worry, concern, and anger. His amber orbs ran over you as you lay there, your eyes closed. He could practically feel the foreign pain coursing through you.

Miguel’s cold heart tugged even more when you painstakingly avoided him, whimpering softly and hiding behind the disheveled strands of your hair. “P-Princesa, let me assist you. Please,” he pleaded, never before feeling so vulnerable and felt even more like a fool for challenging you.

His gauntlet hands reached out to cup your face, turning your chin to meet him. He grew more frustrated with himself at the look of agony you gave him—eyes squinted in pain, lips tightened as you grasped your side.

“Lo siento mucho, alteza, debería arrojarme a los leones por lo que he hecho.” Miguel mumbled in guilt. His eyes glanced down, noticing your beckoning fingers urging him closer.

The Latino didn’t hesitate to obey, coming face-to-face with you. He expected a request to be escorted back to the Kingdom for a doctor, anger, or even a slap across the face, which he would accept wholeheartedly. But instead, he was met with something different.

His princess smirked at him.

Before Miguel could detect the deceit in your actions, you pushed him from his crouched position on the ground, sending him crashing to the grass with a heavy thud.

Miguel groaned as the wind was momentarily knocked from his lungs. The dust from the grass filled his senses, making him cough. Hastily, you unsheathed his sword from his unguarded hip, climbing onto his massive form to straddle his waist. A triumphant grin spread across your lips as you aimed the blade at his throat.

“With your ‘training’ and ‘experience,’ I’d think you’d know better than to drop your guard with your opponent. And neither did I yield,” you taunted, looking down at your fallen Kingsguard with a pleased expression.

“And a mere trip will not cause me to cry to the heavens in agony. Do not take me as weak, Sir Miguel, I can handle more than you think.” You smirked, pressing the blade closer to his unguarded throat.

“So yield, my Kingsguard, and accept defeat.” You ordered, your chest heaving from exhaustion after the duel.

Your protector breathed heavily, looking up at you with slight annoyance at having his emotions played with like a mere fiddle. “You yielded when you were disarmed in combat and fell, Y/N.” He said through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the grass tightly to calm his simmering anger.

Not in years had the Kingsguard been bested and felt the ground of battle touch his backside, and yet, here he was, lying on the grass with you atop him.

Miguel’s eyes furrowed at the situation. His princess was over him, straddling his legs like a lover. His gaze ran over your flushed and triumphant features, the sweat coating your neck, trickling down to form a teasing line down to your exposed cleavage, evident over the gaping collar of your blue gown.

The Latino hesitated, gulping thickly and averting his gaze. “But if you insist on such theatrics, I’ll admit defeat.” The skilled guard muttered, despite his pride, his princess held a special place in his cold heart.

At your protector’s words, you gasped in surprise. “R-Really!?” you exclaimed, not actually believing you would ever hear the words of surrender from your mighty Kingsguard, let alone hear them said to you.

“Sí, I yield, to you…Y/N.”

Miguel clarified, and a wave of glory engulfed you. You exhaled a sigh of relief, a huge smile spreading across your lips. Your dreams of fighting in combat, of using your skills even for a brief moment, had been achieved today. Not only did you fight, but you also won against your valiant Kingsguard, Sir Miguel O’Hara.

In this moment, you had never felt so accomplished and victorious before, and it was a wondrous feeling.

You met Miguel’s eyes once more, only to find him hastily avoiding your gaze, his amber eyes shifting from yours with every second. Your eyebrows furrowed, noticing the faint shade of pink coloring his olive cheeks—a sight foreign to you.

The longer you looked at him, the more you found yourself lost in the sight of him beneath you.

His disheveled dark brown curls, narrowed brown eyes, broad nose, perfect lips, pinkish cheeks, and bulging Adam's apple—the many features you had fantasized about and even dreamt of—were right before you.

And nothing could compare to the real thing.

Your protector could feel his body burning up like a furnace beneath his layers of armor, his heart racing. His every muscle tensed as you, with your body pressed so closely to his, set off a chain reaction in his core.

The thought of being disarmed in combat was always something Miguel detested. It left him vulnerable and weak to his opponent, no matter how foreign this occurrence was to him. But right now, with his longsword in your hand, pressing it against his throat, it felt like his wildest dreams came true.

It took all of Miguel’s self-control to not pull you closer, to lose himself in those precious eyes of yours thatalways held beauty and fiery determination. It was only by an invisible thread that he stopped himself from tangling his lips with yours, from tasting the forbidden sweetness of your mouth.

His mind raced as he painstakingly reminded himself of his oath to the crown.

You were the future of Valoria, and he was but a Kingsguard sworn to protect you—the very duty he had accepted when he was given his cloak.

His hidden desires and thoughts for you needed to cease.

They must…

You gulped, almost missing his suggestion. Nodding slowly, you drew his blade away from his throat, setting it on the grass nearby; but you found yourself incapable of moving from the spot atop him.

Yet, despite your constant fascination, he seemed to have a new glow to him—a glow that made you meet his conflicted amber orbs, and your own eyes to flood with desire.

“I-I believe…I deserve a reward for my victory, Sir Miguel,” you said without thinking, but found yourself not regretting it.

Miguel’s breath hitched, his mind swirling with carnal thoughts, but his duty kept him grounded. Still, he could not help but give in to the temptation that miraculously appeared to be reciprocated in his princess.

His gaze roamed over your lips, his mouth dry, throat tight. “Your reward, my lady?” Miguel breathed, the question thick with yearning and anticipation.

Time seemed to stretch as the duel from mere moments ago was forgotten, engulfed by the heat of forbidden desire. The Kingsguard practically melted at the sight of your nod, his hands itching to touch you, to feel the softness of your being through the thin blue fabric of your gown.

His scorching need only heightened at the evident perky tips in your dress, visible through the fabric. Miguel knew he should feel shame for his dishonorable ogling, but found himself feeling anything but.

In the midst of yearning, your mind wandered back to your favorite memory of Miguel—his practice in the training yard, where he had trained in the most improper manner you've ever seen him. You remembered the defined pecs and exceptional eight-pack, and the trail of hair stretching from his trousers to his navel like the most tantalizing of morning suns. Despite his body being covered with battle scars from his days as a knight of valoria, the imperfections only seemed to enhance his appeal.

You recalled your secret desires for his touch, his kisses, and the sensation of his massive frame against yours, enveloping you in his arms and chest.

A familiar sensation you’d experienced before when thinking of Miguel began to overtake you—spreading from your lower area to your chest, and tingling all the way to the tips of your toes.

You were completely entranced by these sensations and fantasies that felt surreal in your head that you almost missed Miguel’s question: “Is it one that I can grant, Your Grace?”

Goodness, you could practically feel his breath upon your face. His inquiry made you place your hands on his breastplate to steady yourself. “M-My reward?” you stammered, trying to pierce through the fog of your cluttered thoughts.

At his nod, your breath hitched. The images of your desires filled your mind all at once, causing the feelings of bliss to intensify. “Y-Yes… You will be able to grant m-my reward, Sir Miguel,” you affirmed, gazing into his eyes and feeling the world around you fade like a fairytale, leaving only you and your guardian in this secluded space.

Miguel felt a chill run down his spine at your reply. With you straddling his lap, your rear pressed against the apex of his manhood, his desire for you was a crackling fire that seemed impossible to control.

You were the object of his deepest desires—the forbidden fruit he would never dare to touch, yet the idea was becoming increasingly appealing.

“And what reward do you seek, Y/N?” The older male asked, your name feeling wrong yet so right to say. His oath felt like a boulder crushing him under its weight, while the stirring in his loins begged him to defy it.

You gulped, pushing down your fear as you tried to voice what you truly wanted. “T-the reward I seek m-may seem absurd, l-laughable even,” you started, maintaining contact with him. “But what I seek is y-your touch, y-your kisses, and if you may, y-your body, Sir Miguel.” Your cheeks flushed as you spoke, never breaking eye contact with your Kingsguard, not even when the confessions that escaped you seemed too vast and preposterous to achieve in reality.

You continued, revealing your innermost feelings as if cornered at knife point, feeling a mix of relief and vulnerability. “Sir Miguel, I’ve…desired you like a desert craves rain, a flower that yearns for sunlight. I’ve…longed for you, unbeknownst to my very being for the past years, wishing to be close to you, whether physically or through the very sword I fight with.” You declared, not backing down despite your embarrassment.

“I-I cannot express how many improper thoughts have clouded my days and how I wonder how our lives could be if circumstances were different. If I was no longer the Princess of Valoria and if you weren’t…you, m-my Kingsguard and a part of the royal guard. “You were certain your face was completely red, changing a shade unknown to man before the very male that you so much adored, but you couldn’t be bothered.

He needed to know and you wanted him to be aware of the feelings you’ve harbored for him for so long.

You felt horribly embarrassed, and unable to comprehend what expression was upon your Kingsguard’s face, but you proceeded on, nevertheless. “S-So, I, your princess, implore you to bestow upon me this reward, because I do not believe I can contain my wits if I leave here today w-without knowing…” The conclusion escaped you in a whimper that you deemed pathetic. Your heart pounded against your chest so harshly as you averted your eyes, fearfully anticipating his impending response.

Miguel’s eyes narrowed, his heart racing as he processed your requests and confessions. He had never considered himself desirable. Many times through his life the Latino has faced scrutiny for his temper, stoicness, and unwelcoming presence. His horrible characteristics was what caused his first marriage to end almost a decade ago.

His aura caused individuals to not approach him, his scowl drove people away, and his raging fury kept them from him permanently.

The Kingsguard became accustomed to being alone and disliked, so hearing the sweetest of souls, his princess, consider him favorable made his heart soar in a way it hadn’t in years.

The Latino hesitated, reaching up to cup his princess' tender face and turning you to meet his gaze again. The Kingsguard had done this action many times before, but now, led by a different emotion, it wasn’t the same. “Do not be bashful about your desires, Your Grace,” he said, his voice softening as he watched your beautiful eyes that were practically on the verge of tears widen in surprise.

“Desire is a common feeling—even the strongest of men and beasts aren’t immune to it, so how could a sweet young woman like you suppress such a powerful emotion?” Miguel asked, his thumb brushing gently along your soft cheek.

Every fiber of his being urged him to give in—to grant you the reward you so desperately sought. But he couldn’t…

You weren’t his to have…

Miguel swallowed hard, his amber eyes flicking down to your breasts, which hovered mere inches from his face, concealed by lace that demanded his attention. His tongue flicked over his dry lips as his hands moved from your delicate skin to grip the grass, trying to hold himself back.

“However, I am sworn to protect you, Y/N, even your purity, your…virtue,” the Kingsguard said, shaking his head with vulnerability and pain in his features. “I am not to take what is not mine to take, no matter how much I…share your desire.”

Your stomach twisted in agony at his gut-wrenching admission. “I-I know that, Sir Miguel. B-but please,” you practically begged, never before doing so.

“I…cannot leave here without knowing what it would feel like. How your kisses could bring me bliss, and how safe I’d feel not just in your presence, but in your arms, sharing your warmth as mere commoners in love, our stations and titles forgotten.” You stated, struggling to contain your desperation.

“I…I know what I ask isn’t proper, ladylike, n-nor what the Princess of Valoria should desire, but—” Your words faltered, ending in a sigh of exasperation, wishing the earth would swallow you whole in this moment.

Miguel felt his resolve shatter at your pleas. His hand landed on your hip, caressing your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. “Ateza, you do not need to beg for anything,” he said, brushing a stray tear from your red cheek.

He pondered the rash decision brought upon him, knowing that if he proceeded, things would never be the same. But looking into your eyes, he saw a yearning far deeper than lust.

His princess was asking for this reward out of necessity, not merely desire.

How could he ignore the wishes of his charge?

Miguel gave you a rare smile, the corners of his lips rising slightly. “Your request may not be ladylike nor proper, but you are here, my sweet princess,” he said, motioning with his chin to the secluded forest clearing around you.

The Kingsguard cupped your face with both hands, his heart palpitating. Miguel pulled you closer to him, his lips being just a hair-breadth from yours. His restraint hanging on by a thread at the heightened tension. “And here, as you’ve told me, you are not the Princess of Valoria, Valoria’s future, nor the daughter of the King…

You are simply Y/N.”

Your eyes watered at his words, actually feeling seen for the first time. Placing a hand over his on your cheek, you nuzzled his metal palm, a shaky and relieved exhale escaping you.

Miguel’s chest warmed as he stroked your face with his thumb. “Are you certain, princesa?” he asked, his question pulling you back to the surreal reality before you. “I cannot promise I’ll leave you satisfied in the manner that two lovers share, but I can promise to grant your reward, Y/N.” Miguel assured, his brown eyes searching your face for any doubt, fear, or regret, but found none.

With a firm nod, your gaze remained on him, his metal gauntlets cooling your heated skin. “Yes, I am certain, Sir Miguel,” you confessed, never feeling more sure of a decision in your life.

At your permission, Miguel broke the last of his restraint, pressing his lips against yours. He groaned softly, the sweetness of your mouth coating his like a burst of sweet fruit juices.

His tongue coaxed an opening, slipping past your lips to slide and tangle with yours, deepening the kiss. When the Latino felt your soft pecks in return, his desire grew tenfold.

His deep grunts were like music to your ears as he kissed you passionately, his hands gripping your waist to hold you steady. You whimpered against his mouth, overwhelmed by the intense sensations. His metal palms roamed your body, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake.

“Y/N,” he whispered hoarsely, pulling away to cradle your cheek, ensuring this was real, but the dazed look in your eyes and your kiss-swollen lips were the only proof he needed.

Wishing to feel the softness of your skin against his rough hands, your Kingsguard began to undo the clasps of his gauntlets, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. When the final metal piece concealing his sense of touch fell away, his freed fingers moved to the enticing lace of your bosom that had been teasing him since he saw you today.

“Do you wish for more, princesa? Do you want me to cease?” Miguel asked, his amber orbs meeting yours, seeking clarity of comfort in his actions.

But upon receiving a nod, the Latino slowly began to untie the binding that concealed the beauty before him. “You seek my touch—my kisses, princesa?” he asked, noting how you bit your lip and how your gaze was captivated by his hands as they pulled each lace of your dress undone.

“Y-Yes, Sir Miguel,” you whispered breathlessly. After the many kisses he'd given you thus far, it was seemingly difficult for oxygen to fill your lungs.

“Very well, Y/N.” He replied, removing the final lace. Your morning gown fell open, revealing the sight of his princess' glorious breasts. As the cool air brushed your exposed skin, your nipples instantly hardening, and Miguel felt a deep stirring in his trousers.

At the sight of your chest before him, your Kingsguard felt his breath catch. You blushed heavily, uncertain of his next actions but trusting your protector entirely.

“Goodness, eres tan hermosa—so exquisite, my lady.” The older male's winded compliment only intensified your flushed features. “T-thank you,” you stammered, unsure how to respond to such lewd praise.

Miguel found your flustered state utterly breathtaking. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck, his stubble tickling you. “I’ll try to be gentle,” he whispered, not wishing to mark you and bring scandal upon his princess.

You moaned softly at his kisses along your throat, his assurance of gentleness only making your skin warmer. The sensations he bestowed upon you were utterly new, yet so fascinating and addictive.

Your fingers found their way into his dark brown curls, combing through the strands of hair you’d always wanted to touch. Miguel’s grunts of delight at every scratch of his scalp only encouraged your caresses, unwilling to cease such a marvelous sound.

The thought of this very act being forbidden, despite how good it felt with Miguel, made your veins course with frustration. Your hands moved to cup his face again, wanting to claim his lips once more. You pecked his lips softly, allowing him to take the lead and slip his tongue into your inexperienced mouth, devouring you once more.

'Gosh, why can’t a princess be with whom she’d like to be with?’ You wished to question aloud, wanting to understand such a cruel fate, but each of his kisses stole the words from your mouth, making you fall deeper into his spell.

Miguel’s hands squeezed your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His mouth began to wander from your lips, moving down to your neck and collarbone before descending further to his princess' untouched and pure body. His lips soon found themselves upon the forbidden tits of Valoria, and Miguel could hardly believe he was granted the chance to please you.

The older man’s tongue flicked out to trace the hardened peak of your right nipple, feeling its unique texture and enjoying the shudders that coursed through you. He sucked gently, painstakingly trying not to leave behind any love bites on your sensitive flesh. While his mouth pleased you, his calloused hand massaged your opposite breast, the feel of your soft flesh in his calloused palms only making him harder than stone itself.

Miguel groaned, switching to your left nipple to swirl his tongue around the bud before sucking it into his mouth. His eyes were locked on your face, ensuring your pleasure as he noted your moans, flushed expressions, and sharp tugs on his hair for any sign of discomfort.

Your eyes followed Sir Miguel’s actions, never before witnessing and experiencing such intimacy. Tingles of delight erupted through you with each of his laps and suctions on your peaked chest. Sounds you’d never made before escaped your throat, leaving you gripping his beautiful curls in bliss.

The Kingsguard’s large hands rubbed and kneaded your breasts, his fingers sinking into the flesh as he drew deeply on your nipple, his cheeks hollowing before releasing it with a loud, wet pop. The gasp escaping you at his suckles was enough to drive him wild.

The scent of your sweet arousal was steadily growing, filling the clearing and intensifying the older male’s desire for his sweet princess. “Is this satisfactory, Y/N?” he asked, his voice hoarse and eyes dark with longing.

With dazed eyes, you met your protector’s gaze from beneath you. Your chest heaved with each breath as you loosened your tight grip on his hair, trying to steady your thoughts. “Y-Yes, Sir Miguel,” you replied, overwhelmed by the sensations he had given you. “You have quite the skilled…mouth.” You complimented, your cheeks burning, unsure how to converse in such a situation.

The sound of your approval and compliment sent a jolt of yearning through Miguel. A rare smile graced his lips as his hands left your breasts and moved lower. “I know ways that are far greater than what you are experiencing now, my lady,” he said, his calloused palms finding purchase on your ankles as he slowly drew up the hem of your blue morning gown.

“Do you trust me, Y/N?” Miguel asked, expecting his actions to be daunting to you, noticing how your eyes widened at him lifting your skirt. “Only if you do, can I further please you.” He continued, hoping you’d entrust him with your body just as you did with your life each and everyday.

Your heart skipped a beat; you had never experienced such intimacy before, however, deep inside, you knew that Sir Miguel would never harm you. The forbidden love you harbored for him gave you the certainty to transverse such unknown lands with your Kingsguard as your guide.

Releasing a soft exhale, you gave him a timid nod. “Always,” you whispered wholeheartedly. “I’ll always trust you, Sir Miguel.” You repeated, meeting his eyes and allowing him to lead you through the uncharted waters of the taboo world of intimacy.

Miguel’s eyes briefly widened in surprise at your trust, and his heart swelled. “First, I’ll need you to stand for a moment,” he instructed, his voice so loving that it was unfamiliar even to himself.

Following his words you stood as your Kingsguard joined you. You watched him remove his blue cloak from his backside and lay it on the ground. You were shocked that he would use his cloak in such a way, but his reassuring gaze eased your worries.

“Rest here, my lady. I do not wish for you to lie on the earth while experiencing such pleasures,” Sir Miguel said, offering a hand. You complied, taking his rough palm, and laying on your back upon the soft fabric of his cloak, though the idea of using his sacred cloth this way still troubled you.

Miguel looked down at his sweet princess, noting the usual determined and fearless fire in your eyes had been replaced with a sweet bashfulness that warmed his heart.

“What do you know of intimacy, Y/N?” Miguel asked, settling on his knees between your thighs, his gaze looking up at you from between your legs. His calloused palms stroked your bare ankles as he lifted your dress to rest on your hips, revealing your lower body and, most importantly, your flawless and untouched pussy.

The older male gulped thickly, trying to contain his desire as he met your reddened cheeks once more, awaiting your response.

You could hardly focus on his inquiry but did your best to answer. “I…know little about intimacy. M-my father, the King, forbade me from knowing any of it.” You reminded him, knowing your Kingsguard was aware of your father’s adamant attempts to keep you pure for your future husband, though you never fully understood what he meant by ‘pure.’

Your protector hummed, keeping his gaze on your eyes rather than the sweet source of his attention between your legs. “Then, allow me to be the first to teach you,” Miguel said softly, leaning in to press gentle kisses on your inner thighs. He smiled against your skin at your surprised gasp, pleased with your reaction.

“As you can see, Y/N, between your legs lies the entrance to your most intimate place,” the older male began, his voice steady. “Some call it the ‘flower,’ others the ‘garden.’ When aroused or…pleased, a small, sensitive bud becomes prominent. That bud is a source of great bliss.” He breathed, aiming to guide his princess gently to avoid frightening you.

”However, underneath that bud is an opening—an entrance. There, when connection is made can you experience sensations beyond imagination, Y/N.”

Miguel smiling, pulling away slightly to check your comfort, stroking your thighs with his thumbs. “These are the basics, Y/N, but if you have any questions or feel discomfort, I implore you to speak up.” The Kingsguard said, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of confusion.

Your eyebrows furrowed, the sensations of his lips and stubble against your sensitive skin making it harder to focus, but you were certain of one thing he stated. “T-the most…glorious of sensations?”

“Sí, very magnificent, indeed.” Miguel chuckled, feeling a buzzing warmth of excitement at the pit of his stomach in anticipation to please his princess for the first time, despite not sharing the most intimate form of connection with you.

Your face bloomed with warmth at the idea of the possibility of experiencing such things, in particular, by Sir Miguel's hands. “And…how might these…feelings be ignited?” You asked when a sound you’d never made before escaped you as an electrifying burst of delight coursed through your being. Your eyes widened, feeling Miguel’s thumb rubbing against your lower area.

“By touch and taste upon your flower, princesa,” your Kingsguard stated as with a gentle touch, he brushed against your outer folds, feeling the warmth radiating from within. His thumb teased the surrounding area, locating the hidden pearl of your bud.

The Latino groaned softly, the sweet citrus scent of your arousal enveloping his senses. “I will be gentle, and we will take it slow, Y/N. But if you feel discomfort at any time, do not hesitate to tell me to cease.” Miguel whispered, continuing his soft strokes along your folds, relishing how you trembled softly.

Your eyes fluttered, not recalling when your hands had found purchase on his blue cloak beneath you, gripping the fabric so tightly you feared it might tear. Frantically, you nodded, struggling to hear through the overwhelming sensations.

His fingers roamed your sensitive folds, following its curves and soft skin, relishing in your gasps, jerks, and choked moans that filled the clearing. Miguel bit his lip, loving the sweet sounds his princess was making by his touch.

“Tell me, Y/N, how do you feel?” The gruff voice of your royal protector filled your ears once more, practically white noise amidst the overwhelming pleasure.

“S-strange… b-but a… good strange,” you managed to whimper, following the small circles he made on your bud with your eyes shut.

“Muy bien,” Miguel muttered, glancing up to see your flushed cheeks, hidden pupils, and parted lips, eager to give you more. “Perhaps now?”

A sharp moan erupted from your throat when you felt the taboo sensation of your Kingsguard's tongue upon your center. His pink, warm muscle flicked and swirled around your bud in soft, teasing motions, making you twitch uncontrollably.

“S-Sir Miguel—” Your words choked off as you felt his massive hands grip your thighs, holding them open. Your Kingsguard tasted you with the reverence of a starved man improperly licking his bowl clean after supper, devouring you sloppily and humming all the while.

Miguel groaned, burying his face between your thighs, unwilling to come up for air. He clasped his lips over your hidden pearl, softly suckling and savoring your arousal.

“Mierda, you taste... so delicious, my lady.” The older male murmured, pulling away briefly to check on your comfort.

“Are you well, Y/N? Is this too much?” Miguel asked, his brows furrowed as he noticed your heaving chest, a sign that he might need to slow down.

You breathed heavily, opening your glazed eyes to meet his. “Yes... I-I am quite well, Sir Miguel.” You whispered, cheeks reddening profusely. “But I wish for more. I-I…can take more.” You told him in a bashful tone, but holding the same fire in your eyes when you held your sword.

“I am not as weak and fragile as you believe me to be.” You affirmed, hoping that today’s events had proven you were anything but a delicate sculpture meant to be coddled.

A smile touched the corner of Miguel’s lips, that infamous look of boldness with the blend of flushness upon your features was a sight to the Kingsguard, one he couldn't deny. “Very well, my lady.” He murmured, lowering himself back down to the sweet core of his princess, increasing his excellent suckling and kissing of your intimate area.

Your head fell back onto the cloak, hips involuntarily rising as his efforts intensified, just as you had requested.

“M-Miguel!” You wailed his name, something you’d never have dared to say without formality; yet, you seemed to be slowly losing your composure with every passing moment.

The Kingsguard’s name on your lips only fueled his determination further. His tongue caressed your untouched entrance, thrusting softly whilst grinding his broad nose against your engorged pearl. “Hmm... say my name again, Cariño.” Miguel mumbled, longing to hear his name without the constraints of station or duty.

Your face reddened at your protector’s request that was heard through the foggy storm of pleasure in your mind. A gasp broke free from your lips, a hand snapping from the cloak to grasp his hair.

You found yourself pulling him deeper into the depths of your core, allowing your desires to boldly take control.

“M-Miguel… p-please, do not… cease.” You moaned into the clearing, the natural noises of your hidden sanctuary keen to you, now lost in the background of your ecstasy.

Miguel grumbled, your fingers in his hair becoming a favorable sensation. He buried his tongue deeper into his princess' flower, driven by your plea as if commanded to war. He wasn’t to stop until you were satisfied and his jaw was sore.

“Te lo prometo, nena… que no me detendré. Ni siquiera… cuando mis pulmones fallan y… me ahogo en mis esfuerzos,” the Latino slurred between slurps.

His tongue flattened against your entrance, running along your garden in a slow grind before returning to its gentle penetrations with the pink muscle. Your Kingsguard sought to please you thoroughly.

Slowly your mind began to cloud and your body trembled like a fawn in the cold. Your whines became more strained as a rising sensation overwhelmed you.

“M-Miguel,” you called out through moans. “s-something is... coming.” You whimpered, unsure of the approaching feeling but aware that it was intensifying with his touch.

At your warning, Miguel moved up on your body, his thumb returning to your bundle of nerves, rapidly stroking it and pressing into the engorged bud to amplify your pleasure.

“Let go, Y/N.” He whispered, his body pressing against yours. His amber eyes, filled with unprecedented affection, remained on you as he guided you to your peak. “Release and fall, querida, knowing I'll be the one to catch you.” Miguel assured, circling your rosebud rapidly and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You kissed him with intense fervor, trembling violently as you clutched his chest plate. Tears clouded your vision, and your limbs went limp upon reaching your climax. A loud moan escaped you, only to be swallowed and silenced by your Kingsguard’s kiss.

Afterwards, you felt as though you were a bird soaring through the sky, your body feeling weightless. Soft tremors coursed through you, ensuring that you would remember every moment of bliss with the man you had fallen for.

True to his word, Miguel withdrew his hand from between your thighs, cradling you in his strong arms.

“Was that satisfactory, Y/N?” He asked with a soft chuckle, kissing the stray pleasurable tears that escaped during your release.

Your Kingsguard shifted to lay on his back, pulling you onto his chest, and using his body like a bedding for his princess. His calloused hand stroked your back, feeling your soft skin through the fabric of your gown. Your protector seeking to calm your ragged breathing and return you to your senses.

Once settled, you looked up at him, blushing with embarrassment at how dazed and lightheaded you felt. “Y-Yes, my Kingsguard. It was satisfying.” You replied with a warm smile, reaching up to stroke his stubbled cheek. “Thank you for granting my reward. I will be forever grateful.”

Miguel’s heart fluttered at your soft touch. He returned your smile and clasped his hand over yours that cupped his face. “No, thank you, princesa, for making me see that I can be wanted—desired, despite all my flaws and callousness.” He said earnestly, pressing a tender and lingering kiss to the inside of your palm before holding you close.

You leaned into him, allowing his large arms to envelop you and keep you safe, just as you had always imagined.

Laying with him, his warmth engulfing you through his armor and the mere content you felt in his arms made the confession that you'd kept from him for so long escape you.

“My... heart burns for you, Sir Miguel.”

You suddenly whispered, looking up to meet his widened eyes. Before he could respond, you placed two fingers over his lips to silence him. “I... do not desire a reply so as not to worry you about the outcome of such words and feelings. I simply wished for you to know.” You replied, feeling your body warm with adoration for your protector.

Despite not wanting an answer for his shared feelings for his princess, the older male gave a curt nod. “As you wish, Y/N.” He smiled, snuggling you against his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He held you close, like a lover would their beloved, like a mate would do their partner, his actions speaking volumes to his princess about what his response might have been had you allowed it.

‘My heart burns for you too, mi amor…’

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the last and final part of 'Fortis et Liber.' Like I said previously, I loved writing this, the characters, the dynamics, especially the forbidden love, lol, was a joy to write. Perhaps this won't be the last you see of Kingsguard Miguel and Princess of Valoria? We'll never know, lol. 🤷🏾‍♀️❤️

I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe!!

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