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bunni-v1 · 3 days ago

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Pure Vanilla Sfw & Nsfw Headcanons

🍓These are shorter than SMC's, purely (hah) since there's less to say about nsfw headcanons. He's a really simple guy, alright? Anyway, I hope you enjoy these. I'll be working on the poly hc's soon and also some requests -- cookie run related and not. Love you all MWAH!

MDNI (Seriously I'll find you)

Tw: None?; Grammar errors

Info: Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader; Fluff; Angst (only a little); nsfw

-Pure Vanilla Cookie is a gentle soul. His hands are soft and kind to any and all he meets, and he does the most he can to keep the peace amongst those he holds dear. His calm demeanor makes him seem like the perfect candidate for a partner, but I’m gonna be 100% this guy has issues.

-He has very real trauma from the Dark Flower War that keeps him up at night, despite how much he tries to hide it. Betrayal from one of his dearest friends also haunts him, despite things being… different now… it sticks with him as it would any normal cookie. He’s insecure to a level that a god-king should not be capable of, but he certainly feels that insecurity deeply. Oh, and he never got over White Lily Cookie.

-It’s also very likely that he wouldn’t deem himself ‘worthy’ of being loved in such a manner, especially after the situation with White Lily. He can’t save his friends, he can’t save his subjects, what would he do if he couldn’t save a lover? It would be better not to have his heart broken like that.

-Not to mention his experience with relationships is… sparse. Other than White Lily Cookie, he hasn’t really had much romantic experience – nor did he want to. His focus is often set elsewhere, and his humility can frequently get in the way of forming genuine connections with others.

-He’s so incredibly old now, he feels like his time has passed. Besides, any cookie who might proposition him is far younger, and while he respects them he wouldn’t want to get in the way of their opportunity to connect with someone who could be a better match.

-Not to mention he gets propositioned a lot. Many cookies like the idea of him, but few can actually handle how patient and gentle he really is. It doesn’t upset him, nor does he hold it against them, it’s just how the world seems to work out.

-Excuses, excuses, excuses with him. They’re never-ending.

-Then, of course, there was you. The sweet cookie you were, you had the patience of a saint. Any excuse he came up with, you seemed to find a way to prove him wrong. (You make him second guess if he really is patient, with how much you wait on him and work to prove him wrong).

-He isn’t testing you by any means when he pushes you away. Pure Vanilla Cookie really does believe you could do better than him. (Him! How could you do better than him!?) He’s trying to save you from himself, but the more steadfast you are the more he starts to fold and bend to what you like.

-It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy having you around, he quite prefers it when you’re by his side. You��re also so very pretty, he gazes at you when you aren’t looking more than he’d like to admit (his staff gives him quite the stink eye for this one). Your patience with him is admirable, and you make such an effort to get close to him. You’ve more than proven that you are serious about your confessions to him.

-After (literally) a thousand years, he decides just to try again. Leading you on was cruel, especially when he reciprocated your feelings, so he makes the effort of a confession – and great cookies above it was sweet.

-He brings you to his pagoda, a place you frequently spend sitting quietly next to him. He knows you’re fond of it, especially of the white lilies that bloom around it. You sit next to him as usual, staring off into the distance in thought while he watches you through his lashes. Your beauty is something he loves to behold, and he wonders if the kingdom would be alright if he did so for the next thousand years. Just like this, quiet and alone in the place you’ve both made your own.

-You laugh when you catch him staring, and his dough burns hot – both from the melodious sound and from being caught so shameless. He doesn’t let it linger too long, taking your hand in his with care he hadn’t shown you much yet. It’s a bit odd for him to suddenly be physical with you, but when he looks at you, and I mean looks at you, you understand what's happening.

-He tells you how he’s grown into his fondness for you, that he appreciates your patience with him and giving him a chance to think things over in himself before pushing him into a choice. He expresses what he loves about being around you and how he feels like himself when he is near your side. How he aches when you aren’t around, and that he worries for you all the time even though you’re more than safe in the walls of the kingdom.

-He goes on for so long that you have to cut him off and tell him you get the point, which just makes him laugh because that is something he likes about you. You never let him get too far ahead of himself or too deep in his head before you pull him back up for air.

-And, while you might’ve fallen first for his gentleness and his kindness, he falls leagues harder than you ever could. After his confession, he goes out of his way to have you around, and it’s not until nearly all of your things are within his room that he realizes maybe he got a little too deep a little too fast.

-Then you smile that smile and all his thoughts are washed away in favor of following after you on whatever adventure you had planned in the kingdom for the day.

-As a partner, believe it or not, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not physically affectionate so much as he is verbally affectionate. He prefers showing his love through words and acts of service. He will run himself ragged to make sure you won’t worry about anything. You’ll have to step in and stop him at times because he will go to the ends of earthbread for you.

-He’s so giving, always thinking of things he can do for you or gifts to get that would make you smile so widely at him. It’s something the other Ancients tease him relentlessly for, especially Golden Cheese and Hollyberry.

-Though, they are all fond of you in their own way. It’s been a long time since Pure Vanilla has been so… contented with things. He finds pure joy in doting on you, and he feels secure having someone who loves him as he is. None of them can disapprove of you when you make him so happy.

-They tell you embarrassing stories of him when he was younger, not a hero or a god, but a regular cookie who tripped over his own two feet and made a fool of himself. They tell you plenty of embarrassing stories about him having earned his power too and believe that to be true, but the ones they seem most fond of are those before they rose to their current titles.

-Pure Vanilla always huffs and pouts, but doesn’t interject much more than that when he sees the wide grin on your face. Seeing you get along with his long-time friends is very important to him, so he’s glad they’ve taken a liking to you.

-Even Dark Cacao Cookie seems to like you, humoring your little jokes and jabs as you give them. He feels as though he’s chosen the right cookie to love – though, he supposes you chose him and he just followed your lead like he always does.

-There is one tiny dilemma, though… White Lily Cookie. See, it’s not as though she is a threat to your relationship at all. She would never and could never interfere, even if she still held feelings for Pure Vanilla (if she ever did in the first place). Pure Vanilla is just a trainwreck of grief and regret surrounding her, his dearest friend.

-His love for you has never wavered, not once since he fell for you, but for a moment when he sees her, he’s terrified that it might. All of those feelings hit him at once, and he is again that reckless young cookie at the academy following her around like a lost puppy. She looks at him and his heart races, then it sinks to the pits of his stomach.

-How could he be so selfish to consider hurting you in such a way, for even a moment? He and White Lily Cookie were no longer the same as they were before their falling out, he knew that, and yet his past crept up on him like a monster in the shadows. It makes his stomach churn.

-But you lay a hand on his arm, and you give him this look like you know exactly what’s going on, and suddenly it’s all alright. You’re right here, and you’re all he needs. He knows that more than anyone else.

-That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in your chest when you see the way he looks at her, but you know your Pure Vanilla. He would never do anything to hurt you, he was the kindest and most loving cookie you have ever had the privilege to share your life with.

-Now, with that established, we can divulge into him as your partner.

-As I mentioned he’s very giving, but he’s terrible and receiving gifts from you. He’s not used to it, and he may outright refuse to accept it, but if you push him he’ll give. He always loves what you give him anyway, even if it’s the smallest insignificant thing. It always gets displayed somewhere he can see it, or he makes a way to use it in his daily life.

-It takes him a while to be open with you. He feels his feelings and thoughts are a burden on you, so his worries usually go unspoken unless you notice them yourself.

-If you notice something and point it out, he’ll tell you what's wrong. He wouldn’t want to lie to you and make you more worried about things. He downplays it a lot, though. It takes a lot of stubbornness on your part to get him to open up and admit when he’s feeling really bad.

-He does let you in little by little, and you get to see more of Pure Vanilla as he is beneath all the smiles and passivity.

-I also mentioned that he’s verbally affectionate over physically. He gives you so much praise it makes your head spin in circles. Everything you do is worth praising in his eyes, even silly little things like finding your way through the castle or grabbing yourself something special to eat one day.

-Constantly mentions how lucky he is to have you, his admiration truly knows no end. Ah, and he speaks of you all around the kingdom. Other cookies think you’re a literal saint thanks to him, and you’re treated with so much respect by those in the cookie kingdom.

-Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard Cookie all adore you, and get so very excited when you offer to go on an adventure with them. (Much to Pure Vanilla’s worry and dismay.) The way you interact with them makes Pure Vanilla’s chest ache at the sight. You’re so wonderful with children, he loves seeing the way you handle them with love and care. Makes him wonder what you might be like with children of your own… Ah, that’s not a trail of thought he should go down too far just yet. One day, though.

-As sweet and loving as he is, he’s fiercely protective of you. He’s lost quite a bit in his life, and he knows he will lose more, he’d like to prevent another loss if he can help it though. If you argue with him, it’s almost always about this.

-He doesn’t like you going to dangerous locations, he doesn’t like it when you leave his side for more than a day or so, and he certainly doesn’t approve of you putting yourself at risk for adventure. Usually, you settle this by just having him come with you, but sometimes even that isn’t enough for him.

-Regardless, the angriest you see him (other than the Shadow Milk incident lol), is when you are at risk. It’s easy to forget he’s very powerful, akin to a god, but he is. He is not afraid to use that power to protect you if he must. (It’s lowkey hot I’m ngl.)

-Now he’s not the type to go overboard with this kind of stuff, he’ll only do what he must to remove the threat if he has to. He is not afraid to be violent if he needs to be, though. Immediately after he will worry over you with such gentleness it will give you whiplash.

-He’s aware his outbursts of anger are uncommon and jarring from his usual demeanor, but he’s just a cookie after all. He loves you very much, and if he can keep you safe he will for as long as you live.

-Jealousy is rare from him, which is to be expected, but he does get jealous. Specifically when he sees you interacting with cookies in a way he can’t interact with you. Physical affection is usually what gets him upset.

-Not that he can’t be physically affectionate, but that he has a hard time being physical with anyone. It’s a difficult thing he struggles with, and while you’re understanding and loving, he can’t stop the rare annoyance bubbling up in his chest when he sees one of your friends touching you so casually.

-It’s the only time other cookies might get to see him frown around the kingdom, a displeased expression etched across his normally gentle features. It won’t fade until you return your attention to him and make him feel validated in his feelings.

-After these stints, it is common that he drags you (pulls you gently by your hand) back to his room and cuddles up to you in the quiet of his bedroom. He’ll whisper his worries at your insistence, and melt into your touch as you soothe him instead of scolding like most others would.

-Oh, and it’s very very bad when Shadow Milk Cookie is involved. Shadow Milk knows just how to get under his skin, and you are an easily accessible soft spot.

-Not only is Shadow Milk far more open in expressing himself than Pure Vanilla is, but he’s very physical with everything. While Shadow Milk may not see you as anything more than a doll to play with, it infuriates Pure Vanilla to see him touch you and flirt with you like you are his when you are Pure Vanilla’s.

-He brings out that possessive side of Pure Vanilla that he represses as hard as he can. He doesn’t want to share you, though. Not with anyone and especially not Shadow Milk Cookie. You are his life partner, the person he loves more than anything in the world, that’s not something he’s ever had before and he doesn’t want anyone else to be able to feel what your love feels like. Allow him to be selfish just this once.

-I also have a belief that ancients have something similar to a beast bite, though it’s less common that any of them “mark” a partner. Pure Vanilla is the least likely to leave such a mark on you unless you seem insistent upon learning about it.

-Functionally it’s similar to the beast bite, but there is no need for biting in their case – they can if they’d like to, though. Instead, it’s just a magical seal that can be placed upon your dough that resembles their souljam. It connects the two of you physically and emotionally.

-When Pure Vanilla misses you, it sends a wave of sadness through you. A longing that is not your own, but feels so familiar to your own that you could easily mistake it as such. His emotions always come in big waves that nearly drown you then quiet down again as soon as they come.

-Pure Vanilla, again, wouldn’t place one on you unless you really wanted it. If you did, though, he would place it right where your spine meets your neck. The little blue mark peeks over the tops of your shirts like a tease, reminding everyone who you are with.

-Just because he is kind doesn’t mean he can’t also be a little possessive of you. You’re wonderful, after all, he can’t risk any cookie thinking you’re available.

-Besides the blue looks stunning on your dough, if he says so himself. And he does.

-Now, onto the bedroom.

-To start I’ll say Pure Vanilla is deceptively innocent-looking. It’s easy to imagine he feels no urges or wants in a sexual sense, but that’s not true at all. He’s just good at repressing them. And he’s repressed them for years and years and years.

-His sexual experience is probably also low, but I can imagine he’s had sex previously with a cookie or two (maybe even White Lily, depending on the circumstances). The important thing is that he has experience, and he’s not as awkward about it as one might think.

-It’s very similar to how he falls in love with you, once he gets a taste he really can’t stop himself from falling further and further down.

-He’s very patient though, so he won’t initiate your first time together. He’d rather you decide that since he’s more than ready to do whatever you’d like. (He’d been thinking about it since three months in, but he didn’t want to move too fast so he just pretended nothing was wrong.)

-When you do decide you are ready, he is there waiting with open arms for you. He makes sure your first time together is all about what you want and focuses on making sure you feel good. He’s a people pleaser in every aspect of his life, including the bedroom.

-But, if he had to pick what he preferred, he’d probably admit to being a service top. He likes to make you feel good, and he wants to know everything that makes your body react to him. He treats it like a secret ancient knowledge that only he is privy to.

-He likes to know you in every aspect of your life, the bedroom is no different. He takes his time always, preferring to go slow and steady rather than fast and rough. He’s a quick learner too, picking up your likes and dislikes with an ease that would make any student jealous. Within two, maybe three sessions he’s got you read like a book. It’s infuriating how easily he manages to get you to melt under his touch.

-If you want to top, he’ll oblige you, though you can tell he really prefers taking care of you over being taken care of. There’s just something so special about being allowed to have you like this. So soft and pliant beneath him. All the trust in the world rests on his shoulders, and he holds it like it is the most important thing in the world.

-And he is so, so giving during sex.

-He takes his time with you, starting with slow and deep kisses that trail down your neck. He worships you like a god, smothering your dough with his affections. Not an inch of you will be left untouched from his lips, burning your skin into his memories so he never forgets how it feels beneath his tongue.

-And he whispers such loving words of admiration, talking about how wonderful you are for him. Mumbling against you that you taste so sweet and that each noise you make sounds like a symphony to his ears. He encourages you to let go, allow him to love you as you are, and let him see all the most vulnerable sides of you because that is all he wants.

-When he tastes your juices he sighs like he is in heaven. His pleasure is only found in you, after all. Your taste is something he could easily fall into addiction for, just like every other part of you.

-You can be rough with him while he goes down on you if you’d like, he doesn’t mind at all. Grab and pull at his hair, grind yourself into his face, and squeeze him between your legs with all your might. They’re just signs he’s doing his job right, after all.

-Oh, he’s a huge proponent of eye contact. While he can’t quite see well all the time, he always has his eyes open and on you when he can help it. This is especially prevalent when he is inside you (or when you are inside him).

-He presses his forehead to yours and watches your face contort in pleasure, allowing you to do the same. It makes the act more intimate, and he feels so much more connected to you like this. Like he can really see you for who you are in these moments, and feel that love that burns for him in your gaze.

-Alongside this, he always holds your hand. Regardless of if he’s going down on you or if you’re riding him or anything he is adamant your hands remain interlocked. It’s another layer of connection that he uses as a means of expressing his love for you.

-If you can’t tell, he’s seriously into body worship. He loves every inch of you, and sex is the easiest way that he can express this to you.

-He uses sex as an extension of his affection for you, rather than something for fun or to stake claim. It’s another form of love to him, and you can feel this through the way he treats you with such gentleness during the whole act.

-I don’t believe he’s into much other than what I’ve listed above. He’s very vanilla (lol) and traditional about sex, preferring things to be simple, sweet, and loving.

-He prefers to keep things in the bedroom, the idea of being caught makes him run hot, but you can convince him to try a few riskier places. Like the pagoda or in quiet rooms near other cookies, so long as the doors are locked and there’s no risk of interruption.

-He does not like being cared for during the deed, it makes him feel guilty that you’re caring for him when he would rather care for you. If you are insistent he’ll give in, but he makes it known he would prefer to be providing than being provided for.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #crk x you #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla x you #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie x you

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blueberrisdove-sideblog · 3 days ago

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―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝓇𝓊𝓀𝒶 𝓈𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓈 : This is all about Mydei and his dark desires for you! What will the God of War conjure up next in his series? Why don’t we take a peek? :>

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝒮𝓎𝓃ℴ𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ：Mydei is the god of war, feared by everyone for his insane strength and genius strategy. He’s got this fiery temper and never backs down, making him the perfect leader, always commanding armies with cold precision. But underneath all that intensity, there’s a guy who holds on to a strong sense of honor. He’s constantly battling with the weight of his power and the vulnerabilities it brings. He’s all about destruction and victory, pushing through one fight after another, but he’s still carrying the heavy burden of being a god.

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 ：This series focuses on Mydei and his role as a gift of war. Each plot will explore different aspects of his journey and experiences. It will include : fem!reader & male!reader. ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

―୨୧⋆ ˚𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ ：if you want to be tagged in any of these fics comment or reblog & tell me which fic/fics/drabbles u wanna be tagged!

001. DESPERATE TO SAVE ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

When the plague ravaged your village, you sought out Mydei, the god of storms. He promised you to save your people, but only if you have s*x with him and become his wife. With no other option, you agreed.

[ TW : DUBCON ， LOSS OF VIRGINITY ! ]

002. RUINED BY WAR ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

In a world divided between war and peace, you, the Goddess of Peace, find yourself drawn to the one being who defies everything you stand for��Mydei, the ruthless God of War. His touch is rough, his presence overwhelming, and yet, when you're in his grasp, resistance crumbles like ruins beneath a battlefield. He should be your greatest enemy, but in the dark, when his hands claim you. And as he takes you, possessive, unrelenting, you realize that even peace was meant to surrender.

[ TW : IMPLIED DUBCON ，SIZE KINK ， PERV!MYDEI ! ]

003. FALLING FOR WAR ?! [NSFW & MALE!READER]

You are nothing but a mortal warrior—fragile, fleeting, and yet, you have defied the God of War himself. Mydei has crushed entire civilizations under his heel, yet no matter how many times he cuts you down, you rise again, bloodied but unbroken. He should end you, make an example of your defiance, but instead, he finds himself enthralled. Your stubbornness is infuriating, your resilience intoxicating. So, he decides to break you in a different way, to make you surrender, not to war, but to him. And when he finally has you beneath him, trembling and breathless, you realize that even the strongest warriors can fall.

[ TW : SIZE KINK ， MANHANDLING，ROUGH!MYDEI ! ]

00.4 UNTAMED CHAOS ! [NSFW & MALE!READER]

You are the God of Chaos, a force of unpredictability and destruction with no allegiance, no strategy—only the thrill of war itself. Where Mydei fights with purpose, you revel in disorder, turning his carefully laid plans into a storm of madness. He should despise you, and yet, he keeps chasing you, drawn to the way you slip through his grasp like smoke. But when he finally catches you—pinning you beneath him, his fury burning through every touch—you realize that even chaos can be tamed… if only for a moment.

[ TW : DUBCON ，C*M PLAY ， DACRYPHILIA ! ]

00.5 F*CKED BY A GOD ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

Your kingdom lies in ruins, its warriors slain, its banners burned to ash. And at the heart of it all stands Mydei—the merciless God of War, your conqueror. He should have discarded you like the rest, but instead, he keeps you close, a captive queen in golden chains. You refuse to break, refuse to bow, meeting his cold fury with your own unyielding fire. If you will not kneel to him in the throne room, then you will in his bed—his hands rough, his touch demanding, his desire a war of its own. And in the heat of his embrace, you begin to wonder… did you truly lose, or did he?

[ TW : SIZE KINK ， BREEDING KINK ，SPANKING ! ]

00.6 BLOOD AND HONEY [NSFW & FEM!READER]

Mydei, the God of War, has never known softness—until you, the Goddess of Love, dare to challenge him. When words turn to something rougher, he fucks you like he fights: intense, merciless, and all-consuming. Love has no place in war, but with you beneath him, he might just reconsider.

[ TW : ROUGH S*X ， SIZE KINK ，MARKING ! ]

(𝓃)𝓈𝒻𝓌 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁ℯ𝓈 : [ all gn!reader ]

SFW : How god of war Mydei takes care of you when you are sick

SFW : How the both of you got married

NSFW : Mydei’s favourite s*x position

SFW : The god of war doesn’t like sweet treats

[…]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉𝓈 : [ all must be gn!reader ]

[…]

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

#blueberrisdove #honkai star rail mydei #mydei x you #mydei hsr #mydei smut #mydeimos #hsr mydei #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #mydei x reader #mydei x y/n #hsr x female reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #𑁍ࠬܓ the free good girls.

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lady-ashfade · 1 day ago

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⚘*ೃ Birds Above

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Jacaerys & Baela Targaryen x Fem!Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summary: the two have always known the love they shared for one another, even before their betrothal. Now that bond is threatened when another is promised to the prince.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 3.5k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: angst, both being cold to the reader, reader being amazing, betrayal, a little oc on them both, fluff, reader is attracted to both sides, apologies.

𓅿 @wickedpotential wanted to be tagged when this was out.

The castle has its fair share of arguments, and disappointment throughout the war already. Most of them were between Jacaerys and his mother about the choice she’d make.

And never have the walls withstood this level of anger and yelling from the young prince.

“Why couldn’t we have made another deal or have you decided to constantly throw every insult my way.” Jacaerys stood with his voice raised to his mother— never thinking of her as the Queen in theses moments.

“We? Have you already forgotten that I am your queen?” Rhaenrya shouted back, “I am trying to win this war with the little we have. To gain another army of men to our side is worth more to us then wishes and hopes.” She slammed her hand against the table and turned away from him.

“What of baela? How do you think she feels to have another woman promised my hand? To have someone else for my attention to go to?” he hummed at the end of his sentence and his shoulders shrugging. Rhaenyra took a deep breath to think before she spoke again knowing there would be less good done from angry words.

Withdrawing her head from its low hanging she looked at her son with a softened gaze, “Aegon The Conquer had two Wifes so this is not unheard of, I hope you’ll both learn to be stable in the marriage,” her heels echoed off the walls when she walked towards him and rested her hand upon his cheek.

“We all have made sacrifices, Jacaerys. I am not asking you both to leave each other but to welcome someone new for us to win this war.”

The prince walked out of her quarters with haste to his steps and nostrils flaring at the overwhelming emotions burning inside him. Why must he be the one to constantly suffer from her deals, Dragonseeds claiming dragons and never being chosen to take action. It was his birth right to fight in this war and yet he’d be forced to stay away from anything dangerous — it was disrespectful.

His hands forced a new pair of doors open and they echoed off the walls they hit. His eyes dart across the room until he found the woman who had his heart, Baela, sitting at her decks with book beneath her hands but her eyes staring into his in shock.

“It’s insane,” he began, as he walked towards her as his mouth continues to run, “I did not agree to this— We did not agree to have another. She takes no consideration about me or you — her most loyal members of her council.” his feet wonders back and forth.

She listened to his words and tried to keep her own anger within, “She is your mother, and our Queen.” Beala pushed herself up off the chair. “And as The Queen, she must do what it takes for us to win back the throne.”

Jace took his sweet time searching her eyes for comfort — to see that she too was upset about this. “You’re talking as though this means nothing. Why are you so calm?” he shouted.

Baale grabbed ahold of his hands in hers to yank it toward her, her eyes now darkening and facial expression becoming more detailed, “I dislike all of this too. I don’t want to share you with anybody, let alone a woman I have never met,” her voice cracked.

“But I’d rather still be married to you then non at all,” she cupped his cheek. A sad smile resting on her lips.

Silents swept over the room as the pair took in each other. Leaning his forehead against hers, he laced his fingers with hers, “I wouldn’t let my heart belong to another as long as I live.” Jace whispers. His mouth drew closer to hers.

“We are bonded, my heart remains with yours.” Baela took his lips against hers to feel the sparks she craved each moment.

— ‧₊˚ ࣭˚⊹‧₊˚⋆⁺₊ ࣪✩₊˚.⋆—

A few nights have passed since the announcement of the new betrothal was first declared and the aid has been thick for everyone to notice. The prince and his betrothal rarely were seen without the other and harder to separate, and his grace was easily annoyed in council. When the queen spoke, Jace was quick to disagree or roll his eyes and though he was always vocal of his opinions, the men around heard more of it.

Now, they stand on either side of one other awaiting the arrival of their new addition while filled with lack of patiences.

Once you walk through the doorway something stops for both of them and yet they brush it off for another thing entirely. Baela took it as jealousy when you walked with such beauty her eyes couldn’t seem to pull away. If you were ugly she wouldn’t have needed to worry about his heart being stolen away. Jace knew you were beautiful— but he knew nothing of your personality, but he thought it easier to wed you if you were good looking.

You halted your movements as you stood before the Royal blood, bowing your head quietly to show respect. “My Queen, it’s a honor to be welcomed by your hospitality.”

Rhaenyra flicked her eyes on your every move with a kinda smile, “Likewise.”

You straighten back up before she points to her side were they stand — eye’s taking in all your being. “My Son Prince Jacaerys and his other betrothed, Beala Targaryen.”

The sweet dark hair that swept his head and curled perfectly made you wonder what it would feel like to rub your hand through them. His pale skin with little creases or imperfections was stunning, he really was a handsome prince. But your attention was pulled away when someone wrap their arm with his causing you to look at their smooth hands — up to their stunning face.

Beala Targaryen was the apple of your eyes. You’ve seen woman who made your heart flutter but never in a way that you’ve felt as of now. Silver curls fell across her shoulders and a few pieces braided upwards to keep some hair out of her face. Just like Jacaerys, her features were something the gods should be jealous of, her skin looked soft and her eyes looked full of fire — nothing has ever made you more enthralled.

Bending your knees you bow again at yourr new betroths with a smile on your lips, “A pleasure to meet you.” You hummed. Jace and Beala glared at your frame in investigation to see what you were like.

“My son will show you around the castle,” she spoke and earned a heated look from the both of them but she stood her ground, “I am sure you will take a liking to this place in do time.”

Beala had to force herself away from her lover and watch him walk out with you by his side, a polite smile on his face that filled herself with rage and jealousy. She knew his charm, and you would fall quickly to it because of the way it was — no one could resist him in her eyes. No woman with eyes could. And yet her eyes followed you. Your lips moving to speak words she could not hear with a pretty smile that made her stomach hurt from seeing.

Why must the gods send someone beautiful to marry him? Has the pain she felt from him having to be with another not great enough.

The waves are loud enough to hear from the castle halls from the openings as you walk by the prince’s side. It was calming and felt warm. You listened to his thoughts on the castle of his and followed his every move into each room. But his words stopped a few minutes ago as silence took over. Jace could not think of anything to continue on about since this bored him a bit and he refused to look at more then he had to. He was keeping his thoughts on his love, on Beala.

“Forgive me my prince,” you stop and folded your hands together, he turned with a raised attention, “I am feeling quite tired, should we could head back?”

The sunlight came right through the glasses windows and covered you in the golden light making you looked divine. His breath hitched in his throat. A soft breeze stroked your hair and made the strands slightly move.

“Uh- hmm. Sounds like a wonderful idea, my lady.” You tried to show him gratitude but he walked past you again and found himself quiet again and shut you out.

Must interactions, had disappointed you forth on. Of course you knew they had been in love before you entered the picture but you’d hope they would spare you the cruelties.

Countless days passed at dragonstone while you found yourself alone and in need of company of anyone. Beala had only spared you a few words that you could tell were forced through her teeth before leaving you alone. You tried to talk to her like a friend would and show her compliments.

“I’ve never seen something as beautiful as your dragon riding,” you smiled when seeing her in the halls. You’d been on the beach and saw her and her dragon moved around in the air so gracefully.

“Thank you, My Lady.” Beala took off her gloves and never stopped her movements of walking. You watched her, wanting to reach out or follow her. But had to stay back with the sour strings of your heart.

Jacaerys wasn’t much better and If not more hurtful. Yes, he was a gentleman and at least acknowledged your presence when he saw you. But he was always going back to her side, laughing and joking while you had to stand alone with no one to talk too. It was painful to watch them. You wanted to be by their side. You wanted attention from the both of them.

Why couldn’t they see you weren’t trying to tear them apart?

— ‧₊˚ ࣭˚⊹‧₊˚⋆⁺₊ ࣪✩₊˚.⋆—

It wasn’t until you started to be more content with your self and ignored them as well that they started to notice the lack of you. Beala had grown used to seeing you in the halls early in the morning, she hated it but she was used to it… now not seeing your smile felt unsettling. Almost like she missed it. Or how you didn’t make many notices of her new dresses. Of course when you did talk to her it still was just as warm and happy as before.

Jace grew used to your voice when he’d spend a little bit of time, his mother making it his job to do so, but still he grew to appreciate the quiet time with you. At breakfast you’d always tell him good morning and chat small with him but that had been gone in these past few days. All he ever got was a small smile and a bow before walking off with little care for him.

Now as the candle light flicked across their skin making the shadows appear more light in his chambers they found themselves talking non sense. Beala had her fingers laced with his while rubbing her thumb over his warm flesh while watching him talk. A dark curl feel right above his eye as it always did after a long day and his styling wasn’t as strong as the early hours of the morning.

“Do you think we have been to harsh,” her sudden voice made the prince stop talking and turn to his betrothed.

“What do you mean?” Jace pondered to her. His eyes narrowed and head lean to the side in confusion. Jace wouldn’t remember doing anything wrong in the past few days and much less her doing anything.

Baela sucked her teeth and looked down at their hands grasping each other as she repeated her thumbs movement for comfort. “Lady Y/n, have we been harsh more then we should have?” Baela pointed out. The flash of all the times she saw just the slightest bit of hurt in your eyes as she walked away from you. Or when jace left you alone to be at her side.

Jace began to wonder the same thing, “I have been the most cruel, Jace. To think of being shipped of to a new place in the middle of this bloody war and be married off — while having no one to turn too. And the only people that should be at her side treats her poorly.” her voice breaks and eyes being to sting of the tears gathering.

Jace sighed deeply and tugged their hands up towards his mouth and kissed hers. He tried to give her a comforting smile, “In truth I have been finding myself think of her as of late,” jace confessed. Bales looked up at him and he began to regret his words. “My love for you runs deep and no one will ever pull me away from you,” he trails on.

“But, I have heard of lovers being more then two.” Jace leans back and Baela watches a grin form on his cheeks, “Targaryen woman are allowed to love woman, it’s not unheard of. My mother seems to be very content with Lady Mysaria in daemon’s absences.”

Baela sniffed and whips her cheeks as a laugh rumbles from her lips. Jace was always there to make her feel better and is why she found happiness with him, why she was in love with him. “I thought my feelings were just jealousy, but I think i would like to see her by my side as well.”

Jace chuckled and stared at his beloved and raised both his brows, “Don’t stop on my accord. She is very beautiful and sweet natured, nor has she ever not mentioned you while we are together.” Baelas eyes spark at the thought of you mentioning her or even wanting to get to know her.

“What has she said?” She grabs ahold of his arm breaking free of his hands, she seems to be wanting to gossip.

Jace rolls his eyes playfully, “I seem to recall her asking for you to join us on walks many times, or asking very light details of what you like.”

Baela seems satisfied to hear this but wants more details so she spends all night asking about every convenience you’ve ever had with him. Or what you are like, how you talk or act. And she listened like he was singing her favorite tone.

Dragonstone was once again touched by the sunlight as the morning arrived and the waves from the shores peacefully crashing against the sand. You needed fresh air and to be alone, so you went down to the shores without anyone noticing. The salty air had grown costume to your nose and now felt normal and comfortable, just as well as the constant noise of the sea. You snuck down as sand covered your bare feet and your body swayed a bit while closing your eyes.

The birds from above flocked and called out together just as dragons did normally, the birds had become your only source of inspiration. They had each other to migrate with when times got cold. They could spread their wings and fly were ever they wanted, never being bond by anything. It has been lonely without any friends or people you could turn to, your maids have been a big help but you couldn’t speak to them about your troubles.

It was painful to keep silent, to constantly be forgotten and forced away.

But yet you faced the path laid out for you by the gods, by your father and the queen to win the war. If they wouldn’t like you after you tried hard then it wasn’t worth the breath trying to convince them otherwise. It was better to get used to it then yearn for something unfitting for you. The warmth felt wonderful on your skin, and perfect temperature water ran over your feet once in a while. You wondered if after the war is over you could return home and leave them be to their own accord. Opening your eyes with a sigh at the thought, you found a few birds flying around each other that resemble dancing.

As you focused on what’s in front of you the pair drew closer towards you, trying gain courage from each other of what they were about to attempt. Their footsteps covered up by every other sound from the open scene around them.

Jace was the one who broke you out of your thought, “You had us worried,” he called out and had caught your attention as you spun around party to looked at him, and you noticed her as well. “Our knights thought you’d been taken.” you smile at his attempts to be friendly.

“My apologies, Your Grace, My Lady, it was not intention to cause a fuss.” you turned back to the waves. Jacaerys stepped closer while Baela followed at his side while they took you in, seemingly looking peaceful and the most beautiful they had seen you.

“I quite like being here, alone,” they didn’t hear any ill tone in your voice but yet they took it badly, you must have come her alone often then, “Makes it easy to think.”

“And what exactly has you taken so deep in thought?” Jace questioned while propping his arm on his sword handle. The cape that feel from his shoulders matched Baels, both red and textured like the black mimicked scales on their clothes.

“Nothing worth sharing, my prince.” You deflect his question and it makes him a bit upset. If he hadn’t acted sour towards you then maybe you’d feel comfortable talking like you normally did. Baela decided to take a chance at it and walks past her beloved and right next to you. Your shoulders almost touching.

“You should see it from above,” Baela smiled as she looked ahead, “Especially when the wings of a dragon dropped and the water hits you just right.” she recalls many time that Moondancer has decided to get closer to the water.

You smiled at the thought of being on a dragon even if it did scare you. Being hundreds of feet in the air, knowing you could fall off at any moment is terrifying. But not if you were the one with wings…you’d much prefer being the dragon.

“It indeed does sound wonderful, but I much rather stay on the ground.” You hum and place your fingers together. Before you would recoil in joy at the fact they are speak with you but you’re now spectacle of their intentions.

“I could take you on a ride sometime, Moondancer will find joy in another spectator.” this is her way of flirting or showing a way of her taken interest in you.

You sigh and placed your hand in a swift motion, you couldn’t help but get irritated by their behavior. Everyday since you have arrived they have no interest in talking or barely acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, no warning they seem to acted as if nothing happened.

“Forgive me, though I appreciate your efforts and proposals, I can not accept. Much to my dismay upon my arrival you both have been eager to push me way. I respect your wishes, but I will not accept pity lies. I shall have my solitude alone while you both continue on,” you nod before getting the courage to leave the situation before tension arises.

The lovers share a glance once again in regret and guilt. They could not put blame on you for rejecting their offers, nor too speak plainly about their previous doings. Jacaerys wasn’t going to let you think they weren’t genuine now of wanting you. Even if you still wanted nothing to do with them.

“My lady, forgive us for our wrong doings when you arrived. I wish I could say we had no ill intentions but it’s not good for royals to lie,” he licked his lips and draw closer towards you. “We couldn’t imagine letting another into our love, much less on who shares love for…Everyone. I thought i would be the main attraction,” jace blushes and looked away.

Beala steps forwards too and smiles, “I was jealous, there was no hiding it. As soon as you step through the doors I knew your beauty was unmatched, i felt the need to complete.” your heart skipped a beat when her soft hands grabbed ahold of yours, her eyes just a lovely as you hoped they would be.

“You wanted to love us both, not just one. We have been struggling with the growing feelings for you as well and wanted to make up everything we did.” her thumbs traces over your wrist and skin gently.

You’ve watched countless times of her soft caresses at the dinner table, how her thumb and fingers rub of his knuckles, and tight fist. The light reflects from her eyes, as if her emotions were the cause while looking at him. And here she is, doing the same with you.

“If you’ll allow us, we’d like to fit you in,” his figure grows closer, so close to yours and beside her, his eyes never leaving your face.

“After all, you’ll be our wife.”

#house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #baela targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader x baela #baela targaryen #jace and baela #poly #worked on this for more but finally finished it.

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thatinwardhell · 9 hours ago

Text

beltway | s. crosby

rating: explicit, mdni

wordcount: 3.8k quickie lol. had to get this out after Certain Videos surfaced

warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap, oral sex (m receiving) (its facefucking!! be advised!!), no reader orgasm, slight?? gender roles just in case. more in a symbiotic sexy way than “go make me a sandwich”

notes: sigh .... after a 3 YR LONG hiatus from any fic writing !!!!!!! it was the four nations that brought me back. pls send in requests !!!!! i'd love to keep writing more lol. vvvv happy 2 be back !!!!

He’s standing above you, legs spread wide, Colossus of Rhodes, but twice as tall and thrice as golden from where you kneel in front of him.

His hand, still wet, still sticky, from the champagne that slid down it, crystalline, only minutes before, is running through your hair, moving it, manipulating it any which way he pleases. He can, of course he can; he’s Sidney Crosby, Sidney Crosby who’s just added yet another trophy to his gratuitous spoils of war, who, even after all these years, still proves his dominance. Aging though he may be, it never fails to knock your knees, to put warm honey between your legs at the sight of him so easily evincing his overwhelming ownership of the young men whose pointed hits and on-ice jeers seem to roll off his back, reminding the world of his complete and total domination. Not that you needed a reminder.

Your hands fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of Sidney’s hockey pants, pawing relentlessly at them, desperate to unearth the reward you know awaits you beneath them, and the jock you so frequently call disgusting (something about it puts that old, familiar ache in your tummy though: the thing is nearly as old as you are, and you throw a pathetic, watery-eyed glance up at Sidney at the thought that he has been this good at what he does longer than you’ve even been alive. He’s already looking when you do.)

Sidney seems to take pity on you; precious girl, he usually says in moments like these, but tonight – no, he seems to crave your tongue, your mouth, in more ways than one. You pant, watching with a sense of wonder as he makes a show of pulling the string apart with the sort of practiced effortlessness that only comes with his age. He takes both of your wrists in each of his hands, gently, his calluses scratching the supple skin of your inner wrists, perfumed just for him, only for him, leading them to the waistband of his jock, leaving them there. He wants you to do it, and this is a capitulation that does not go unnoticed. Traitorous pride blooms in your chest; that Sid needs you so badly, so wantonly, that his infamous and over-practiced stoicism seems to slip after his big wins flatters you to no end, and it stokes a different, softer emotion in you at the thought that he needs you at all. You nuzzle the newly-exposed skin of his thighs in appreciation of this small surrender as you draw down his jock, inch by torturous inch, either ignorant or tactless to the party which still rages outside.

It’s a wonder Sid even found the broom closet at all, a private corner in the midst of a monsoon of alcohol, and spit, and sweat. It’s a wonder they’re not missing him yet, but a man has needs, and though he seems to walk on water like a god, Sidney is just that: a man. You know this better than most, you think, but your one-track mind is thrown off-kilter instantaneously: you have finally found your prize. His cock springs free, and it is just as good as you have imagined.

Sid blushes from the tips of his elven ears to his long, sloping nose to the thick, muscled cord of his neck at your unabashed appreciation of him, of all of him. You are too enthralled to notice he thinks, but, though you are thrown into a sea of awe at the sight of Sid’s cock no matter how many times you’ve seen it, you know he needs it: he’ll never say it out loud, no, never, but in moments like this, he needs you to tell him he’s good, without the need for words, without touch, by sight alone, in regards to more than his performance.

You run your nose along the column of it, and your giving to him gives into an act of selfish self-gratification at the heady, virile scent of him. Sid’s all man, and he makes you dizzy with it, mouth dropping open and little pink tongue peeking out to whet both your appetite and your lips, preparing for the Herculean task of taking all of Sid into your mouth. But not now – not just yet. No, now, he is all yours, all yours to stake claim over, completely yours in the tiny broom closet he had dragged you into, the need boiling over in those hazel eyes you love so much. Usually, Sidney insists on showering before he takes you all for himself, but you love this, perhaps more than the musky bergamot soap he always uses postgame.

Your vinous desire finally blots out your stalwart want to simply appreciate him like this, though – you have never been good at resisting Sid, though he might say the same of you (your pride simmers even higher, at this thought.) You give him as his grip tightens in your hair, reeling briefly in the doglike panting that reverberates through the room, permeated with the desperation only you can bring out in him.

Your tongue peeks out once again, pressing tiny kitten licks to the very base of his shaft, to the very beginning of the impressive length that you swear inspires the pure and uninhibited supremacy he seems to exert over others. You often tease Sid about his big dick energy, drunk off the blush that rises to his stubbled cheeks at your flattery, but it couldn’t be farther from a mere act of adulation. You’re bad with measurements, and he’s never given you a number, but you know it takes half an hour of prep with his fingers, his sinewy tongue to fit it in, that, after your months, years together, the stretch of him still punches a half-gasp, half-grunt from your lungs that no other man has ever inspired.

“C’mon,” Sid half-pleads. His accent seems to get stronger like this, though he’d object to you calling his tone a whine. This tugs another sigh from you, your eyes caressing the bright red maple leaf that adorns Sid’s chest. He seems to be Odysseus now, returning home from battle, to you, Penelope, his one and only, or you his Cleopatra and he a bloodied Mark Antony. He fights for his country, his pride, and, drenched in sweat, returns to you for the womanly comfort he can only find in you, for his spoils of war. More fluid drips from the hot, damp seam of you, but you ignore it easily. Sid will take care of you – he always does. Later, he will see the red silk, the cherry lace that covers his prize, but for now, the only thing that interests you is pleasing him.

You oblige him easily – this is what you can give to Sidney, after so long and so much of him giving to you. All at once, he’s in your mouth, and his head is back against the racks of cleaning supplies that will inevitably be completely vacant, if the sounds of Team Canada’s celebrations outside give any clues.

You run your tongue experimentally along the thick vein which runs all along his shaft, up to the swollen head of him, now bright pink with anticipation in the back of your throat. Slowly, surely though, you draw back, dragging your slick lips along Sid’s length until you reach the very tip. Just as quickly, you sink down to the base, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at this familiar intrusion, but you only look up at him the way he loves so much. Both of Sid’s hands drop, now, to your cheeks, caressing them, his callused fingertips tracing the shapely, gentle slopes of your face.

“Beautiful girl.” Sidney sounds wrecked, in the way only you can make him, gentle and tender just for you, even as he dominates you so thoroughly, so completely. He gives you a pointed look, wordless, but so intimate, so intense that you know what it means. Though you try to nod as best you can, he would know, even in the darkness of the cramped broom closet, even from miles and miles away, that you have said yes to him, that you’re enthusiastically giving your mouth to him, the last in a long line of tributes from those the conquered tonight.

Sidney thrusts those fucking hips with a miniscule fraction of the power you know he’s capable of, the pure, raw energy contained within the corded muscle of his thighs, his hips, and now it’s not just the slight lack of air that’s making you dizzy. He draws back, allowing you a momentary reprieve before his cock once more breaches the damp cavern of you, this time harder, more powerful.

Eyes half-lidded, you will him to do more – to take from you as much as he pleases. Sid could take from you everything you have, and you’d still offer more on hands and knees, ass in the air, and, though nausea bubbles in his stomach at the thought of taking anything from you, the offer sits implicitly in his hands, a reminder of your complete and utter devotion. To drive this home, you apply the most suction you can manage in your present position to Sidney’s cock, still sitting heavy, impish on your tongue, and this draws a wrecked moan from him – a moan! Your revelry is brief, cut by a slight cough as he buries himself even deeper, the thickets of hair at his base enveloping your nose.

Sidney doesn’t flinch at the sound – neither do you. He knows your body better than you do, and, even in the throes of his pleasure, he knows you can take more, wills you to do so, already so tender, so brutal.

He pulls out once more, and you ache for the loss of him, mouth clinging to the scant bit of him that remains in the relentless warmth, the unforgiving smoothness of your mouth. Sidney looks down at you once more, asking for the last time, with the last scraps of his self-control, for what he knows you will give him.

You offer up your love easily, as easily as breathing comes in sleep, knowing that, even despite his age, his money, his undeniable success, he still needs this, your reassurance, from you – you drag your nails down his thigh, he groans, and begins to thrust the way you know he can.

The hot, wet drag of Sidney’s cock against your lips, the pleasure-pain of him hitting your gag is intoxicating. He’s outside himself – you’re grateful, foggily, for the volume of the music outside, of they’d hear the desperate grunts, the sound of skin on skin on skin, Sidney’s panting, as the thighs that not thirty minutes ago propelled him across the ice at speeds and velocities unimaginable to you now propel his cock to where he needs it most.

Time seems to slow, or speed up, drifting into the amorphous, pleasurable fog you float in. You revel, hedonist, in the feeling of his heavy balls against your chin, the force of his thrusting pushing your head back and forth, relentlessly, a tiny buoy bobbing in the unforgiving and complete story that is Sidney Crosby. He holds you fast, though, as he always does, large hands that once rested solely on the plushness of your ruddy cheeks now banded across your face, thick, brawny fingers now digging into the base of your skull, so gentle, so terrible all at once.

The veins on the underside of him pulse, and you feel them against your lax tongue – you drag it, softly, across the quickened river of blood that sits just underneath the tan skin of him, worshipful. He grunts, appreciative, at this, urges you with the caresses of his calluses against the soft expanse of your skin, your hair, to do it again, and again, and again. You oblige.

Sidney permeates every atom in the tightly-cramped broom closet, too small even for the cleaning supplies contained within it, smaller yet for the heat of two bodies, hardly even flesh, a mess of spit and sweat and sticky, sweet-smelling filth, dripping down your face and landing on the floor with a wet sound. His body is so hot, burning so brightly with the adrenaline typical of wins like these, wins he hasn’t touched with the ruggedness of his fingers in so many months, now within his clutches, now brought under a banner of blood red and snow white, his victory so absolute no one, not in the farthest stretches of obscurity, could deny it.

The power of him overwhelms you, the scent of him, the feeling of his thighs, spattered with a layer of brown hair and now soaking with saliva, under your palms, a psalm for your taking. The musk of sex is overwhelming – you pity the poor worker who walks in here to clean up after your debauchery (you, briefly, remember the absurdity of your situation: it reads like cheap pulp fiction, at times, you think, that only so many months, years now, he had descended on you, delivered you from the dregs of your monotonous, menial, laborious job and into his arms. You would happily open your mouth, your legs, your arms to him as thanks for this epiphany, but he refuses every time; he says the look in your eyes is enough, the brush of hair and skin and the very thought of your shared bed far too much for him already.)

But you can smell him, feel him all over, a woman possessed – Sid gives as much as he takes, like this, though he doesn’t know it. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you grind yourself against your heel, the red silk already so soaked through with arousal now completely ruined, only a memory of your decadence in the broom closet. Surely, he would insist that you climb on top of him, to let him run his tongue over the folds of you until you scream and pound at his chest, screaming mercy, mercy, mercy, as he’s so fond of doing, but you’re happy, perfectly happy, like this, serving him. He hates to hear it, makes him feel his age, the power imbalance that infrequently, but profoundly, informs small bouts of jealousy or solitude. But you like to serve him, yes, especially when he’s like this.

Sid’s so utterly debauched, so lost in himself that even if one of his teammates were to enter, they would hardly recognize their usually so measured captain, completely drowned in the throes of his own pleasure. Sidney’s cheeks, already prone to the kind of ruddiness that inspires poetry or paintings, are flushed a bright cherry red, dotted with sweat and the remnants of champagne, dripping down the long, curved line of his nose (you’d like to lick it off, to suck the liquid from his skin and revel in the salt and the musk of his sweat, the bitterness, then the sweetness of the champagne. But alas, your mouth is occupied.) His salt-and-pepper hair is mussed up in a manner only Caravaggio could imagine, every curl so perfectly askew, which seems to be a habit of your boyfriend’s and one that, admittedly, inspires bouts of desire similar to Sidney’s in you, all over him in the dusk when he comes home, or in the early morning before he leaves. The plush pinkness of his bottom lip is worried to pleasantly between his bottom teeth and the top ones and, had you been more lucid, you would have been able to identify the ones he pointed out to you as implants, replacements for the ones that had been knocked out by one Flyer or another while you were still learning your alphabet.

Sidney’s thrusts are ragged now, are getting deeper, faster, more desperate, his grip on your head that much more intentional, maneuvering your face the way he wants you. He makes you wonderfully lightheaded like this – so completely and thoroughly possessed. You love being his toy, like this, to sit on your knees and please him, almost as much as you like for him to do the same, to press a worshipful mouth to your ankles, your calves, your thighs, then the part of you he loves very most, apart from your eyes, maybe your laugh or the shape of your teeth, the feeling of your smile; if not what he loves the very most, the one he serves – the one thing that puts ‘Captain Canada’ himself on his knees. This is a secret pride of yours, one that you tell no one, one that is kept safe in the depths of you until Sidney is away on a roadie and his side of the bed, still smelling of that bergamot and musk, is getting cold.

But he’s close – you know, you know, and you resist smiling around the heady, intoxicating weight of him. You know him so intimately, you think, you could know his orgasm even if blindfolded with your hands behind your back. You like to think you could coax one from Sidney the same way, but you’ll have to wait, to bide your time. Your ears ring with it, watching the way Sid’s crows’ feet bloom across his cheeks, disturbing the stubble there, the way that, when he grimaces like this, teetering on the edge, his dimples pop out, digging graves in his cheeks.

Sidney’s fingers are doubly hot against your scalp now, dangerously lecherous as they clutch the base of your skull tighter still, pulling you even deeper into him, your nose buried in the wiry brown hair at the base of him. On the precipice of ecstasy, he misses the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth vibrates at the smell of him, all sweat and manhood, the way you like him, completely in control, yet so entirely under your thumb. You hear a familiar hymn on Sid’s tongue, vaguely, and wonder if he’s been talking this entire time, if you’ve just been so enthralled in the scent of him, the wires of his thighs under your hands, that you missed the oh fuck baby oh fuck yes yes take it fuck yeses. He’s teetering, desperate, flailing for it, grasping at straws as he thrusts deeper still.

You want him to come, want him to give the reward of his spend so badly that you’re suffocating on it. You’re grinding on your own foot so hard it’s almost painful, desire controlling every movement, every gyration of your hips against your heel, pushing into the floor rolling your swollen clit with the daftness you’ve realized is inherent with orgasms not provided to you by Sidney. You won’t cum like this, certainly, but you don’t need it, no, not when you have him like this.

You slide the viscous hot pleasure of your tongue along the vein on his underside and he breaks.

Sidney tenses, your hair now taut between his fingers, pulled to its limits, your face pushed as far into his pelvis as it can go, now suffocated in the truest sense of the word in the man who stands above you, so powerful and so destroyed all at once. His pink mouth is dropped open, completely lax, and you can see the edges of his teeth, where they meet the softnesses of his own mouth, the pink tongue, the reddish gums, the pale pink roof of it, and his eyes have screwed shut, now only two tiny, puckered hints of eyelash and supple, thin skin, barely covering the dark bags which have accumulated under his eyes. Stress, you think, maybe sleep, but, then again, no, he’s always good about that. No worry. You have your ways of keeping him in bed when you need to, of keeping him exhausted in all the ways he wants the very most. He gives smaller, tiny thrusts as the heat of him spills down your throat, and you hum at the taste. Sidney eats well, so virile, so fecund, that he tastes good, strong, heady, and a base, animal part of you revels in the smaller thrusts, the taste of him, pines the loss of his cum; he could be thrusting like that in you, keeping his spend inside of you, where it belonged, where it’d carry on his progeny better than TNT or ESPN could.

Sidney eases, taut muscles now weak, so spent you swear you can see his legs shake. It’s an illusion, you know, knowing that his legs, so well accomplished, can hold his weight under much more pressure than any orgasm. But you stroke your pride this way, like to think that you can make him weak, can make him strong whenever you please. His hands slips from your hair, returning to your cheeks, where he turns your head back up from where you hadn’t realized it had slumped. The amber of his eyes is so soft, looks so brown in this light, rather than the greenish they look in the bright lights of the media room or the fluorescence of the rink, so much like pools of dark water, undiscovered, unthinkable to anyone but you.

“Swallow for me.” Sidney is so soft like this, so disparate from the man who can level men twice his size without a second thought on the ice. He could crush you between his thumb and his finger, so easy, like this, but he doesn’t.

You listen, swallow him the way he likes you to, so you keep some of him in you until the next time he can have you.

“Good girl. My best girl.” Sidney says, so quiet anyone else wouldn't have been able to hear it, said for your ears only. He brushes his hands once more over your cheeks, wiping away sweat, stray tears that may have fallen with the tenderness only he’s capable of. “C’mere, give me a kiss.”

You oblige him easily, but act as if it’s a chore – you shrug, roll your eyes as you rise uneasily from your feet, steadied into Sidney’s arms at the first sign of unsteadiness, huff a little for dramatic effect.

He laughs, a soft, easy sound, wraps his hands once more about your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. Sid’s yours, like this, all yours, away from the cameras, from his teammates, from the rink, and you revel in the softnesses of his mouth, the plush of his lips and the slight scratch of his five-o’clock shadow, and everything else falls away, quickly, easily, just like this. The party persists outside – they’ll have to miss him for a minute more.

#sidney crosby #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby fic #sidney crosby x reader #tw age gap #nhl blurb #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey smut #hockey fic

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insanityclause · 20 hours ago

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It is one hell of a moment. Delivering what I think (in gym terms) is known as a low lunge, with one straight leg, one knee millimetres from the ground, and the other at 90 degrees, Hiddleston unbuttons the top two fastenings of his formal dress shirt.

Cries go out from the audience. He then gracefully stands up, with his back to the audience. We cannot see but he is unbuttoning his shirt. Then, he turns to fully face the auditorium. I probably should say that he is speaking blank verse throughout.

The shirt is fully open, revealing a sculpted stomach and torso one only thought existed in Mr Universe competitions, or on Action Man dolls. Cue general hysteria from over 2,100 people on all four tiers, including boxes, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.

What did you say? Take my shirt off?

Welcome to Much Ado About Nothing, the Millennial version.

It is such fun! That’s the first thing. One walks into the beautiful gilded auditorium to encounter grooving ushers dancing around waving signs saying “Turn Your Phones Off”, in time to Nineties pop anthems.

Outside, huge posters have Tom Hiddleston’s name above that of Shakespeare. But of course. Thanks to his recurring role as Marvel’s naughty trickster Loki, Hiddleston is a fully fledged Hollywood star. Yes, I know he cut his teeth at RADA and played Coriolanus at the National Theatre. But THIS IS LOKI. Transported in some miraculous way to Benedick, in Much Ado About Nothing and what’s more, taking his shirt off eight times a week in central London.

The rest of the cast are no mean assemblage; his sparring partner Beatrice is played by another Marvel personality, Hayley Atwell. Stage stalwarts such as Forbes Masson, a pitch perfect Leonato, Gerald Kyd and the wonderful Tim Steed all ensure this is a company show, sort of. That is if you discount the viewpoint of the entire audience, which is at Drury Lane for one reason and one reason only. LOKI.

I include myself in this. My youngest son, now 20, and I are serious Marvel fans. We’ve seen ‘em all, usually on the first weekend possible. Iron Man (various versions), Thor (ditto), Ant Man, etc. We’ve cried at Avengers Infinity War, cheered at Stan Lee’s cameos, bigged up Spiderman. We’ve watched the TV spinoffs. We always stay for the minute after the credits roll (where the next Marvel film is promoted, usually with some huge personage playing a baddie such as Samuel L Jackson, or Robert Redford). We have even kept going to the films when they went off the boil.

Naturally, we were going to see Hiddleston in Shakespeare. Naturally, Lucien had no idea what Much Ado About Nothing was. If a young person hasn’t done a ‘Spear for an exam, they don’t know it.

Just think of this poster, I usefully told him on the way to the theatre. See below.

On arrival at the theatre, I knew we were in the grip of a ‘moment’. “It’s a great show!” said the lady checking our tickets. “It’s had great reviews.” Ah, Madam, that is where you are wrong. It hasn’t had any reviews, in the formal sense. It hasn’t had a press night. It doesn’t need one.

Unlike Jamie Lloyd’s previous “Shakespeare-at-Drury-Lane-with-a-Hollywood-name”, namely The Tempest with Sigourney Weaver as Prospero, this show has confidence. It has buoyancy. It has HUGE hit written all over it, with or without the reviews.

And lo, the curtain rises. Zero set. Loads of cherry blossom everywhere. Will there be applause when Hiddleston arrives? Are you completely bonkers? The whole audience goes insane. I am probably the oldest person in the house, and that is the point. I have honestly never seen a younger, more diverse, more focused crowd at a Shakespeare production in the West End. And possibly a more excited one. They are here to have a good time. We are all here to have a good time. Every time Hiddleston opens his mouth, cheers. Every time he winks at the audience, whoops. Every time he points at an excited person in the stalls, said person faints.

Lloyd understands his audience. There are disco bangers (Groovers in the House is one) throughout this show. Every time, the whole cast start dancing, rather brilliantly. Hiddleston, throwing shapes! Who knew? There is even a moment of pure meta-theatricals where lifesize, cardboard cutouts of Atwell and Hiddleston’s Marvel characters are used as props. An actual image of Loki, in a Shakespeare play. The actress playing Hero, holding the cutout, points to his groin. The audience cheers wildly. It’s a cutout, everyone!

Characters in the play who do not really push forward the action, such as the unfunny Dogberry, have simply been excised by Lloyd. Interestingly, there is a whole section in the programme devoted towards clowning, in particular about the Elizabethan actor who played Dogberry in the original production, which makes me think this was perhaps a last minute decision. It’s a good one, however. The play spins along with no longeurs. We are in the hands of professionals.

Two observations; as the cast took its bow, and invited the whole audience to join in with disco moves, which it did without a second’s hesitation, my son said to me “That was great! It was so easy to understand!”

Secondly, as we left the theatre there was a queue of monumental proportions snaking around outside the building. This was the queue for the Stage Door.

I have been looking (again) at Culture Is Bad For You, by Brook, O’Brien and Taylor. This book crunches a lot of data to analyse who is going to British culture and why it is so unequal, both in terms of employees and in terms of audiences.

One of the main points it raises is that cultural consumption in the UK is a minority event. That there is “a disconnection between cultural production, cultural consumption and whole swathes of the population.”

The Jamie Lloyd project at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane does not knock this idea down, but disregards it. The production is an outlier. It is a triumphant, and reasonably (but not wildly) expensive, delivery of ‘high’ art via popular culture to an audience who don’t normally feel included in the art world. Yes, we are lucky to have a player as Hiddleston, who can do both popular and rarified (while taking his shirt off), but it is a simple formula which producers across the theatre landscape, particularly ones which use public money, ought to take note of.

What a night!

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maeintree · 2 days ago

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not so alone | l. laufeyson

Summary: Drifting through space after Asgard’s fall, Loki faces an uncertain future. You’ve known him since before fate pulled him in every direction—before the lies, the losses, the wars. Now, for the first time, he has a choice. And maybe, he doesn’t have to make it alone. Pairing: ragnarok!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Author's Note: set after thor: ragnarok, this explores a quiet moment between loki and the reader, someone who’s known him and thor since childhood; kinda sad that he has to die after this. like actually die. maybe that's why i wrote it :( 🥲

You had been by their side long before fate demanded Thor wield his hammer and Loki master his tricks.

Before the weight of Asgard’s future pressed heavy on their shoulders, before battles and betrayals, before gods became myths on Midgard—you were there. A childhood friend, a warrior, an ever-present constant between Thor’s blinding light and Loki’s flickering shadows.

But time changes even the strongest bonds.

When Loki fell into the void, you mourned him. When he returned, leading an army against Midgard, you fought against him. When he played his games, shifting alliances like a man changing cloaks, you told yourself that whatever remained of the boy you once knew was gone.

And yet, here you are.

Sakaar had been its own kind of nightmare. You had been dragged through one of the scavenger’s wormholes, thrown into the gladiator pits, forced to fight for the Grandmaster’s amusement. You survived on sheer will, your skills as a warrior keeping you alive long enough to plot escape. Then Thor crashed into your world again, bringing his usual chaos with him. And Loki, of course, was never far behind.

Reuniting with them had been strange.

Thor had embraced you as if no time had passed, laughing despite his predicament. Loki, on the other hand, had been more reserved, watching you carefully, like a memory he hadn’t expected to see again.

He had still played his tricks, still maneuvered for his own gain, and yet… he had come through in the end. He had stood on that bridge, side by side with his brother, fighting to save what little of Asgard remained.

Now, that home is gone.

You step onto the deck of the ship, the silence of space stretching endlessly beyond the viewport. Asgard’s remnants—the people, the legacy—are somewhere aboard, but right now, you seek only one person.

Loki sits near the edge of the ship, gazing out at the stars. The firelight from the torches nearby casts flickering shadows across his face, but his expression is unreadable. He doesn’t turn as you approach.

“You should be celebrating with Thor,” he says, his voice measured. “He won, after all.”

You lower yourself onto the bench beside him, folding your arms over your chest. “So did you.”

He lets out a quiet scoff, though there’s no real venom in it. “Did I?”

“You made the right choice,” you say simply.

Loki tilts his head slightly, considering you. “And yet, here we are. Asgard is nothing but dust, and I find myself adrift on yet another ship, a passenger in my own fate.”

You study him for a moment, taking in the way his hands rest idly on his knees, his shoulders not quite holding their usual poised arrogance.

He looks… tired. Not just physically, but in the way a man looks when he has spent too long pretending not to care.

“You could’ve left,” you point out. “You had a thousand chances to walk away.”

“Yes, well.” He exhales, a slow, measured thing. “Perhaps I’m growing sentimental in my old age.”

You huff a small laugh. “Old age. Imagine that.”

Silence stretches between you, but it isn’t the heavy, expectant kind. It’s a silence laced with familiarity, with something that has always existed between you both but has long gone unspoken.

After a while, Loki shifts, his voice quieter when he speaks. “Do you ever wonder if we were meant for something else?”

You glance at him. “What do you mean?”

He keeps his gaze on the stars. “I spent my whole life believing I was meant for something greater. That I was destined for a throne, for power, for recognition. And yet… every path I take seems to lead me further from it.” He exhales. “Now, I wonder if the fault was in me, or in the dream itself.”

Your chest tightens slightly. This isn’t the Loki who taunted Midgard, nor the one who stood smugly beside the Grandmaster. This is the boy you once knew—the one who always felt like he had something to prove, the one who reached for things always just out of his grasp.

You shake your head. “I don’t think it’s either.”

He raises an eyebrow, finally looking at you. “No?”

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “I think you’re just still figuring out who you are without someone else telling you who you should be.”

Loki blinks, as if the thought had never occurred to him. He studies you, something unreadable in his gaze. “And who do you think I am, then?”

You hold his gaze, unflinching. “Someone who’s still here.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, slowly, his lips quirk into the barest hint of a smile—not his usual smirk, not something sharp or mocking, but something softer, something real.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs.

He leans back slightly, resting his arms along the edge of the bench, glancing back at the stars. “Thor wants to take them to Earth,” he says after a long pause.

You nod. “It’s the best option.”

“Maybe,” Loki concedes, though there’s doubt in his voice. “But I’m not sure what place I have there.”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”

He exhales, rubbing his fingers together absently. “Thor will be their king. He’ll do his best to lead them, to rebuild. I have no doubt he will thrive. But me?” His lips curve slightly, wry. “I’ve never been good at following.”

You smirk. “That’s an understatement.”

Loki chuckles, shaking his head. “If we go to Midgard, I will be seen as a villain, a threat. If I stay with Thor, I will be his shadow, lingering on the edges of a throne that was never meant for me.” He glances at you. “So, tell me, where does that leave me?”

You study him carefully before saying, “Wherever you want to be.”

Loki arches a brow.

“I mean it,” you continue. “For the first time, you get to choose your path without Odin’s expectations, without Thor’s shadow, without anyone telling you what you should be.”

Loki looks at you, searching for mockery but finding none. He exhales, thoughtful. “And if I don’t know what I want yet?”

You shrug. “Then you take your time figuring it out.”

Silence settles again, but this time, it feels lighter. Less uncertain.

Loki tilts his head slightly. “And what of you?”

You hesitate, then smile. “I suppose I’m still figuring that out, too.”

Loki smirks more.. softer, something shared. “Then perhaps,” he muses, “we can be adrift together, just for a little while.”

You meet his gaze, warmth stirring in your chest. “Perhaps.”

And for the first time in a long, long while—Loki doesn’t feel so alone.

You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the quiet of the universe wrapping around you both. Loki, after a moment’s pause, shifts, his arm snaking around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His head rests against yours, and for once, there’s no distance between you.

Just the comfort of shared silence and the promise that, for now, you are not alone.

missing loki and i just knew he needed comfort. fuck thanos man :( hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, and reposts are greatly appreciated.

#xreader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #fanfic #marvel #loki laufeyson x reader #loki #loki odinson #loki the series #thor ragnarok #thor odinson

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my-stories-vault · 1 day ago

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Love and War.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N Singer

Blurb: You must've read a lot of enemies-to-lovers, let me show how someone can be your lover and enemy . . .

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): language, gore, major and minor character deaths, break up, major angst, surprise ending, the Supernatural Wars (TSW) spoilers.

Song Inspiration: Love and War by Fleurie.

Prompt: "Nothing is fair in love and war."

Challenge: This is a flip POV challenge but can be read as a standalone one-shot! To read this same chapter from the reader's perspective, head on over here. Original plot credits of this first chapter go to my dear friend, Hepza on Wattpad. Go and show her some love 🥰.

{ Main Masterlist }

Love and War.

The metal hit the floor, clanging in the loud silence.

'You were never good with swords,' I bragged, shrugging with my free arm. Her formal cold smirk disarmed my heart just as much as I had disarmed her of all protection.

'That's why I brought reinforcement,' she smiled with a sinister nonchalance. Her backup emerged from the tree line: Charlie with an archery set, poised in a shoot-to-kill position.

As dread and agony pushed beyond the other emotions, a futile plea pressed past my lips. 'Princess—'

'No, you don't get to call me that,' she barked with such acid that it burned my heart.

'Y/N—'

'Put your sword down,' she cut me off once again.

I vanquished the control of the weapon. Charlie kicked it out of my reach and into my lover's hands.

A lover that had turned into my enemy.

'That's it?' my voice quieter than I'd like it to be. 'You are going to throw all that we had out the window – just like that?'

I should be more raged, more bitter, I should probably be yelling at her for what she did, for what she is doing – but I can't. I can't be mad at her without knowing why she did what she did. I just love her too much.

'Oh, no,' she calmly raised her head high, her expression of stark hate – the same eyes that couldn't not hold love when they used to look at me – the same face I've woken up to for as long as I can remember, the same girl whose love has consumed my every cell to the point that I won't know how to live without her anymore.

But she seemed to have no problem turning on me.

'You already did me that favor when you decided to hunt me down for your father, Your Highness,' she snarled.

'How did we get here?'

A few days before . . .

I was in the middle of a presentation, stating a common point, when the doors to the meeting hall were rudely opened to one of the most blunt, and annoying brats I'd ever set my eyes on: Y/N Singer.

'Your Highness,' the guards addressed, looking about nervously, probably worried about their job status after this – and if I knew Bobby any well, which I did – they were probably wondering if they were gonna survive the day.

But I could honestly not care less as my eyes drew to the rugrat of the girl His Majesty Robert Singer liked to call a daughter. She was amusingly in her nightly undergarments, unafraid of the stares and the jaws she dropped as she stepped into one of the most formal meetings, amongst the most esteemed kingdoms from around.

'Bullocks,' Bobby harshly mumbled under his breath.

'Your Majesty,' one of the two guards that seemed to have been chasing the princess breathed out, 'we tried to stop the Princess, but she . . .' he trailed away, unable to find proper words, also busy panting – he probably had had to run after her.

She'd do that to you. She was one of the better warriors I had met in my life while traveling the world. She was definitely fitter than the poor bodyguards that seemed to have been assigned to keep her away.

Stopping her is like stopping a tsunami dead in its tracks – it's impossible. That's one of the reasons why I love this annoying brat.

'I got this,' Bobby groused – he didn't, but okay. 'Now go and do your damn duty.' He turned to his daughter (this is going to be fun to watch), 'Y/N, what are you doing here in your . . . ' he tried to bring a polite statement into fruition, and was failing miserably.

'My undergarments,' she supplied, unabashedly. And I had to hide my proud smirk behind my hand as all the nobles began exchanging awkward and uncomfortable looks. Some of the ladies were jealous, and some of the men resisted to check my girl out.

Not that I minded – she was indeed a sight to look at.

'Let me see,' Y/N continued, 'I woke up and the first news I received was, Your Eminence has canceled our breakfast together. So, I was wondering what made you ditch our daddy-daughter date; and here you are, canoodling with your comrades.'

Her eyes swept over the table, her gaze tainted with slight resentment, and suddenly I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes till I could see my brain.

I knew how much she cherished the time she got to spend with her father, especially after what happened to her mother – Bobby was the only family she had. And I loved that she held onto that with everything she had. But her methods sometimes were slightly . . . crass, for the lack of a delicate word. She lacked the tact she needed to get things done her way.

Sometimes it was adorable, sometimes I just hated it.

It was a little bit of both right now. Even though it was adorable: her reckless courage and her flaunted beauty – I was in the middle of speaking about, as she calls it, "the damn Dam" – one of the most important projects our countries ever took up.

'Here, put this bloody robe on,' the King huffed, extracting himself from it and draping it over his daughter's modesty.

She slapped the robe off of her, crossing her arms and humphing with one of the cutest angry pouts I'd seen her sport – okay, maybe I was over the fact that she interrupted us and now I was enjoying this a little too much.

'Not until we sort this out.'

'Gentlemen, give us the room please,' Bobby intoned in a resigned manner.

Everyone, relieved, scraped their chairs across the floor, dragging themselves away from the room when Crowley stated: 'Well, I don't mind staying for the show.'

Y/N rolled her eyes, as mine own narrowed at the bastard. I mean, same, but come on!

'Not now, Crowley,' chastised the father, then turning his elderly stern gaze towards me, a silent order written in them to shoo the people away so that none could become prying ears.

After depositing them on the other side of the door, I stood back to eavesdrop myself.

'Listen, my dear, you can't walk into a royal meeting like this and demand we have a meal together.'

'And you can't ditch me like a prom date, then have a tea party with your friends.' She paused, composing her wits into reasoning, 'Never let anyone treat you like a damsel in distress, or anything less – you taught me that, Daddy.'

I smiled at her, even though she couldn't see me, and decided it was time I let my presence be known.

'Sometimes you make me wonder – did I make a mistake raising you like a boy?' he was saying just as I pushed the door in.

'For what it's worth, Your Majesty, I find the hubris of our Princess very gallant,' I found myself saying in a formal format, a smirk playing with my lips, as Y/N shoot me a "not-funny" look.

Oh, look who's talking.

'If only her future groom would agree to that,' the King tiredly said, a small smile on his face, one that I returned with a tight one on mine.

'Now, if you are done with this jibber-jabber, Your Majesty, I would like to know how you're making up to me for my loss,' she asked with authority.

Bobby smiled down at her fondly, 'I will make it up to you tonight, Princess. Promise.'

'I'll appreciate it if you keep to it,' she said.

'Of course,' he confirmed. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bunch of Royals to threaten for their lives in case they have any ideas of leaking what happened here.'

We both chuckled, and he shot me a look over her head – a silent warning that the threat applied to me too. I simply nodded.

'Dean, do you mind escorting my idjit daughter back to her room?' Bobby raised his brow at me.

'Dad, I can—'

But I cut the gorgeous e/c-colored Princess off, 'Not at all. It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.' And my hand quickly gripped her arm before the protests I knew were begging to be told could leave her mouth.

I could feel her orbs boring into my back as I dragged her away, but if she was going to be stubborn – so was I.

Our rapid footsteps led us to her bedroom hallway, and as soon as I knew all the eyes were off us, I swiftly bent down to put her across my shoulders like a sack of potatoes, a grin tugging on my face as she squealed in surprise – her reaction the only reason why I did it in the first place. She was too nauseatingly cute when she was taken off guard.

'Put me down, Winchester!'

There were no signs of compliance until after we were inside her bedroom where I let her to her feet gently, speaking soon as our eyes met.

'Really?' I wondered incredulously, 'Ambushing a royal meeting by waltzing in your undergarments – you got some nerve, Princess.' I teased, the title meaning more than just that within the safe confines of her room.

It was the term that I used to refer to the fact that she had me wrapped around her little finger like the Princess she was. And I love her to bits for everything she is.

God, I'm screwed.

'I am a Singer, my love,' she goaded. 'It is in the blood.'

Fair enough.

I took her hand to twirl her around, letting her fingers go from mine so that she stumbled towards her wardrobe. 'Now get dressed,' I commanded in that voice she said did things to her.

She sifted through her clothes landing on one of the familiar morning gowns.

'No, not that,' I chided, 'you wear that too often.'

My eyes shifted to the mirror on the side; I started to fix my hair which seemed to have lost its lusture like I had lost my will to live after that goddamn meeting – sure, it was important, but dammit, if it didn't make me want to kill myself out of boredom.

'Fine,' she grumbled, putting it back for an alternative choice. 'How 'bout this?'

I glanced over, grinning for she had brought up another number she looked mighty fine in. 'Yellow suits you, sweetheart.'

She nodded before staring at me – a look that I took too long to realize than I'd like to admit – was ordering me to turn for some privacy. But then, perhaps, I wanted to ignore that look. But she refused to budge.

Oh, come on! I thought to myself, 'What, it's nothing I haven't seen before.'

She kept staring at me dryly till I gave up.

'Alright, alright!' I sighed internally, surrendering as I turned to instead gaze at the door. So much for that.

Anyways . . . 'So, daddy-daughter date. Really?' It wasn't the fact that she liked to do it, it was the fact that she actually chose to utter these words. If that didn't deserve a face, I don't know what did.

'Hey, it's a work in progress,' she protested, shuffling her limbs to get changed.

I scoffed, shaking my head, once again realizing how annoying she had been before, well. 'How I fell for you, escapes me, Princess. You are—'

'Enticing,' she suggested, with a smile in her tone.

I felt her tap on my shoulder. I turned to her, a smile on my face, as a chuckle left me. 'That's not the word I was looking for, but I won't complain,' I teased.

'Quit flirting and help me with this, De,' she reprimanded, turning about to display her unlaced corset.

My fingers pulled at the strings, but the smile never left me. 'Is it enough?'

'A little bit tighter,' she requested. I heeded. She said, 'So, how is the Dam Construction project?'

'Kicking our asses,' I murmured, working on tying off the loose ends.

'Yeah, I barely saw my father during the last couple of months, and of course, you . . . I feel like I forgot your face,' her tone is sad.

And I feel bad.

She is right. We'd had barely gotten time to ourselves these last few months and all because of this stupid project. Well, not stupid – but still. The disagreements just keep on piling and I just want is to get this over with – probably one of the reasons why I've been pushing to dedicate more of my time to this instead of other things.

For now, though, I'll settle for some humor. 'What are you talking about?' I try to sound playfully offended. 'You could never forget a face like mine.'

She ignored my clear self-appreciation, 'However, I do appreciate what you guys do.'

'Yeah, it's gonna help a lot of people. The river can replenish many monarchies. Kids don't have to walk miles to get water if this project is finished,' I end with a deep sigh. I really want this to work – helping people is what I'm passionate about, but the lack of enthusiasm my stick-in-the-ass colleagues share has been grating on my nerves.

'When you finish it,' she corrected me softly.

'Only if it's as easy as it sounds,' I complained.

'My love, you people are constructing a historical monument that is going to gather a primary waterfront and spread it across to regions that don't have access to it. It is obvious it is hard.'

'Not just the labor, sweetheart, some of the Kings are rebelling at the last minute: not to share water with the half-breed domains,' I huffed, now helping her with the gown.

'Some of them as in . . . '

'Gordon,' I finished for her, adjusting the wrinkles on her dress for her.

'Bingo,' she said as if she'd had that pegged.

She handed me the necklace I gifted her after I was done. It was my one-year anniversary present to her, and I loved that there wasn't a day that went by without it around her neck. I gathered her hair with one hand, brushed it away to the side, and then dangled the jewelry around her neck – the symbol of our secret relationship.

'You were never a fan of him,' I noted, clicking the lobster lock in place.

'He is a prick, Dean,' she ranted, 'No one should be a fan of him. He is self-obsessed and despises the small sub-kingdoms – top of it all, I don't like the way he sees me.'

A smile twitched on my lips as she turned.

'What?'

'You're so beautiful when you're angry,' I admitted, 'I couldn't get my eyes off you this morning.'

It was true – how could I look away when her eyes gleamed with the fight that inspires me to never give up?

'Shut up,' she blushed. She distracted herself by walking to the mirror to redress her hair for the day.

That's when I noticed it, 'You're wearing your Leaflet Crown?'

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

'You only wear this when you're going on hunts,' I managed as dismay clawed up its way into my consciousness, 'and last time I checked, your father forbade anyone from going into the dark forest.'

I know it was petty to bring up her father's warning in our conversations. But it wasn't like I could forbid her from doing something. She was a stubborn woman who got what she set her heart to. For the love of God, though, for once, I just wished she'd listen to Bobby or me. I worry, and I don't know how long before my worries turn into my day-mares.

'Oh, that,' she seemed not to notice my inner discord.

'Care to explain,' I pressed, picking up the Crown from her head.

'I was going to meet Charlie,' she assured, 'that's all, my love.'

'Ah, right,' I realized, 'Charollete, your Chief Musketeer. Her and her troop have been really helpful to us on the guarding duty at night. She's wonderful,' I end on the admission.

'I know,' she childishly booped my nose, making me smile again. She replaced the crown then marched off to the shoe rack, selecting one that matched.

Before she could slip them on, I plucked them out of her grasp. 'Here – let me.'

'Your wish is my command, My Prince Charming,' she teased, moving away nevertheless to plop down on her bed.

I would mind, but I'd honestly take any chance I'd get to touch her. I was so starved for her touch, practically a man in a desert. And I swear it'd kill me if she were a mirage.

I dipped down at her feet, taking her heels on my knees as I slipped the first shoe on her, and she initiated another conversation.

'How is Sam?'

'Sammy is happy, actually,' I said as if it was as much news to me as was to her. 'Away from all the castle drama – he got his gal, his hair is as long as ever – so, he's as good as he can ever be.'

'Same ol' Sam, huh?'

'Yeah, I would be lying if I didn't envy his guts to stand up to my father and give away his title for Jessica.'

'I fell for the wrong brother then,' she playfully offered.

'I don't know, Princess,' I smirked, taking the other shoe to her free leg. 'The shoe fits,' I winked, as her foot perfectly slid in.

She bit her lip to suppress the grin I knew was begging to burst on her face. Then, slowly, the corners of her lips turned down as she switched topics once more.

'Why did we decide to keep it a secret again?' she quirked her brow.

The unexpected turn made my face fall. I had an answer that I'd rather not give. But it wasn't one that she hadn't heard before. Something she gave me proof of, 'Oh, right. Your Dad.'

'He'd rather marry me off to the Harvells,' I declared.

'Wait, Joanna?'

I nodded.

'Wow,' she huffed, 'your Dad is shaking up the wrong tree on so many levels. Charlie is gonna be thrilled to hear this.'

Her undertone shocked me, 'Wait, Charlie and Jo?'

'Mhhmhmmmm,' she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

'Wow,' I was taken aback. Who knew Jo was gay?

With that, Y/N reverted back to her original point. 'I don't get it, Dean. What doesn't he see in me?'

Her defeated look hurt.

I climbed up next to her on the bed, facing her as my hands took up residence on both her cheeks and she leaned into them on reflex. 'It's not you, sweetheart. It's just—'

'The fact that we're not hunters, but scholars – I get it, love,' she brushed me off, scoffing, and pulling away from my touch as if it had burnt her. She put as much space as she could between us while still staying in the room.

I knew how frustrated she was getting by my defenses. At first, she'd hesitantly give in, and shrug the disappointment off, but as our relationship grew, she expected more. She had never expected this to be a secret for so long.

I hated that I couldn't give her my everything, I hated how much of a coward I was.

I should have called quits on this relationship long back – given that I couldn't provide her with what she wanted. She was everything that I could want – and yet, I barely had anything to offer to her. She deserves the world, and here I am, in fear of losing her, I held her back from everything that she could have.

And hell, if I wasn't going to try my hardest to keep her in my life, still. I honestly don't know what she saw me, but until she was going to have me, I was going to try my best to have her too.

I reached for her, gripping her by the arm and yanking her back till she was spinning on her heels and clashing against my chest, her hand twisted against her back to allow me leverage to hold her against myself with as little space as I could manage. I searched her face for any signs that this was the moment that she gave up on me.

Finding none, I finally spoke. 'You are it for me, Y/N.' Her eyes closed as a blush rose to her cheeks, ears, and neck, her head lowering as she basked in my commitment. 'You are my happy ending and always will be,' he whispered into her hair as my free hand came up to trace nonsense patterns against her cheek. An involuntary smile kicked my lips upwards as I could feel the honesty behind those words thrumming in every fiber of my body.

I waited for her to look at me again, using the opportunity of when she did to dip down and capture her lips prisoner against mine.

We both melted into the intimacy as I stole the breath from her lungs for as long as I could, feeling my heart accelerate, knowing that I could never want anything more than this, right here.

When the need for oxygen overpowered us, I let her lips go, not failing to hold her gaze in the promise of my words.

'I hate it when you shut me up like that,' she said half-heartedly.

I called her bluff with a cheeky smile, 'No, you don't.'

She shook her head with a smile she couldn't control herself.

'Mmm,' I grunt in discontent freeing her from my arms. 'I must go,' I sighed, 'because if I stay, we might not leave the room till moonrise. Don't wanna give your father and the committee any funny ideas,' I joked.

She shook her head in agreement once again.

I pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead one last time. 'Stay out of trouble,' I cautioned, as I walked backward towards the only exit of the room.

'No promises,' she smirked.

I rolled my eyes, God, this girl is gonna be the death of me.

The meeting ended and left me worse for wear. I antagonize everyone in the meeting for their role in irritating me, as I move to the stables to leave for the examination of the constructions being conducted for the damn Dam. Not to mention I was running low on men because the ones assigned by Bobby were late. By two hours.

It honestly pissed me off, but then I decided to simply screw it and take the men that I did have with me to gauge the progress of the work.

My soldiers flanked me on their horses as I lead the team down the winded roads and towards the riverside we were trying to stem and reap for our benefits when I received the message.

It was a fraction of musketeers under King Robert that had been assigned to me for guard duty returning from their camp where apparently the Princess had been safely taken to after the unexpected attack on her in the Black forest.

Safe to say, no longer did work matter as I quickly dismissed everyone, and hauled ass to the Camp following the piece of soldiers who retraced their steps to their tents.

They guided me down the beaten paths through the trees, rushing against the wind under my agitated orders to make haste.

As soon as the treeline cleared, the daylight blinded me as we spilled into the clearing. As my eyes were getting accustomed to the light, my glance swept over the place where all the clattering and clamoring of moving and training soldiers seemed rather unaffected by today's ordeals – a fact that estranged me considering I was about ready to burst from fear.

The team took my horse and one of the guys led me to the tent that housed the love of my life.

'In here, Prince Dean,' he saluted, leaving me alone.

I had started screaming even before I had entered, 'What were you thinking?!'

'De—' she jumped up to sit, her eyes widening at my outburst.

'I particularly told you not to go into the forest or anywhere near it!' I yelled, feeling rage eat me up, thinking of the thousands of possibilities of what could have gone wrong – of what could have happened.

She could have been dead. Dead!

'Is this some kind of joke to you!?' I exclaimed, my body running so hot that I could have a fever, my chest heaving under the relentless stream of anger that had built up in my heart, and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. 'You could've died!' I shouted, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes.

I kept on venting and she took it silently, watching me, 'You just never listen to me! You have this incessant need to be brave, to do it all by yourself, to-to be a freaking warrior! Well, guess what? You're life just isn't yours! It's mine, too, alright?! You're my life, and if something happened to you, I-I-I . . . I won't . . .'

I looked up to see her staring at me with guilt glazing her eyes. I doubt she was even hearing what I said.

'Say something!' I snapped at her.

She flinched out of her thoughts, shock, and fear marring her breath-taking features. And I felt that my anger was unjustified toward her. I took a deep breath, composing myself as I let my rage flare out of my nostrils, paving the way for the overwhelming fear I had felt on my way over when my mind had been reeling with thoughts of desperation over losing her and the pain that would follow.

All I know is that I never want to feel that again.

So, I kneel in front of her.

As scary as it is to love someone as much as I love her, I need to calm myself and be there for her.

'I'm sorry,' my gruff voice told her. My apology was supported by my hands as they went to her knees, rubbing circles there and my gaze lowered to anywhere but her face – my head heavy with shame and guilt of having exploded on her.

'Me too,' she apologized, her hand going forward, probably unconsciously as she started stroking my hair. 'I should've been careful,' she muttered.

The pressure in the room melted off, leaving the reality of the situation to settle heavily over me. My shoulders slumped under their weight, 'I just . . . I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you,' I voiced my biggest fear.

There. It was out in the open.

It was as simple as birds chirping and insects buzzing – I'd lose it; I'd lose myself if I lost her.

Everything that I did, that I'm doing, and that I will do – that was for her. I did it knowing that when I was done, I'd be going back home to her. To the promise of a love that consumed me, that made me the happiest guy in the world, to the woman of my dreams, and to the keeper of my heart. I'd be destroyed without her, and that was nothing short of a fact.

And that thought petrified me – chilled me to my very bones.

I've never had to think much about it before. She's been reckless but never came been this close to death. She's been hurt – but this was much worse.

She's been with me for as long as I could remember – we were kids when we were friends, and ever since it only blossomed into more. So much so, that I could never again imagine my life, my future, without Y/N in it.

She let my head go, and grabbed my hand from her lap, squeezing it tightly. 'Dean, I'm here.'

The hot lump that had accumulated in my heart thawed, letting the sweet grasp of relief grip me. I took a deep breath cherishing her hand on mine.

I swallowed, pushing my tears back – unwilling to let them make an appearance. 'And I couldn't be more grateful for that fact. Don't ever scare me like that again,' I gritted out, looking up just in time to see her nodding.

That's when I noticed the injury above her eyebrow, on her forehead.

'What happened here?' My hand instinctively raised to its level, my thumb levitating above the wound – one that'd surely leave a mark, one that was temporarily covered with herbs that imposed medicinal properties and benefits.

'The stupid Phantoms,' she blurted.

My heart lurched in shock, and a tendril of fear fizzled down my spine.

'Phantoms?' I quizzed, eyes wide.

She rushed to explain, 'Yeah, I rode the outer banks to reach here soon. I swear, I didn't even cross the border or step foot into the forest! Yet, they attacked us. Poor Phillip took most of the hit . . . Do you know the fire-forged sword didn't do a darn tooting to them—?' she cut herself off, waiting for my reaction – perhaps expecting another outburst.

But I was out of those, and tired – we both had had a long day – so, I tried to lighten the atmosphere. 'You were never good with the swords,' I decided.

She relaxed before delivering a playful punch to my shoulder.

I breathed out, 'Thank God Charlie and her men made it on time.' I made a mental note to send her a fruit basket for saving my life.

'Yeah . . . I . . . Yeah . . . ' she cleared her throat, firing a question at me. 'How did you get here so fast?'

'I was already on my way to examine the constructions at the Dam when they informed me there had been an assault on the Princess – I lost it,' I licked my lips, shaking my head. 'I couldn't stay there for a minute,' or I would have suffocated, 'I left there and rushed here,' to find my breath, I completed in my mind.

It dawned on her, 'Wait, does that mean—?'

'No,' I replied, already knowing where her mind went, 'your father doesn't know. I specifically ordered the men involved in the construction and Charlie's troop not to tell. If they break it, they know the consequences.'

'My hero,' she mocked, placing a hand over her heart.

But I didn't have it in me to smile.

My thoughts wandered off as I bathed in her presence, consoling myself constantly that she was right here in front of me.

'I would be lost without you, Princess,' I revealed, without even realizing that I was speaking it. I looked up into her e/c orbs, waiting for her to say something.

'Dean, I'm here,' she repeated. 'Am not going anywhere, and I'll always come back to you,' she traced a hand over the shadow that had grown on my cheeks.

I leaned into her hand, a sigh involuntarily escaping me. 'I love you,' I confessed.

'I love you, too, My Prince,' she conveyed.

The admission made my lips stretch into a huge smile – the kind which starts to hurt your cheeks, and one that the woman I loved mirrored.

You would think that we must have said it pretty often but being Royals and all, saying it out loud was not a constant courtesy everyone was awarded with. It was freeing to finally be able to say it again. And it was equally as exhilarating, if not more, to hear her say it back.

She leaned down to press her lips against mine, our eyes fluttering shut as the intimacy of our words spread to our actions – a kiss that was slow, passionate, and full of happy promises. If love were an action to me, I'd describe it with this one kiss.

And if it were up to me, I'd never let her go.

But the tent was barged into and our moment was disrupted.

'Oh, sorry!' Charlie exclaimed, looking as flustered as I was probably feeling.

Red painted my cheeks and neck and slightly tinted my ears, as I struggled for a reasonable explanation to the Chief Musketeer who could potentially ruin my chance to be with Y/N.

'Dude, if the tent is rocking, don't come knocking,' Y/N reprimanded.

And once again, I was reminded of her reckless and straightforward personality.

'I'll . . . I'll come back later. You carry on, then.'

I jumped to the rescue, 'Oh, no. No. There is nothing to carry on. I was just . . . uh, I was helping Princess Y/N to practice breathing exercises.' I dumbly answered.

God, never let me be a spy.

'Huh,' Charlie nodded, biting her lip to keep away her smile at the blatant lie – something she won't point out simply out of respect for the Royal.

'My love, she knows,' the h/c-haired woman broke to me, barely able to suppress her own glee and amusement at my pathetic attempt to keep our secret hidden.

'She—what? You know?' I quizzed.

'Yup,' she gave me a mischievous grin. 'Who do you think gave her the suggestion to wear sexy lingeries to your little rendezvous.'

Well, that was information. Incriminating one, at that.

Y/N was the one blushing now, 'Okay, shoo, get out of my tent, Commander, I think you have pressing matters on hand.'

Charlie lingered, 'I have more embarrassing stories, My Liege – if you're interested – you know where to find me.' And she fled before my love could utter another word to save herself from any further embarrassment.

I had my up-to-no-good smile in place as Y/N looked down at me, already glaring. 'Don't even think about it,' she terrorized.

And I burst into peals of laughter – the full-body shake kind. I was having too much fun imagining what all I could find out about her.

'Okay, sweetheart,' I said in a final tone, 'I have to go check on something, too. You take good rest, alright? I'll come to check on you once I'm finished,' I promised.

'Till then,' she dramatically leaned back against the armrest of the couch she'd been lounging on, 'I'll be here,' she put her arm over her face, performing more theatrics, 'waiting.'

God, I'm in love with a dork. An annoying, reckless, kind, passionate, stubborn dork who's now the reason I live.

I shook my head, retracing my steps out of the place before my breath hitched and I just knew I had to do this – I retrieved my steps just so that I could scoop her curious and confused self into my arms and kiss the daylights out of her.

I kissed her senseless, I kissed her like there was no tomorrow, I kissed her with everything that I had, with every cell that loved her, and every thought that worshiped her.

When I pulled away, it was safe to say we were both dazed.

I smirked softly, winking at her, before at last, I made my exit.

True to my word, I ended my work as quickly as I could manage; I needed to see her. I headed back towards the palace - arranging a small care package to the best of my abilities before discovering Juliet and sending her on a mission - to find Y/N and deliver her to me.

The note attached was sober: Meet me at our place.

It was this blossom tree near the small creek. Almost as gorgeous as the woman who was going to meet there.

Hearing her feet approaching I got down from the tree I was waiting in, silently, wondering if she would notice me before I snuck up on her.

She didn't fail me, spinning on the balls of her feet, the arrow already notched with a fatal aim.

My lips tugged heavenward as I offered the white roses I carried in one hand, forgetting momentarily what I'd called her for. 'I come in peace. I gather Juliet delivered my message with success.'

'She's feisty to everyone else,' she mused. 'How you enticed her eludes me.'

I smirked, feeling my chest swell with pride, when: 'Kneel.'

I was on the ground before my mind could even process the command. My knees buckled at just the smile of this woman, I could give my life if she asked for it - surrendering to her was too small in comparison.

'Surrendering so soon, My Liege?' she mocked, drunk on power.

'I will always kneel for my Queen,' I loyally commented, making a cute laugh bubble out of her, a hot blush rendering her ears and neck red.

She lowered her weapon, and we reshuffled our positions into a more comfortable stance where we could sit under the tree, arms wrapped around each other.

The blossom leaves broke from their home to cherish the love we held, fingers entangling and detangling, the moon reflecting its eternal shine into the water beyond us, its lustrous shadow shimmering and thrumming with endless possibilities.

'I didn't find you in an occupied moment, did I?'

'Nah,' she casually denied. 'I was scaring away another noble my father brought in to meet with me.'

My chest tightened with anxiety before relaxing again. 'Just the usual then,' I tried to joke.

My mood turned pensive as I plucked one of the leaves from the ground. 'Do you remember the day we found this place?'

'Of course I do! How could I forget? We tried to climb up the tree, and I got this,' she rolled up her sleeve to flaunt the scar on her right elbow.

'We were so young and carefree,' I muttered. 'Good old times.'

'De . . . What is it?' she picked up on the shift.

'My Dad wants me to marry Jo,' I blurted out quietly. 'He's planned this whole engagement ceremony to announce it to the citizens tonight.'

'What?' A pause, 'What did you say!?'

'What did you want me to say Y/N?' I deflected.

'I don't know,' she said. 'Something between - "No, I don't want to marry Joanna", or "I am in love with the daughter of King Robert"?!'

'It's not that easy!' I suddenly got defensive.

She scoffed, 'Nothing was easy for us, ever, Dean.'

I shook my head, feeling the weight of the conversation slumping my shoulders - an action she subconsciously mirrored as the reality of the situation kicked in.

'We should tell them!' she exclaimed in desperation. 'Both of our fathers.'

'I can't!'

'What do you mean "you can't"?!'

'You know,' I struggled to gain a footing in this argument. 'I can't do that!'

'Why?' She ranted, 'Because we are from two entirely different nations who just depend on each other? Is it because we are not hunters? You, of all people, know that your kingdom cannot survive without our lore knowledge! You need our expertise as much as we need your men! That is the deal.'

'I know very well about the deal, Y/N,' I snapped. 'That is not the problem!'

'Now what,' she shoved me back in an accusatory tone, 'your father wants our resources and not the Princess!?'

'He wants to unite Harvelle's nation with ours,' I reasoned, 'It would be a resourceful arrangement for all our kingdoms.' But even as I said it, I felt my throat close up, my eyes prick, and my heart crumble a little in the agony under the light of the prison sentence I was putting on myself.

'You can't be serious,' she argued. 'You're honestly considering this offer!?'

'I am not! As a matter of fact, I have no idea what to do!' I breathed out, worried that if I didn't rush this confession, I'd break.

'Let's elope!'

I don't think I heard her correctly. 'What?'

'You heard me,' she confirmed.

'Are you out of your bloody mind?' I glared down at her - finally noticing that we two had stood up unknowingly, trying to win an argument by physical intimidation - a natural reflex.

'I am not the one thinking about marrying another girl,' her gruff voice threw the acid words in my face, betrayal and hurt making her tone shake.

'I can't,' I clenched out, ignoring the last statement because if I thought about it for even one second, I wouldn't be able to do this.

'You can't, or you won't?' she challenged.

'I won't,' I rose up to the bait. 'I am not going to disobey the King's commands.'

'For the love of everything on earth, Winchester - you're not just his perfect soldier!' she screamed with venom.

'I am neither a love-struck teen,' I yelled back. 'I am a Prince. I pledged to put my country and my people before my own desires.'

'And I didn't?'

'You wouldn't be talking about eloping if you cared for your people! Your Father should've knocked some sense into you instead of pampering you,' I gripped.

'And John is what, Father of the Year? He handed you a Silversword and told you to scare away the wolves you were mortified of when you ran to him for shelter!' she emotionally wagered in my face.

'He was teaching me to fight back,' I offered.

'You were eight years old, Dean,' she pointed out as if that was supposed to make me change my answer.

Anger ran white hot in my veins, making all logic rush out along with the steam coming out of my ears. 'At least he is not like Bobby!' I glared, frustration oozing out of me in waves. 'Do you know he was the reason behind the delay of the Dam Construction? He wanted to include all the small towns so no one could be left out, all half-breeds and special kinds included. It took me a month to convince all the other Nobles - and now the raw materials are exhausted! That's why we need the help of Harvelles'. If not for his soft-ass nature, we wouldn't be in this mess—!' I blamed.

My words took a hit when the sting of a slap echoed on my face. My head had turned with the force of it, but when I righted my gaze onto her - she was furious, and I was hurt by her action.

A profound silence descended, the water of the creek gently waving, coddling our tensions that kept on increasing with the increase in the misunderstandings we were spectacularly failing to resolve.

I looked at her as if she were a stranger, shocked that she would hit me. I never thought in a million years that she would hit me.

That's when I knew I had gone too far.

My hand was already inching towards the warmth on my left cheek - probably leaving a bruise in the shape of her palm there. 'Y/N . . . ?'

'Don't,' she raised her hand as if to physically stop me from speaking. She was recomposed in her demeanor. 'Seems like you've already made your mind, Your Highness. I have nothing else to say. Marry any girl your Father shoves his finger at, and be his little puppet. But don't you dare talk about my Father like that,' she ended, punctuating by abruptly and promptly exiting.

What had I done?

The engagement ceremony dragged on. My royal attire felt heavy against my bodice - like if all the weight of my emotions were cut into cloth, this is how it would feel.

Jo was nodding and smiling politely at the people coming up to congratulate us - a tightness around her eyes from stopping herself from crying.

And ironically, she was the only person here who probably understood me.

This felt wrong, and I wanted to cry.

Jo's hand was wrapped with mine, but we both were tense under each other's touch - that's not how love should feel.

Love is when you could feel all your worries evaporate as soon as you just see the other person enter a room. Love is when you feel like the happiest human alive to just feel them love you back. Love is when you feel invincible if they support you. Love is what breaks you when they leave you.

Love is Y/N.

And I just seemed to have lost her.

I blink my eyes rapidly even though there's no water to blink back. I don't cry very often, and today I really feel like I want to.

'Oh, honey, congratulations!' another royal smiled sweetly.

I nodded, barely returning a ghost of the same smile.

'When's the date?'

'As . . . soon as we can marry,' I gulped. 'King John doesn't want to waste any time.'

'That's lovely!' she cheered.

Jo cleared her throat, her eyes rimmed red, voice thick. 'Can't wait.'

'You two are so lucky to have each other. Your love is like no other,' she boasted.

'Thank you,' we both said in unison, mirroring the fake gratefulness, our shoulders slouching as soon as she left.

'I can't take this anymore,' Jo murmured. 'My Liege, can we take a walk?'

'Uh, yes, of course. Princess,' I add in courtesy, hating that I have to call her that.

Joanna dragged me away from the dull and pretentious party, functioning only because of the open bar, teeming with equally jealous and hateful nobles.

She took me to the serenity of the garden where the plants, closer to the dead than living, still seemed to understand better the need for calmness we both desired and shared.

Down, ways away from the dying function, nearing a pond, my mind wandered off to what I had just given up. The water, always soothing, now a staunch reminder of my greatest woe.

'Are we screwed or what?!' she burst out, derailing my train of thoughts.

That's when I noticed Jo was crying, silent tears descending down her rosy-with-anger red cheeks.

'Jo . . . ' I trailed off, failing to find words that would ease her.

Because nothing would. Neither of our happiness was gonna survive this marriage and that was a fact.

She sniffed. 'Charlie never wants to see my face. She told me it was too hard, that I don't know what it feels like to date a Royal. Well, she doesn't know what it feels like to be a Royal!'

I scoffed involuntarily, 'Oh, trust me, a Royal won't understand this either.'

She met my agitated gaze, 'Y/N freaked?'

I wasn't even surprised that she knew - Charlie must have told her. Charlie can't keep secrets when it's with people she loves.

My hand raised instinctively to my previously slapped cheek. 'Something like that,' I dropped my hand.

'What are we going to do, Dean?' she sobbed, 'I don't like you! Hell - I don't even like boys! I love Charlie, Dean, I love her, and I can't live without her.'

'I don't know,' I repeated from earlier that evening.

'What do you mean, "You don't know"?!' she started pacing. 'This isn't right! Our parents are forcing us—!'

'No one's forcing me,' I cut her off.

'Fine! But you can't tell me you're happy with this marriage. I mean, don't you love Y/N? I've seen how you look at her, how you treat her, how you talk about her when she's not there - she was your first!'

The pinch in my chest tightened. 'Sometimes you have to sacrifice—'

'For who? Our selfish parents!?'

'Jo!'

'No! Dean, our parents got what they wanted! They married for love!'

'And look how that ended,' I raised my tone to match hers. 'My Mom and your Dad are gone - they're dead! Leaving our parents to exist as shells!'

'They died in accidents, but you want us killed. This marriage will kill us, Dean; it will kill me!'

'Apparently,' a third voice interrupted. 'It will kill King John, too.'

We turned to Castiel holding up a bloody arrow, the crimson making me dread the answer to whose life it took - but what made my breath hitch was that the arrow was decorated with a Phoenix feather.

'Prince Dean,' he addressed. 'It seems your lover has declared a war against us.'

No, no, no! This cannot be happening. That's impossible, absolutely not. No!

Things went to the crapper hella quickly.

My mind raced as I tried to swallow that in the last twenty-four hours I had almost lost the love of my life before I broke up our years of relationship, gotten engaged with a lesbian, and almost had my father murdered by who everyone assumed was the woman I loved (forgive me if I didn't want to jump to conclusions), leading to our advisors issuing an order to enslave her by my hands - there was even a bounty and everything.

Our soldiers have been fighting with one of our closest allies come dawn - the only reason why they received the news they did: My mentor, my Uncle - Bobby was dead. That's what our soldiers told us.

What even is this?

As we rode the horses through the forbidden forest, I couldn't help but feel the pit in my stomach grow. Something was wrong, and by God I swear, if something happened to Y/N . . .

She was the only one unsafe right now. Dad and Sammy had been granted protection, but she was out there, alone, no doubt being hunted by whoever killed her Father and I was not losing two of the few people I cared the most about in one night.

On our way, I lost the assistance of Benny and Cas - separated, the former by the soldiers of the Singers, and the latter by the devils of the forest. I rode alone towards the location the Princess was last seen at - and jackpot!

Her sword was out and swinging before I could demand her attention, my reflexes making me move on my own, and soon our weapons were clanging - then, sooner, I had disarmed her.

Her sword clanged against the half-cut tree stump. 'Should've stuck with archery,' I taunted, the tip of my sword levelling with the heart that once belonged to me.

She raised her hands in surrender - but I couldn't tell if she was playing along or actually being sincere. 'Come home with me,' I said before I could stop the words from toppling out.

'Home?' she spat out. 'Mine is burnt to the ground in flames, love. There is no way home anymore!'

'Come with me,' I offered. 'To our country. I'll talk to Father—'

'You mean as a slave?' she challenged.

My mouth dropped slightly, the words dying in my mouth, unsure myself as to how that would work. I wondered why I would even say something like that to her - her arrow was found in my father's chest. What more could I need than that to acquit her?

But deep down, I knew this couldn't be it. She loved her father, she knew what it meant to be devoted to the last parent you had. How could she even do that?

And obviously, the attack on the Singer Palace was not her. What was the story behind that? Something was going on, and we needed to figure this out - together, whether we wanted to or not.

'What, cat got your tongue?' she quipped.

'I don't see the way around, sweetheart,' I informed. 'You are unarmed, and even if I let you battle me, I don't think it is gonna do you any good – you were never good with swords.'

'Yeah,' she shrugged smugly, 'that's why I brought reinforcements.' Her gaze flicked to the side to reveal Charlie with an archery set, a Phoenix arrow pinning me as its target.

I was so preoccupied on getting things straight with Y/N, I didn't even notice her lurking in the shadows. 'Not gonna lie,' I said, 'I'm impressed, sweetheart. You did get me.'

'Drop your weapon, My Liege, or I'll need to run an arrow into your leg,' warned Charlie.

'I would do what she says; as you know, she's a woman of her word.'

Unwilling to heed just yet, my eyes darted to my peripheries – wondering if my soldiers would ever show up.

As if reading my mind, 'Oh, don't worry,' Charlie snarled, 'they aren't gonna join us, Your Highness, your Knight Benjamin, and other soldiers have been taken care of by none other than our Captain of the Royal Guards.'

Captain Garth Fitzgerald, I thought in annoyance.

'Come on,' I stalled. 'A fight between my vampire knight and your werewolf bishop? Somehow I feel bad I have to miss it.'

'Kneel,' My Queen's order interrupted us.

And every rational thought flew out of my mind as I threw the towel in. My sword clattered out of my hand and the ground dug into my skin as I looked up at Y/N, surrender encompassing my every fiber when I looked at her regally towering over me.

Somehow, I always knew she would be the death of me – but what's more, is that she's that one person who made me feel most alive.

Charlie kicked my sword for her to grab.

I smirked, 'Come on, sweetheart,' I goaded. 'You aren't gonna hurt me – we both know that.'

Just to prove a point she slashed the metal across my left arm, crimson seeped out of the horizontal, somewhat deep, wound, making me hiss.

But it shouldn't sting as much as it did, right?

'I would reconsider that theory.'

She's bluffing. 'Princess—'

'NO! You don't get to call me that. That is allocated for the people I love.'

And Charlie might as well have shot the arrow into my heart. Unwillingly, my eyes welled up with hurt.

How could she even say that?

'That's it?!' I gritted out, practically shouting. Pants began to slowly heave my chest in strain, 'You're going to throw all we had out the window just like that?'

'Oh, no, you already did me that favor when you decided to hunt me down for your Father, Your Highness,' she made sure to highlight the emotional distance we had nurtured in just the last day with the formality and venom sugar-coating her every word in an acidic way that was meant to burn me from the inside out.

'That isn't fair,' I said in a low voice, close to a whisper, pissed off that she was lecturing me about how she doesn't love me anymore just because I'm hunting her down.

She tried to kill my father for God's sake! . . . I think.

A fog seemed to be collecting in my mind, stopping me from thinking straight.

But either way, was her love for me so fickle and weak?

'Nothing is fair in love and war, My Prince.'

'How did we get here?' I muttered, already exhausted.

'You killed my father, Dean,' she explained.

My head snapped up in shock. 'What!?' I spluttered. 'Are you insane? Y/N . . . where did you get that from?'

'You burned the man who practically raised from ashes,' she cried out, her eyes wild with grief.

'Y/N, I didn't kill King Robert!' Sweat beaded my forehead, and I felt my heart accelerated its beating.

'Then what was your locket doing there?' she brandished my amulet as proof . . . the amulet that when I'd gotten out of shower earlier, yesterday in the evening, had been missing.

I had thought I had misplaced it and would've searched for it later since I was getting late for my own engagement ceremony. A locket that made her think that I had the blood of her father on my hands.

I struggled to speak, 'I . . . uh . . . .'

'You never go anywhere without this,' she claimed, 'tell me where you were last night!'

I couldn't believe my ears, feeling a part of me shatter. 'You think that less of me?'

'That didn't answer my question.'

'Fine,' I felt my throat close up, 'yesterday, there was an assault on the King at the ceremony. I was busy finding the assaulter and putting them to rot in jail. Turns out, it was the woman whom I dreamt of spending the rest of my life with.'

'What?' she stepped back in the exclamation. 'That is crazy – I was at the camp with Charlie. Mopping in heartbreak because of you.'

'In the entirety of the seven regions – you are the only one who uses the Phoenix feathered arrows,' I told her, feeling black dots dancing in front of my eyes as a throbbing pain between my ears made me aware of the unnaturally strong headache.

'Dean, I didn't try to kill John . . . ?' it sounded more like a question than a statement.

'That'd explain the bounty on your head, Princess,' Charlie pitched in – helpful for once. 'Connect the dots – it's like the worst murder mystery cliché ever; someone's trying to turn both of you on each other.'

Of course, I realized. My body slightly swayed and trembled on my buckled knees. Something is seriously wrong.

'But the real question is who could do that—' Charlie's throat was slit in the middle of her speech. Her eyes were dead and closed before her body hit the ground in the pool of her own blood.

'Charlie!' I heard myself scream along with Y/N.

The voices were getting farther away from me, somehow. My limbs thrummed with heat as if my muscles and organs were liquefying in one big pile of goo, yet it felt like I was being weighed down under tons of lead.

'She's too smart for her own good,' a hated familiar voice answered, 'and to answer her question – that would be on me.' His troops littered the area behind, guarding the Alpha male I would like to do nothing more than gut.

'Gordon, you filthy animal!' Y/N yelled, lunging forward to attack.

The crew he brought surged to meet her but I forced myself on my feet: 'Make a move on her – you'd be dead before you hit the ground. Do I make myself clear?' I used the steeliest voice I could muster, making them halt.

'Why am I not surprised these were your shenanigans?' Y/N scoffed, her feet unconsciously gravitating to make her stand next to me.

'You know,' he said, 'I'm gonna take that as a compliment, Princess.'

My mouth went dry with the effort of simply standing and talking, 'Why are you doing this, Walker?'

'Why do you think – it was all because of that damn Dam!' he confessed.

'You were all in for that since day one,' I argued.

'No, Dean, you were all in. I am not. What was I supposed to do – stand up against all of the other big nations? Even I'm not that foolish. The river starts in our nation – it is ours. I'm not going to share it with the malodorous half-breeds.'

'You nasty racist—' I stopped Y/N before she could recklessly get herself killed.

'You better think twice before you do what you intended to do,' I threatened, 'because my—'

'Your rescue?' he scoffed with a laugh, 'Benjamin and Garth? Oh, they are on their way to reach where her Mother and Father went,' he pointed at Y/N to make her angrier. Translation: they're dead.

'Now,' he explained the climax of his diabolical plan just as my weight was beginning to get too much to keep on my feet. 'It is time for me to settle my tabs with you two love birds then I will tell your Father that she killed you, and boom! All that union crap and the Dam project will be closed.'

'Not gonna lie, I'm shocked your malevolent brain can plot like that – only if you had put that to good use. I always thought you had it in you. In fact, Gordon, I had my eye for you . . . for a long time,' Y/N stepped out of my reach, lying as she went.

But my brows furrowed when an ache seemed to start spreading from my heart and flowing through my blood to other organs. The taste of warm rusted metal soaked into my taste buds.

Oh, shit.

Y/N apparently hadn't noticed. 'Now you stand here, sounding all smart with your devilish grin – it's so intoxicating,' she stated in a sultry voice.

With the little adrenaline I had left, I caught the sword Y/N threw at me in time - a feat she managed to accomplish as she had neared them with her distracting flirting. I used the momentum I already was in to plunge the sword into the first guard who came at me.

The second one took longer – more prepared as we sparred in quick flicks of our wrists, dancing on our feet in the art of war. My vision was seemingly getting hazier and I knew not how much longer I could hold my ground – but I couldn't leave Y/N alone to fend off for herself.

With her as my motivation, I swiped the man's sword from his grip by using the hilt of my weapon to his wrist bone that cracked under the pressure. I, then, applied a left hook and proceeded to behead the man with another fatal blow.

Y/N had already taken care of the third guard. There were only three plus Gordon. If we killed him, she would be okay. She was going to be okay.

But in the meantime, Gordon had taken advantage of our distraction to point Y/N's own weapons against her - her bow and arrow.

'Nice try,' he appealed to our attentions.

A small, almost inaudible gasp left me as my heart beat inhumanly fast. More blood gargled up my throat, the acidic burn left in its wake. I felt my knees buckle – this time involuntarily, an action that I followed by purging blood from my system – silently gaging and choking, as my body was wrecked with painstaking seizures.

'You're not gonna win this fight, Gordon. It's two against one. Us against you!'

'Yeah, I won't worry about that,' he smirked in confidence.

'Y/N . . . ' my voice came out strained, wheezes escaping my body as I grappled for any kind of comfort I could find in what's probably and horrifically my last moments alive.

'Dean!' her voice broke through the ringing in my ears. What just happened?

My hands were shaking miserably, unable to hover me over the bloody vomit. So I leaned sideward, a motion that made me dizzy, and I would have struck my head harshly on the ground had it not been for her.

She turned me till she was propping me up against her folded legs, her arms holding most of my weight up. But that was honestly enough for me. I was safe again.

'Dean, look at me, love,' her panic-stained voice pierced my hearing, her dainty fingers slapped my cheek lightly – the opposite cheek she had slapped me on just yesterday.

Huh, well, I'm positively fucked, was all I could think.

My eyes were dry and stinging with tears all at the same time, claret dripped from the corner of my mouth still. I could barely keep my eyes open – but I had to.

I need to see her one last time.

Because God, she's gorgeous.

Her h/c h/l hair fell in waves around her frame, singling out the beautiful features that composed her face. The now glossy e/c eyes, the small adorable nose, the thin pink lips, and the ever-glowing s/c skin.

'What did you do?' she was yelling.

'Me?' he asked with hysteria and amusement. 'Oh, no, it's all you, Princess Y/N. Once I knew he was after you, all I did was paint a pinch of black widow venom on his sword. To kill you on the spot, of course. Because I knew your Romeo won't be able to do that. But fate had other plans. You are the one who marked his pretty skin, so don't pin this on me,' he shifted the blame.

She truly is the death of me, my dying brain thought it was funny to remind me.

'Y/N,' I whispered, wanting to tell her so much.

I wanted to let her know how much I loved her, how sorry I was for the fight the previous night, how much I want to marry her, how much I would have loved to settle down and have kids with her, how much I want her by my side to rule our kingdoms, how fortunate I think I am to have her as my lover, how she made me the happiest man on the planet to let me hold and have her.

But all that comes out is a repetition of her name, like a chant – a prayer that saved me, and will save me. I've worshipped her for as long as I can remember, why stop now when I was dying?

'Save him, please,' I heard her plea as sleep fought to take me under.

'Now, where's the fun in that?'

'Oh, my God,' she sobbed, looking down at me as water glittered on her cheeks. I wish I could raise my hand and wipe it off – I wanted to tease her for this, make her laugh one last time. But it was impossible to move; my nervous system and organs shut down one by one. 'Dean, my love, stay with me,' she begged me.

I could only grunt in pain.

Her hand squeezed mine.

'You did me a favor, Princess. Now it's my time to seize the chance and finish the job.'

My mind took too long to process this, only realizing what it meant when an arrowhead poked out of Y/N's right lung, gory with her blood, making her gasp. But she didn't budge from my side.

I opened my mouth to scream at her to leave – to run. To save herself, but my vocals failed me terribly.

'You will pay for this,' she promised, but she didn't move, looking down at me in her arms.

My helplessness finally overwhelmed me. The woman I had sworn to protect was going to die – and I could do nothing to save her.

Tear broke their barriers.

This was it.

'I . . . love you,' I choked with all the remaining energy I had.

'My love . . . I love you, too . . . .'

A/N: Me from the first time I tried the first-person POV - I've tried not to harass its originality, so all the mistakes and drama-queenness is mine 🙃.

Anyhow, if you're new to my page and you don't know, this one-shot is intrinsically linked to my series The Supernatural Wars, Purgatory Series, and another in the works. If you're interested in diving into a whole new world, do continue to Part 2!

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